


Stumbling On The Road So Far: Bunkered Down

by MockingJayToBeA



Series: Stumbling On the Road So Far [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bunker (Supernatural), Canon Relative, Episode Related, M/M, and lots of smut, episode by episode
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 620,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MockingJayToBeA/pseuds/MockingJayToBeA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lay your weary head to rest...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cognize (As Time Goes By  08x12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epic love story of Sam and Dean, following episode by episode. Previously part of Stumbling On the Road So Far: The Angel Chronicles, but split up now because the Chapter Index list was ridiculous. Same story, same chapters, same beautiful boys. Hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> This is the continuation of Stumbling On the Road So Far: The Angel Chronicles because it was just getting too many chapters and everything's getting lengthier and more complicated so yes I split it into another work. 
> 
> If you've read through Angel Chronicles already, the first chapters of Bunkered Down are going to be repetitive. Anyways, thank you as always for reading!
> 
> (P.S. because I have ridiculous luck, I split it at exactly where all of the crazy-constant sex and kinky shit goes down so it's going to seem a little porn-without-plot esque for a little while but I promise it's totally filled with plot, I just kind of split it at the honeymoon phase. Sorry.)

 

An Episode by Episode Fic by [FlyByNightGirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flybynightgirl) .::. [Stumbling Blog](http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com) .::. [All art and videos](http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com/artmasterpost)

.::. [Comprehensive Chapter Index](http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com/compendium) .::.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean was pissed for a lot of reasons. Obviously, their douchebag of a grandfather tumbling out of the closet door was a major factor in his pissiness, and for more reasons than just the traditional abandoning douchebag ones. The guy had walked out on Dad, and walked into Dean and Sam's motel room, his timing actually (thankfully) pretty good. They had both been in the middle of getting ready to go out for breakfast, so half an hour later and they would've been gone. Half an hour earlier...well then Henry would have fallen in on quite a show and it would have been fairly difficult to explain the fact that they were brothers and boyfriends.

Everything was on edge, Dean's teeth or fists clenched basically since the moment Henry had fallen into their room. He could say it was just the "brother's only" facade he and Sam were hiding behind, which felt extremely see-through by the way. As if every time Dean looked at Sam, Henry would suddenly point at them and shout "you're screwing, aren't you!" and disown them or whatever. He hadn't yet, but that didn't stop Dean from worrying about it.

But the not-touching and not-looking wasn't the worst part of this, surprisingly. It was definitely a factor, but the hardest part of this whole thing was that Dean had to sit here and be cordial to this guy who had walked out on Dad and fucked up his childhood. Dean had to hand over John's Journal - teeth grinding and eyes hard and unforgiving - to this stranger, this man who sauntered about with their last name like they were blessed to share it with him.

It was infuriating.

Family doesn't end with blood and just because you're blood doesn't mean you're family. Dean felt about 9,000 times more comfortable giving John's journal to Cas than he would giving it to this gelled-up stranger. Not to mention that the whole abandoning-father thing was a soft spot and getting that brought up all over again? Not fun. So, just when Dean was on edge and uncomfortable and in _major_ need of a distraction, he couldn't have one.

Now, with Henry suddenly in their lives, would be exactly when Dean would like to have something warm and solid covering his body, laying him out on the mattress and plastering kisses to his mouth until he couldn't breathe anymore, let alone remember that he'd just met his deuschbag of a grandfather who thought that hunters - aka his own son - were apes. Dean craved Sam's embrace and solid muscle now more than anything. Just when he wasn't allowed to have it, wasn't even supposed to be thinking about it.

It made it worse that they hadn't introduced themselves as brothers in a while, so now that they had, everything was extremely hands-off. Although hell, they'd been brothers for a hell of a lot longer than they'd been boyfriends. So Dean should be used to the "no touching" thing by now, really.

But when Sam crawled into the other bed, Dean had almost corrected him. He'd grabbed a pillow and was fully prepared to throw it at Sam's ass with a _get the fuck over here, what are you doing?_ until his hand froze mid air and his mouth snapped shut and he'd realized. Sam couldn't exactly come sleep with him when Henry was less than twenty feet away and totally oblivious to their usual sleeping arrangements.

Well, great, Dean would be sleeping alone. This was going to be a fantastic night.

Even though they weren't cuddled into each other in the darkness, they both laid on the edges of their beds closest to each other. They'd been doing that for years, every time they slept apart they still slept as close as possible. Dean used to sleep with his arm dangling over the edge of the bed towards Sam, in case Sam needed anything in the night. Back when Sam was having premonitions, that turned out to be quite useful until they just started sleeping beside each other.

But in the wake of their grandfather in the other room, Dean fell asleep with his arms crossed over his chest and his jeans still on, propped up on a pillow and angled towards Sam. In the twenty minutes before he fell asleep, Dean watched Henry suspiciously under hooded eyes. Then once he was entirely sure the man was engrossed in Dad's journal and entirely uncaring of what Dean was doing, Dean spent the next 17 minutes watching Sam fall asleep.

Sam's hair rested in pieces over his face, framing his shut eyes and soft lips. Dean scanned over Sam's body - the matching watch to Dean's, the simple gray v-neck. Sam's legs were almost too long for the bed, and he was on his stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow and the other splayed out in front of it. He actually looked fairly comfortable, very unlike Dean. Sam wasn't fully asleep yet, just dozing-awake, but once he slipped under consciousness then Dean would close his eyes too. If Henry wasn't here, Dean could curl up against Sam, lay on his side and drape an arm over Sam's back, tangle up their legs and lace his fingers through Sam's, his palm resting against the back of Sam's hand underneath the pillow. But they were just brothers tonight, and Dean finally fell asleep into the cold, Sam-less space that he hated. All because their grandfather would no way understand the whole brothers/boyfriends thing. Like, at all. Which was understandable, because it had taken Dean a couple of years to cognize too.

He woke up to Sam's voice and a repetitive tapping against his shoulder. Dean groggily turned towards Sam before he even blinked his eyes open, the natural instinct being some kind of good morning that didn't involve getting smack by - what was that, a book?

"Wake up!" Sam sounded way too intense for this early, but Dean lifted his head off the pillow anyways, readjusting the arm he had under it.

"What, what?" Dean said crankily. He was not a morning person today. Although Sam's hand was gripping his hip, which felt nice considering he hadn't touched Sam in too long...why again? Oh, yeah, grandfather.

"Henry. He's gone." Well speak of the devil. Dean attempted at blinking his eyes open, squinching up the rest of his face in the process. He turned his head as soon as he could see, taking in a view of Sam's tshirt-covered stomach. Well damn. He wasn't going to try to look up, not when maybe if he didn't look at Sam he'd go away and let Dean sleep. Or crawl into bed and let Dean sleep.

"Where is he?" Although that probably came out a lot more like wareizee. Dean probably didn't sound very cognitive, but he didn't feel very cognitive. He hadn't gotten enough sleep to be all "rise and shine" because he just wasn't used to sleeping in the damn cold.

"No idea. He just left a note saying he was going to fix everything." Sam was already on fire, tapping said note against his hand and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Dean reluctantly forced his pillow to the side, because that was totally the only way he wasn't going to fall back down onto it.

"Yeah, or screw it all up," he grumbled, sitting up the rest of the way. Sam had already crossed back over to the motel room table, and was picking up some sort of cup...oh good, Sam was bringing him coffee.

Dean stood up from the bed and met Sam halfway across the room, taking the coffee in one hand and Sam's waist in the other. Dean tugged Sam in to him with one arm, almost making mr. gigantore tip over due to his tallness. Sam stumbled into Dean's chest, making an oof sound that was quickly cut off by Dean's mouth on Sam's. It was a strangely domestic moment, pulling Sam in with one hand on a coffee cup, and Dean almost felt like saying "good morning honey" or something as equally 9-5 strangeness. But with Sam's mouth gently pressing and shifting over Dean's, he wasn't particularly in the mood to break the moment and talk.

Sam's lips left his much before Dean wanted, but Sam just turned his head to the side to avoid Dean's futile attempts to connect their mouths again. When Dean settled for kissing along Sam's jawline, the only place he could reach, Sam squirmed and managed to get out of Dean's one-arm-waist-hold.

"Get your morning breath out of my face." Sam complained, pecking Dean's cheek as he said it. Which was totally contradictory.

"Oh whatever, don't be such a girl." Dean turned his head towards Sam's mouth, hoping to catch another kiss, but Sam was already backing up and making his way over to his duffel. Dean huffed a sigh of annoyance and brought his coffee to his lips instead.

"We gotta get going, sleepy. Who knows where he's made it off to by now." Dean downed half the cup and noised an agreement with Sam before making his way to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth so Sam would stop being a bitch and complaining. Although Dean didn't really mind the complaining that much. It wasn't like Sam actually meant it, they woke each other up to kisses all the time. Sometimes more than just mouth on mouth too. But, of course, with a crazy time-traveling grandfather on the loose, it wasn't like they could wake each other up with any sort of creativity. Even though they wouldn't be alone again in who knows how long, they still had a responsibility to save the guy's ass. Unfortunately, Sam could wait.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean's phone went off in the middle of convincing his grandfather not to rewrite history and roundaboutly kill him and Sam. He held up a finger to Henry and reached in his pocket to pull out the phone.

"Sammy?"

"No. Much sexier. Try again." Dean's eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim line. Whoever the hell this bitch was thought she was sexier than his boyfriend. And yeah, the fire red hair and smokey eyes were pretty damned hot, but compared to the golden expanse of all those muscles and the quick grins and shining eyes? Right. Like some demon riding a pretty girl's meatsuit was sexier than his Sammy. At least there was only one topside hellbitch who actually didn't know about Dean and Sam's relationship (although all the bottomside hellbitches knew too) and that meant it was definitely Abaddon.

"Abaddon." Since she was from the past, she obviously didn't know any of the Winchester boy rumours, or Hell's campfire stories about the love that saved the world and fucked up the devil himself. If Abaddon had known about them though, and she mentioned something? Yeah, there would go all of Henry's trust. He hated them enough already.

"Good boy. Now listen up, I wanna make a good old-fashioned horse trade. Henry and the key for your brother. Or he dies." Dean shut his eyes and breathed out, consciously making his lungs still pump, despite the urge to just seize with fear and worry. That bitch had his brother, and there would never be a day that the words "or he dies" wouldn't wreck Dean into a million pieces. He opened his eyes again, his mouth set in a hard line. Dean was aware that his natural reaction to Sam being in danger was a lot more exaggerated than normal people, but he honestly wasn't even thinking of what Henry would say. The only relevant thing right now was Sammy and Dean saving him. "Am I clear?"

"Crystal." Dean hoped she could hear the venom in his voice. Even if she didn't know his reputation, if she didn't know what he did to creatures like her, there was a possibility Dean could still instill some fear. A long time ago, years ago, some stupid hunter had said once, "do you want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester's on your ass?" It was a common known fact in the hunting community and the Hell community alike - you don't mess with Sam Winchester if you want to breathe another day of oxygen. If only the ginger knight of hell knew that, maybe she wouldn't have to meet such an untimely end. Dean was going to destroy her.

"On the road to Larry's is a processing plant. Don't keep me waiting." There was a click as she hung up, the fact that she could work a cellphone at all was surprising. Dean was fairly sure that his name in Sam's phone was simple currently, which was good and bad. Good, because at least it wasn't something coupley Abaddon could use against them, but bad because it meant Dean was easy to track.

Dean was hating this knight of hell business more and more. She was sassy, on fire, and all sorts of demonic ew rolled into one undeniably attractive package. Not to mention Ruby's knife didn't kill her, which was a major bitch in the plan. Dean was still staring at his phone in shock and anger when Henry spoke up.

"Abaddon has Sam?" Dean put the phone down and took a few steps forward, his voice low and on the edge of losing control. In order for Abaddon to even have gotten Sam's phone he had to be knocked out cold, at the very least. Who knows how she'd gotten the jump on Sam Winchester.

"She wants to trade you and the key for Sam's life." Henry looked aside, like he was worried about Sam or something. Or maybe just worried about his own life.

"If I could just go back, stop this all from happening," Henry pleaded. Dean couldn't put Sam's life in someone else's hands. This argument was taking up too much time anyways. Just seconds could make a difference between a living, breathing Sam (so long as Sam was breathing Dean should be able to fix anything else) and Dean having to find the next creative way to ruin his life in order to get Sam's back.

"And what if you can't? I can't take that risk – not with Sammy on the hook now." Dean took a step or two forward, menacingly and extremely serious about what he had to do. If Henry was the type of Winchester Dean knew, he'd recognize the threat and retaliate. Turns out Henry was from a different line than Dean had drilled into his head.

"I can't abandon my son, Dean! Not again! I need to do this. I'm sorry." Henry turned back to the sigil on the door. Dean didn't even hesitate, taking the final step forward and wrapping his arms around Henry's neck.

"Well, I'm sorry, too."

~*~*~*~*~

Abaddon sneered as the brothers spun around, confused as hell that the door slid shut.

"You see, boys, I might have let you go but I found out the most interesting thing that I just couldn't let slip past me. After all, nothing gives a demon pleasure quite like torture." She smiled winningly at their expressions as they turned from confused to upset. The fiery one practically spat his words back at her, showing no sign of respect, remorse, or any bit of the fear that should be ripping though his veins.

"We had a deal!"

"Surprise. I lied." Abaddon waved her hand grandiosely in the air, turning her attention back on the Man of Letters beside her. "Now, don't you two boys have something to tell grandpa here?"

The colour drained from their faces and you could practically see the terror set in the same time the recognition did. Abaddon laughed delightedly, seeing the transfer of confusion on Henry's face as well. Henry shot them a glance and trusting brother opened his mouth like he wanted to explain, but didn't know how. Henry turned back to Abaddon, looking at her curiously. She strolled a bit away from him, her shoes clacking sharply on the cement.

"You see, I went to ask the motel clerk about you boys. And oh, the things he told me! See I found out you were brothers first, that much was axiomatic due to the blood line. But the things that clerk said! Or rather, showed me. Turns out you two-" Abaddon pointed a perfectly manicured fingernail at the brothers. "Introduced yourselves as boyfriends. What an interesting little plot twist! Wouldn't you think so, Henry?"

Abaddon spun around and raised an eyebrow, reveling in the shock all over the man's face. He was staring at the brothers, his mouth slightly gaping. The fiery one look ready to kill something, and the trusting one looked like his stomach was twisting in pain.

"Henry, we can expla-"

"They can explain that they've been fucking for the devil knows how long." Abaddon clicked her tongue and laughed again, grinning between the horrified look on Henry's face to the mortified looks on the boys' faces. She spread out her arms, stepping in close to Henry and projecting out her voice. "This is your family tree, welcome to the future!"

Henry took a step to the boys, his jaw set tight and his eyes screaming how could you? Abaddon couldn't have him and the key off her juxtaposition though, so she had to do something and keep him here, just enough to still keep him breathing and talking though. She plunged her hand forward, her manicured nails piercing through Henry's shirt and the skin on his abdomen, her entire fist suddenly surrounded in flesh before she turned her head to smile at the boys.

"Henry!" The big one shouted, running forwards. His brother-slash-boyfriend put out a hand to his chest, stopping all of that muscle with just a delicate touch. Abaddon knew Henry saw it too. The fiery boy said something quietly to the taller man, and they both looked at Henry with such sadness and pain in their eyes. Abaddon yanked her hand out of Henry's insides and he gasped, all of the air escaping him in pain. Blood trickled out of his mouth. The three of them looked so torn, so hating each other and so sorry at the same time. It was glorious. Abaddon laughed, drinking in the wicked pain and confusion on all of their faces.

Then there was suddenly a cold metal under her chin, pushing her laugh back into her throat.

"You're not the only one." The bullet soared into her vessel, ripping damage and blood along the way. A sharp tingle went through her, a bit of a shock but more of a tickle than pain. She raised her eyebrows at the feeling and laughed again.

"Whoo! What a blast. You certainly know how to show a girl a good time. Maybe you should show your grandsons a few tricks so they don't have to settle for screwing each other." Henry just breathed heavily out of his mouth, glaring at her. He seemed uninterested in them now, the boys. Fine, she was sure it was just an act anyways. And she did have more than just the purpose of chaos for this little meeting. "Now, give me the box."

Abaddon reached her hand, the bloody one, into Henry’s jacket pocket and her fingers closed around the sharp cornered object. She pulled out her hand, only to see...a pack of cards. Everything suddenly delved into red, and the cards were suddenly evil and alive. She threw them to the ground, listening to the sickening splick in slow motion. Then this energy of pure rage consumed through her and her mouth opened wide, paying no heed to the soft, easily ripped vocal chords of her vessel.

"WHERE IS IT?!" The factory crashed around them and the lights sparked, but none of it was enough to show how royally royally pissed off she was. She managed to suck in a breath, leveling her gaze at the hopeful look in the boys' eyes that had just been so broken a moment ago. She turned to Henry again, who was at least being obedient and dying slowly, barely able to breathe.

"Okay. We can do this the hard way." She latched onto Henry's chin and tilted his head up, a little surprised at the lack of anger in his eyes. Where was that rage? The rage that he should have had for those boys, who openly sinned in front of him and treaded on his name, his family name, his legacy. Stomped all over every one of his beliefs. There was no rage. Abaddon opened her jaw and breathed out a sliver of her essence, the black smoke spiraling out gorgeously towards Henry's open mouth. Suddenly she hit a wall, a sort of curved, icy barrier that turned back and sent little electric shocks through everything. The rage took her eyesight again and she shoved the peacefully dying man backwards, letting him fall to the ground with a thud. The tall captive brother ran over to his grandfather, although he should be running in shame. In shame of what he did, what he was. Henry should be pushing him off by now, telling the sick bastard to leave him to die without the corrupted touch of his freak grandson. And ABADDON SHOULD HAVE HER BOX. She jerked her meatsuit forward, her feet suddenly glued to herself and entirely stuck. The red and the lights flickering took off again, sparking up her rage and raining it all over.

"Why am I stuck?!" Henry was shaking, his life slowly slowly dissipating in the most sweet of painful ways. His eyes looked up, meeting hers with some sort of misplaced triumph. The red faded and she opened her pretty mouth to laugh again, at the stupid hope in all of their stupid betraying eyes. Why had Henry worked with them? After knowing...what did it matter. They were hopeless and full of hope which was the most foolish thing a man could be.

"You still didn't kill me." She looked down triumphantly at the dying man. Death was a delicate tool that was so easily disposed at her fingertips...an art she quickly conceived and conquered and carried out. And there was nothing that could stop her-

"No, but you'll wish we did." Everything suddenly shifted, and Abaddon was suddenly everywhere, all at once. And so disturbingly stuck she could scream. That is, if her STUPID MEATSUIT wasn't now disconnected from her motor functions. As soon as she stitched herself back up, that man was the first thing she was going to DESTROY. She could still hear him speak, although her body's ears weren't still connected to her brain. "The demon trap in your noggin is gonna keep you from smoking out. We're gonna cut you into little steaks and bury each strip under cement. You might not be dead, but you'll wish you were."

He was strangely morbid for a human. She'd nearly say he was good enough for hell, except that would take years of training and work to get him into shape for a good demon. Although...there was an incredible darkness, a touch of torture underneath those pretty green eyes. She'd find out all there was to know about these...Winchester boys, the second she got fixed back up. And she would. She always would.

"We did it," Henry breathed out, looking up at Dean. Dean walked over and crouched down in front of their grandfather, the man who had come through and saved them, even when he should have been condemning them to hell instead. The man who acted so disgusted, drawing Abaddon in close enough to shoot her even though he ended up getting his intestines mixed in a manicure-salad because of it.

"No, you did it. For a bookworm, that wasn't bad, Henry." Henry smiled, even though pain shot up through his eyes.

"I'm sorry I judged you two so harshly for being hunters. And for being together." Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes glistening with moisture. "I should have known better."

"About?" Sam sounded genuinely confused. Dean was too. After all, Henry seriously should hate them right now, for what they were?

"You're also Winchesters. As long as we're alive, there's always hope. And if you two have each other, at least you found some light in the darkness of the lonely world our bloodline is forced to live in." Dean looked up and met Sam's eyes. In truth, Sam was his light. And Henry was probably only being so accepting because he was dying, or maybe he was just raised to believe in the black and white of the lore, of the proof of soulmates and the truth of the torture in the lives they lived.

"I didn't know my son as a man, but having met you two..." Henry reached out and took Dean's hand, gripping it in a handshake. He reached out his left hand for Sam, although it was an awkward angle, they still completed the circle between them. Henry, with his arms crossed and holding both of them, the life draining out of him as he said he was proud, proud of Dad and proud of the lives his family had carried on in his legacy. "…I know I would have been proud of him."

Henry met his eyes one last time, then they glazed over as his brain stopped functioning, all of his body shutting down as he fell against Sam's chest, dead. Dean looked up at Sam again, another family member dead between them, more Winchester blood spilt because of a demon. Then Sam looked down at his hand, the box resting against his curled fingers. Henry must have placed it there in their handshake. It was the last gift, a promise and a parting goodbye, handing them the key he had died to protect. Handing it to the people he had died for.

For some reason, it was a little comforting to know that they had blood who had believed in them, who died for them without hesitation, no matter what they did or what they were.

There was nothing, nothing like the bond of family.

And that was something Dean could never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And because I transfered all the chapters over but I know some people like to read the comments, I am copying comments over to the end notes. (Plus everyone's comments make me like the happiest person on the planet so)
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
>  
> 
> thequeenofhell (thequeenofhellmademedoit): 
> 
> "Squee! ABBY BABY!!!!!! I have a major not-exactly-kosher thing for her, in case my icon and username weren't clue enough. You got her femme-fatale sadistic nature down perfectly! I'm so excited to keep reading! But also apprehensive, because I know what's coming... Don't hurt me too much!"
> 
> ~*~*~*~
> 
> romantically_apocalyptic:
> 
> "Yay! Congrats on getting the part!!
> 
> Also, I love Abbadons pov! She is an awesome...but wicked evil...female character and I totally like her. Although I must admit love Crowley more with his sarcastic attitude and total love for the boys.
> 
> I like that Henry did accept them and didnt hesitate to continue with helping them out. He is an awesome grandfather. :)"


	2. Diffident (Everybody Hates Hitler 08x13)

"You gonna take off the dead guy robe?" Sam caught a glimpse of the face Dean made before he turned back to the book propped open on one of the many tables. This place had so many books. Just from what Sam had been able to canvas so far, he'd seen everything from lore books to journals to case files. It was incredible.

"You just want me to strip and you know it." Dean's voice pierced through Sam's page scanning and he lifted his head, tilting it to the side in a gesture that meant "maybe so, maybe not." Sam still didn't turn to face Dean, just stayed half-bent over the table and pretended that the book in front of him was much more interesting than his barely-dressed boyfriend behind him. Dean cleared his throat and he spoke again, his voice intentionally lower and a little gravely.

"If you want the dead guy robe off, you're gonna have to do it yourself." Sam straightened up then, all thoughts of books aside as he spun around torturously slow. Dean met his eyes with a smirk, still a few feet away with the strangely domestic gray robe draped over his shoulders. The sash was tied in a half-bow, tight around Dean's waist and showing off just how tapered it was compared to his shoulders. Sam raised his eyebrows, taking a single step closer to Dean.

"Reallyy?" Sam asked teasingly, biting his lip and dragging it out of his teeth with a soft pop. Dean's eyes flicked down to Sam's mouth and he swallowed tightly. Sam took another two steps, bringing his body just a foot away from Dean's. Dean had to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact, which was wickedly adorable and quite empowering.

He reached his hands out slowly, taking ahold of the fabric sash, one hand on each pullstring of the half-bow. Dean's eyes widened a bit as Sam tugged in one quick motion, unraveling the tie and leaving just a simple fold of the two pieces in a tie around Dean's waist. Sam lifted his grip up to the wrapped gray knot, curling his fingers around it, the back of his knuckles leaving pressure points against Dean's stomach through the robe. Sam paused for just a moment, grinning down at Dean's blown-wide expression. Then he yanked apart the two sides of the loose knot, unraveling the sash with a snap and causing the pinched fabric at Dean's waist to flow straight down. Dean opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closed it slowly like he had forgotten how to speak.

Sam quickly brought his hands up to Dean's shoulders, fisting the two separate sides of the robe and sliding them apart and over Dean's shoulders. The robe tumbled to the ground, landing in a pool behind Dean. Sam stepped backwards, his eyes slowly grazing down from Dean's eyes to his now exposed body. From his muscled shoulders to his pecs, down to his adorable stomach that was definitely fit, just not quite defined like Sam's. Sam loved it. His gaze continued, down to Dean's hips and the lack of bruising there, due to not having slept together for at least three days. Which meant a lot of pent up looks and cautious touches that never got to be finished out.

Speaking of which, Sam's gaze dipped down lower, to the hardening cock and soft white thighs, the muscle rippling underneath the rarely-exposed skin. Dean shifted his weight, either embarrassed by the scrutiny or impatient from the slow pace. Or, knowing Dean, both. He was surprisingly a little diffident about his body sometimes, which Sam didn't understand at all because there was nothing about the freckled muscle and sculpted shape that wasn't beautiful. Exquisite. Hell, just looking at Dean's rippling shoulders, dotted in the prettiest freckles, was enough to send Sam reeling over the edge. His eyes traveled the rest of the way down, to Dean's shaped calves and his bare feet, his slippers kicked off and sitting a few inches off to the side. Sam scanned his eyes quickly all the way up Dean's body, taking note that he was even harder now, before he stepped up close again and met Dean's eyes.

Dean was gnawing on his lip, staring at Sam almost nervously, but his eyes still dark with anticipation. His still-wet hair was falling onto his forehead the way it did when Dean showered and hurried out instead of taking an hour and a half to dry it carefully into spikes in front of the fogged mirror. Sam wanted to touch it, run his fingers through the dampness and watch Dean close his eyes. He wanted to rub his thumb over Dean's lips, kiss the corners of his eyes, tongue over his nipples and watch Dean squirm and moan and fall apart under Sam's touch. Even Sam could only take so much anticipation before he had to be touching Dean right now.

Sam reached out and curved his hands around to Dean's back, running down the slope of his sexy shape, dipping in with Dean's lower back and out again with the rise of his ass, finally stopping at the cheeks and roughly pulling Dean towards him by squeezing tightly and yanking him forward against Sam's body. Dean's naked chest bumped up against Sam's shirt, the buttons probably cold against Dean's skin. He let out a startled breath, his body arching closer to Sam's and his hips rolling backwards into Sam's grip, his breathing stuttering as Sam dug his fingers in harder.

"S-sam-" was all Dean managed to choke out before Sam was closing his mouth over his brother's, kissing him passionately. Dean returned each press of lips and sweep of tongue, pushing his mouth up against Sam's like he was dying for it. Sam had to fight the urge to rub his hips against Dean's, because he was still entirely dressed, even though Dean was naked and smooth, and jeans rubbing up against Dean's bare cock would definitely not be pleasant. There was a heat building up inside of Sam already, the need for Dean growing stronger with each second. He spun them around, backing Dean against the table and letting go of his ass for just long enough to sweep all of the books to the side. Dean licked at Sam's mouth, moaning lightly and being super distracting while Sam was actually trying to get something accomplished here. He trapped Dean's tongue in between his lips, sucking at it and reveling at how Dean's body shook and trembled in reaction.

Then Sam's hands were back on Dean's ass, scooping underneath the slope and hauling upwards, groaning a bit at how heavy Dean was, but easily lifting him anyways. Dean made a surprised sound into Sam's mouth. No matter how often Sam did this, Dean was always surprised and a little overwhelmed. He had always been submissive in bed, even with women, but he didn't get manhandled often enough to be used to it. Well, sounds like Sam needed to change that. Sam sat Dean down on the table in the space he'd cleared for him and Dean hissed at the cold smooth wood against his ass. His pretty ankles came up Sam's sides and hooked around his back, digging into the top of Sam's ass. Sam tilted his hips back, reaching down to unzip his jeans. He took them off as quickly as possible, which was just a little difficult with Dean wrapped around him. Their mouths broke for the few seconds it took for Sam to pull the denim over his ankles and toss it aside, then Dean was back on his lips, his hands tangling in Sam's hair this time, tugging lightly at his head and sending sparks of arousal down his spine.

Sam snuck in a hand between them, pushing back on Dean's chest until their lips broke apart with a loud pop. Dean looked at him confusedly for a moment as Sam lowered him down to the table, one hand on the back of Dean's head and one pushing his chest. As soon as Dean was laying down on the table, Sam unwrapped his ankles from around Sam's waist and brought them up to the edge of the table, folding Dean's knees up into the air. Dean's hand gripped the edge of the table tightly, white knuckling the smooth surface as his breathing picked up, nearly panting now, even though Sam had barely touched him.

"Please, Sam. Uggh, now, Sammy." Dean groaned and thrust his hips up shallowly against the air, complaining already about the lack of contact. Sam pressed a chaste kiss to Dean's knee then he was rummaging through the bag he had set on the floor at the end of the table, pulling out a bottle of lube and making his way back to Dean as quickly as he could. Dean's back arched up like a cat the second Sam's cold slick finger ran across the underside of Dean's ass, tracing the slope and leaving a slick trail of lube in his wake. Sam's name fell from Dean's lips, tangled up in a strangled moan and another vain thrust, back towards Sam's hand this time. Sam pressed another kiss to Dean's knee, this time to the purple scar just on the inside. Dean shivered, his hands gripping the table even tighter.

The trace of lube followed Sam's finger as it finally sloped down to Dean's entrance, pressing inside with a quick jab that slid all of his finger into Dean with one stroke. Dean yelped but ground his hips down on Sam's finger, trying to take him deeper. Dean totally must have worked himself open a bit in his shower, because he took one finger like a pro, and was begging for two. Dean had planned this whole thing out, the punk. But Sam quickly obliged, pushing another finger against his entrance, feeling the silky muscles on Dean's insides. Dean fluttered around Sam as Sam pulled out and carefully pumped both the first and second slicked finger in. Dean's right hand, the one with the ring on it, left the table and gripped Sam's left arm tightly. The cold metal imprinted into Sam's skin, a sharp contrast to how hot his fingers were, how hot Dean's skin was pressed up against him. He pumped his fingers in and out faster, spreading them out and stretching Dean's already slightly-prepped hole quickly.

"Ah, good enough, Sam. S'go," Dean mumbled, tightening his grip on Sam's arm. There was going to be a ring-shaped bruise there now. Sam's mind quickly flashed with an image, another ring to match Dean's, then he pushed it aside and shoved his hands under Dean's back. Dean engaged his core and sat up as Sam lifted him, hands wriggling underneath Dean's ass and scooting him in towards Sam again.

Dean wrapped his ankles around Sam's back again, the wet stripes of lube Sam had painted across Dean's asscheeks pressing cold and wet against Sam's boxer briefs. Dean leaned forward and set his mouth on Sam's jaw, hands in between them to unbutton Sam's shirt. Sam scooped Dean off of the table as Dean finished the last button and attempted to fight the shirt off of Sam's shoulders. Sam would need an arm free, and both his hands were quite preoccupied with holding Dean.

In a split second decision before Dean could protest, Sam shifted all of Dean's weight to one arm, his ass sitting on Sam's forearm as he pressed Dean's body close to his, balancing Dean on his hip like how people carry toddlers. Although Dean was a lot fucking heavier than a toddler. If Sam didn't have wicked arm strength and work out every day, and if Dean hadn't had his ankles locked so tightly around Sam's back he'd probably stay with no hands, Sam might have dropped him. He didn't, although he still got a surprised squeak out of Dean.

"What the hell, Sam? I'm older than thirty you douche you can't just carry me like a - oof!" Dean made a sound as Sam whipped him around to the other hip, having wrestled his free arm out of his shirt while Dean was bitching. Dean's ankles were digging bruises into Sam's back, like he genuinely feared Sam dropping him. If small children are safe enough to prop on someone's hip, then Dean could deal. Sam folded his elbow and shrugged the rest of the way out of the shirt, wiggling a bit as it finally freed him and fell to the ground.

"Apparently, I can." Sam brought both hands to Dean's ass now and scooted him back to be centered, kissing Dean's luscious lips before he could protest again. Dean's body shivered as Sam carried him, his mouth compliant under Sam's biting and sucking. Sam finally reached what he'd categorized as the first available empty wall without anything dangerous or painful hanging from it. He managed to slam Dean's back up against it, eliciting a grunt and vicious nip back at Sam's mouth.

Dean's hips were warm against Sam's, and his heels slid down Sam's back to the elastic waistband of his underwear, attempting to push them down. Dean eventually leaned forward and tugged them down with his fingers, and once past the rise of Sam's ass they fell to the floor and puddled at his feet. Dean clutched at Sam's back and moved his mouth across his brother's jawline, nipping and kissing his way to Sam's collarbone. Sam moved one of his hands from Dean's ass to his own cock, lining up right here in the hallway, up against the wall. Dean bit down on the muscle connecting Sam's shoulder to his neck as Sam hit home and pushed the tip of his head inside Dean's rim.

"Ugh, Dean," Sam moaned, the hand on Dean's ass tightening and drawing a quiet gasp from Dean's lips. Sam pushed upwards further, each inch inside of Dean making it harder to breathe. One of Dean's hands came up to Sam's hair, taking a fist and holding on like he was falling off the earth. By the time Sam bottomed out they were both gasping and clutching each other with desperation. They hadn't been together in what felt like forever, even though it was just a few days technically. That didn't make the hot slide into Dean any less intense. He was so tight and silky around Sam's cock Sam would've sworn he was a virgin if he didn't know better personally.

Sam tilted his hips back and drew most of the way out of Dean, the lube sliding between their bodies and keeping the friction all pleasure and no pain. Once Sam drilled in again, in one smooth motion this time, Dean dug his nails into Sam's back and pushed his own back harder against the wall, rolling his hips down on Sam's cock and practically begging for more. Sam found Dean's mouth with his own, biting at the corner of it to prompt Dean to kiss him. Dean opened his mouth further and slid his tongue over Sam's, making a low noise in his throat at the sensation. Sam's hands gripped Dean's bare hips, his thumbs digging in just a bit too hard, sure to leave Sam-shaped bruises.

As Sam picked up a steady pace, keeping Dean slammed against the wall and immovable with his hands and fucking into him deeply and quickly, Dean lost all ability to function his mouth. Sam pulled back his lips and just watched Dean's face, the overwhelming bliss written all over him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted to allow the sweet little sounds tumbling from him to come out, his head thrown back against the wall, hair probably getting it damp, and tilted a little to the side like he needed support to keep from collapsing. The way Sam was holding him though, with Dean's ankles digging bruises just above his ass, there was no way Dean could move, let alone fall. Each thrust inside him rewarded Sam with a hitched breath or a moan or a tiny cry. Dean was absolutely beautiful like this, falling to pieces and helpless to do anything about it.

Dean's parted lips were swollen and shiny, and much too enticing to leave alone. Sam kept up his pace as he leaned forward, running his tongue across Dean's bottom lip. Dean tilted his head a little towards Sam, but his mouth seemed entirely immobilized. Which was totally fine with Sam. On the next thrust up into Dean, Sam pushed his tongue in between Dean's lips, matching the same push and withdraw of his cock. He fucked his tongue into Dean's mouth, matching the exact rhythm of his hips. Dean clenched his ass around Sam and whined pitifully against the two intrusions at once.

Just as Dean stopped the involuntary shiver down his spine, Sam quickened his pace, pumping into Dean faster and harder. Dean shook under Sam's tongue and cock, his ankles drawing Sam in closer. After a dozen or so shoves into Dean, he broke his mouth away from Sam's intense attack, his head falling to the side and his voice breaking over Sam's name. Sam latched his teeth onto Dean's neck, now exposed with his head tilted to the side. He bit down and tilted his head, burrowing in a rough bite and kiss against Dean's skin. Dean tightened around Sam and the muscles enclosed around Sam's cock threatened to drown him, unable to keep the pressure on Dean's neck for a moment. Sam tilted his head to the side and rested it against the marks he had made on Dean's neck, shutting his eyes and feeling nothing but just pure Dean, hot on his cock and sliding through the friction between them roughly.

"D-dean," Sam moaned helplessly against the bitten skin on Dean's fresh, shower-scented neck. Dean responded with a rake of his short nails down Sam's back. Sam lifted his head slowly, his body focused almost entirely just on the ring of muscles around him. He finally got his eyes back on Dean's face, on the tightened expression of how close he was to orgasming just off of Sam's cock. His hair was still wet and draped over his forehead, his entire body fresh from the shower. The only downside to fucking Dean against the wall was that Sam couldn't really touch him, run his hands over Dean's chest and face and neck and feel him coming apart under Sam's fingertips. But the angle this way was amazing, and the marks it left on both of them afterwards were well worth it.

"Sam," Dean breathed in between shaky moans. His face was the epitome of pure bliss, the expression sending sparks to the coil in Sam's abdomen. This beautiful man, who was in pure ecstasy above him, was his. His boyfriend, his lover, his everything. Sam gripped Dean's hips tighter, which neither of them really thought was possible, and shoved up into Dean with one last hard thrust, spilling inside him with a cry. Dean was clenching around him and coming seconds later, Sam's name shouted between them and white strands shooting up onto his stomach. Sam dropped his head down to rest his forehead against Dean's shoulder, slowing the pumping rhythm between them as they came down from their orgasms. Sam painted the inside of his brother, his body trembling from overexertion. The tremors through both of their bodies shook them simultaneously, making everything just stars and white and Dean.

When Sam finally opened his eyes up again, Dean was already totally spent. He was practically a wreck on top of Sam, his mouth parted and eyes closed still, his ankles just loosely tucked over each other now and all of his body limp. Sam was entirely holding up Dean's weight now, which might prove to be a dilemma if Dean doesn't help out at least a little.

"Dean," Sam started, the word still half a moan as he pulled his softening cock out of Dean gently. Dean winced the same time Sam did, the drag being a little over the top. Dean took a few moments to breathe before he finally peeked open one eye, looking at Sam and twitching his mouth up into a smile before shutting his eyes again.

"Mm?" Dean's nails retracted from Sam's skin, replaced by calloused palms and wide-spread fingers. Then he mumbled again, his voice a little louder than before but still tired sounding. "You wanna carry me somewhere soft?"

Sam snorted in affection and placed a soft kiss to Dean's jaw. Dean peeked open his eyes again, then tilted his head towards Sam and intercepted the next soft kiss with his mouth, opening up lazily and kissing Sam slowly. Both of their tongues stayed in their respective mouths, just their lips moving and pulling at each other. Dean tasted almost sweet, the smell of his shampoo and sex filling Sam's nose. It looked like Dean was going to need another shower. Actually, Sam totally did too. Sounds like Sam was going to try out the awesome water pressure in the shower room after all.

Sam slid his hands from Dean's hips down to his thighs, gently moving to unwrap Dean's legs from his waist. Dean broke apart their mouths, turning his head to the side and making Sam pull back. Sam opened his eyes with surprise and Dean did the same, finally fully looking at Sam. That green was so pretty, still so green even though there was no green shirt to accent it, or no brown jacket to compliment it. Even entirely naked Dean's eyes were still so vivid.

"Uhm, Sam. I wasn't kidding about the carry-me thing." Sam raised his eyebrows and couldn't fight back a dimpled grin. Dean looked genuinely worried, for himself for once, and it was fairly cute.

"Oh, c'mon, that wasn't that hard," Sam teased, eliciting an eye roll from Dean. This was an interesting position to have a conversation in, Dean's back against the wall and his legs wrapped loosely around Sam's waist, Sam's hands resting gently on Dean's hips again since Dean had protested the moment Sam tried to move them.

"Yeah, says you. The one who didn't get fucked up against a wall. Seriously, couldn't even manage to get to the bedroom?" Dean gave Sam a mild form of bitch face and Sam laughed. By the time he closed his mouth and looked at Dean again, Dean was smiling a little.

"Dean, I don't even know where the bedrooms are. This place is huge."

"Yeah, just like you. Now, will you please carry me to some sort of bed? I can help you navigate." Dean's offer at the end was perked up and excited, like he was genuinely looking forward to navigating this place. Sam wouldn't mind navigating through the books, but the bunker itself didn't hold a lot of interest for him. Except for the source of power, he couldn't figure out why anything was working, let alone super efficient and way technologically advanced beyond its time.

"You need to shower," Sam said, flicking his eyes down to the mess on both of their stomachs. Dean looked down and wrinkled his nose, then nodded in agreement.

"I still can't walk though. So." Sam sighed and mumbled something about Dean being a princess under his breath then slid his hands back to Dean's ass, lifting him off the wall and tilting his hips forward so his ass rested on Sam's stomach. Dean at least tightened his ankles a bit, although not without wincing and complaining for Sam to be careful. Sam carried Dean towards the hallway he'd come from after his shower, following Dean's instruction to get to the shower room. Since he was carrying a full-grown, sticky man, it took them much longer to get there than Sam had hoped. Sam grumbled along the way, complaining about Dean being a hypocrite and a princess.

"Earlier I pick you up to give you the time of your life and you bitch about being too old to be carried and now I just try to get you to not be carried and you're practically begging for it." Dean's hand smacked Sam's ass after that comment and Sam yelped, nearly dropping Dean with surprise. They both shut up after that, Sam for fear of getting smacked and Dean for fear of getting dropped on his ass. Which would be basically the worst thing for him right now.

They managed to reach the shower room without any more difficulties, and Sam had to turn to the side so Dean could twist open the doorknob and swing open the door. Then Sam managed to maneuver them both through the doorframe, bitching the entire way. Sam stopped as soon as he got inside, his jaw dropping a little as he looked around. The shower room was huge, painted a dark grey and looked to be ridiculously efficient. There was a towel rack by the door, and the floor was made out if that strangely soft concrete stuff, that felt more like rubber underfoot but smelt like blacktop. There was actually five different shower heads, each with their own drain and spaced close enough together that you could probably angle two towards the same direction and make a double-sided shower.

Dean's thighs were sliding off Sam's hips in the next instant and Sam lowered Dean's ass down, letting him back onto the ground. Dean winced and grumbled something under his breath but Sam was still busy staring in awe at their shower room. Which, for the first time since forever, had absolutely no trace of mold. And was big enough for both of them. Actually, Sam was pretty sure you could fit a small army in this room. And to a nomadic hunter, it was like a palace.

"Cool, right?" Dean's voice snapped Sam out of his observations and Sam turned his head, finally noticing that Dean was grabbing ahold of his arm (more like clutching for dear life) and talking. Then Dean was hobbling over to one of the knobs on the wall, wincing with every step. Sam cringed just watching him, but his voice was still cheerful. "Just wait til you see the water pressure."

Dean turned the knob and the spray started up, beating down on the rubber-concrete floor almost silently. Sam stepped forward and put his hand in the water, already warm and nearly tingling Sam's fingers with the pressure. Sam raised his eyebrows and looked over at Dean who grinned and nodded. The water was approaching hot now, and Sam stepped in, letting the rhythmic beating set into his body. Sam closed his eyes and tipped his head back, encompassing himself entirely in the water.

Sam felt the heat from Dean's body before he felt the fingertips touching gently, delicately brushing against his skin from his collarbones down to his ribs, slowly running down his body softer and slower than the water. Sam lowered his head again, opening his eyes a little against the water trickling down his tilted face. Dean was watching his own fingertips, the way they glided over Sam's skin, wet from the water as he traced each of Sam's ribs carefully, like he was checking for damage that may have happened years ago, like Dean was trying to feel everything that had ever touched Sam here, reach all the way into the past and just overtake anything, anyone that may have been here before him. Sam watched Dean through the spray, the spray that was just misting over Dean's body although it was pouring over Sam's. The change in the atmosphere in the room was so sudden, Sam had felt it even when his eyes were closed.

He reached his left hand up, reaching up under Dean's chin and touching his slightly stubbled skin, tilting his head to look up, away from his fascination with Sam's skin and bones, tilting those green eyes up to meet him. Dean looked slightly exposed like this, gentle and beautiful and just wanting to touch Sam. His eyes were filled with some kind of hope, like the way they used to be, years ago, back when they'd arrive at Bobby's for the first time in a few months on the road. Sam knew that look, knew it was Dean settling into the idea of comfort, of home. Here, he wanted this place to be that way for them. Sam wasn't seeing it that way yet, he really couldn't. So he just brought his own head dow, brushing his lips against Dean's. 

Dean kissed him slowly, his hand closing over the wrist of the arm Sam had lifted to Dean's face and pulling it down, wrapping it around himself. Sam agreed easily and circled Dean in his arms, pulling him into the spray with him and kissing him beneath the showerhead like they were lovers in the street, kissing in the pouring rain before someone had to go catch their big train. Sam could practically see them, like a movie, the camera circling around them in a big arc, every angle of their kiss broadcasted. The way their eyes were shut contentedly, Dean's lips moving over his and leaning up into Sam, his forearms resting on Sam's back, perpendicular to the ground and his hands spread across Sam's shoulders. Sam tilting his head to the side, pushing down against Dean and holding him loose enough that their bodies touched but didn't rub. Sam's arms circled around Dean's pretty waist, Sam's hair in wet strands and Dean's flattened to his forehead.

Sam had good memory retention, it had been drilled into him since the first time he'd opened up a Latin book at the ripe old age of 6. And he knew the second he pictured it, what they looked like right now, that that image would stay with him forever. There were other moments like this, some less dramatic, some so intense they physically hurt to think about, that Sam had engrained in him. They were little bit of pieces of his past, always somehow so part of the present too. If they were ever forced away from him, everything about Sam would change. These little times, these little moments with Dean. They were everything, everything to Sam.

Even if Dean didn't think like that. Which was fine. So long as Dean kissed him like this, here and now, kissing until they couldn't breathe. Then finally breaking apart and washing each other down in silence, things getting heated again as Dean's hands wandered in the spray of the shower. They ended up needing to clean another round of white hot semen off of their stomachs after Dean jacked them both, together in one of his huge hands, kissing Sam desperately and needy and having to hold onto Sam's arm after he came again, still weak from their last go. Sam caught Dean easily, as his knees gave and he threatened to fall to the rubbery ground. Dean attempted at some stupid joke and Sam laughed, mostly at the blush on Dean's cheeks and chest. Then he kissed him through cleaning them off the second time, finally shutting off the water at least forty-five minutes later.

Then they'd dressed, and Dean had gone exploring, after kissing Sam quickly on the cheek. And Sam had gone back to his books and research.

 

They spent a few days like that, Dean leaving for the grocery store a few times and Sam researching in between rounds with Dean, and actually finding a few novels he wanted to read. He didn't take much time off from organizing, and getting to know the catalog system of the Men of Letters. Dean reported back to Sam fairly often, having found a kitchen, laundry room (no more games of cards at the Laundry Mat, Sam. But there's a bench in there, so we can still go play if you wanted to), a gun range, the Men of Letter's records and record player, and the hallway with the bedrooms. Dean worked on the car some, and Sam researched some more.

Kevin called eventually, and Dean had promised to go visit. He invited Sam along, but Sam still had at least fifty years of archiving to do, so he politely declined. Even though Dean had tried to convince him by straddling his lap and licking slow stripes across his neck, murmuring that Sam wouldn't be able to see him for at least four days, and that was if Dean only stayed at Kevin's for an hour. Sam had countered with the argument that they couldn't have sex in front of Kevin anyways, so Dean had grudgingly left an hour and a rigorous sex session later. Sam really did enjoy it here, in the Men of Letters' bunker. It was a great place to work, and the library was immense, even if Dean was giving everything a strangely sentimental look.

 

But a week and a half later, Sam didn't even mind that so much, as he rummaged through the cabinet to look for a fresh card to start cataloging their most recent hunt and run in with the newly acquired information on the Judah Initiative. Dean had put a 50's record on, and it was strangely nice. Dad had never listened to the 50's, he'd only really liked songs made between the years 1965 and 1985. So this new 50's music thing that Dean was doing didn't bring back any memories of Sam's childhood, no memories of car trips with Dean either. It was making room for new memories instead. Which was really quite nice.

It wasn't often they got fresh starts and new beginnings, and they certainly never hit a break like this. A beautiful, safe, protected bunker with more information in one room than all of Bobby Singer's library, and some place that Dean was glowing in. He was smiling practically 24/7 recently, and even now, as he walked back in the room after having set the needle of the record player on another one of Frankie Laine's hits, he was contentedly making small talk, his eyes grazing over Sam even though Sam was preoccupied with his work.

"What're you doing?" Sam sat down and looked over at Dean who was bent over the little fridge they had in here, the familiar clink of two beers in his hands. Dean looked good like that, and Sam smiled slightly at the sight, of the way Dean's ass filled out his jeans nicely, and at how that was entirely Sam's to do with as he pleased.

"Ordering – I'm making a, uh, card entry for our, uh, copies from the Thule's red ledger for our collection." Sam looked back down at his work as Dean looked over at him. Sam missed the contemplating face Dean made as he looked over at Sam, bent over his writing and his hair hanging slightly in his face. Dean looked down at the beers in his hand, looked back at his pretty brother again, and put them back in the fridge.

♪ Grab you coat and get your hat  
♪ Leave your worries on the doorstep

"So, uh, what? Aaron's a J.I., and... you're a Man of Letters now? Is that it?" Sam could hear the smile in Dean's voice, could feel the way he waited until the last second to turn away, how he looked at Sam as long as possible with that happy smile. Sam looked up and paused, thought about it. A Man of Letters. Funny, how all this time Sam had hunted and felt like there was something more, something that he'd be better at than chopping off heads. Research, yeah, but this was it for him. This was his lucky break, because he had the world in his hands and suddenly an entire new side of hunting he didn't even know existed, an important side that Sam was good at. Better than good at, this was Sam's niche.

A Man of Letters. It had a certain ring to it, a certain dignity. Sam huffed and looked back down at his writing, wondering if Dean would think this was bad or not. It was a big deal, this whole Man of Letters thing was committed. And intense. Sam looked over at Dean, at the clink of glasses as Dean poured scotch into ornate glasses. Apparently he'd decided beer wasn't good enough for this occasion. Sam looked back down at the paper in his hand and read, waiting for his brother to come over with his opinion and a scotch.

♪ Just direct your feet  
♪ on the sunny side of the street  
♪ can't you hear that pitter-pat?  
♪ that happy tune is yours now

Dean walked up next to him, his feet slow like he had nowhere else to be, and sat a glass down in front of Sam. Sam looked at it, a little fuller than he'd been anticipating.

"Good." Dean smiled down at him and Sam looked up, met his brother's eyes, the happy approval and contentedness there. Like Dean knew Sam had found something, something special and good for him and exciting. And Dean looked just as pleased about it as Sam was, although honestly maybe a little more.

It felt endearing, sitting here with Dean telling him he was happy Sam was a Man of Letters, (and he officially was now, Dean had said it and so it shall be) and handing him a scotch, smiling down at him like he was the taller one for once. Then Dean was walking around to the other side of the table, sitting down across from Sam like he owned the world.

Or like he just owned the bunker maybe. Either way, things were strangely on the upside and Sam wasn't sure what to think about that. Here he was with a scotch and his boyfriend, in a place that was safe and full of knowledge and power, listening to this new music that promised of new memories.

♪ Life can be oh so sweet  
♪ on the sunny side of the street

Sam picked up his glass and waved it under his nose, attempting a guess at the alcohol level and the amount of burn it promised. Dean propped his feet up on the table, angled away from Sam so as to not get in Sam's way. His brother looked off in the distance, towards the telescope room, with this increasingly familiar look of just happiness. Sam analyzed him for a moment, analyzed the slightly suppressed joy radiating off Dean for who knows what reason. Sam wasn't even very sure what they were celebrating with the scotch, but clearly something was making Dean happy. So Sam tilted his glass towards Dean, offering a silent toast. Dean looked over at him and studied for a moment before tilting his glass too, both of them tipping back the scotch at the same time.

The slight buzz outweighed the slight burn and Sam sat his drink back down, not missing Dean setting down his and tilting his head back, relaxing into a position of total comfort. Not one single fiber of Dean was on guard right now, and Sam wasn't sure he'd ever seen that before. He grinned inwardly, just finally happy to see Dean so happy. Then he was back to writing, marking down all these names. If he was a Man of Letters now, he had a lot of work to do.

And Dean had a lot of distracting Sam to do. All in all, maybe this life wouldn't turn out to be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> thequeenofhell (thequeenofhellmademedoit):
> 
> "Crying because domestic!Dean happy in the bunker and Sam happy too, and it is the one time I've seen them truly happy in the entire series and it hurts because I know it isn't going to last and you, friend, are too perfect. This chapter was so sweet and fluffy and absolutely devastating in how happy it was and I don't think I'm going to be able to accomplish anything else for the rest of the day. *still sobbing like a four year old*"
> 
> ~*~*~*~
> 
> romantically_apocalyptic:
> 
> "This whole chapter is absolutely perfect! It made me tear up to see Dean so happy and content...and Sam finding his niche with being a Man of Letters and just being with Dean. Amazing job!"


	3. Enticing (Trial and Error 08x14)

When Dean blinked awake, it took him a few seconds to figure out where he was. Certainly not some nameless motel room. He lifted his head, looking around and taking in the high ceilings, the gold and red walls and the surprisingly nice couch pressed up against his arm. And the beautiful boy underneath him, the slowly rising and falling chest that had been his pillow a minute ago. Sam was still fast asleep, his head turned to the side and one muscled arm draped over Dean's back.

Dean reached up a hand and brushed a strand of stray hair off of Sam's forehead, tucking it back behind his ear. Sam stayed silent and still in his sleep, his eyes peaceful and no worry lines crinkling his face. Dean wasn't sure the last time he'd seen Sam sleep like this. He carefully lifted his left arm out from in between Sam and the couch, bending up his forearm to rest on Sam's chest and running parallel to his other arm. Dean propped his chin on his folded arms, looking down at the sleeping Sam from his quite comfortable perch.

Dean could feel every rise and fall of Sam's breathing with his entire body, could feel it still perfectly in time with the rise and fall of his own lungs. Dean stayed that way for a little while, just watching. And eventually laying and tracing the patterns of the fabric of Sam's tshirt with his fingertips. Dean's legs were hot, tangled up in Sam's, their bottom halves just clad with boxer briefs. Boxer briefs, tshirts, and a blanket draped over their legs and lower backs. Dean had insisted he would squish Sam if he slept on him all night but Sam was more insistent and kissed Dean into submission, which didn't take much convincing at all.

Although, Sam probably could use a little sleep that didn't include a muscled, over-six-foot-tall man laying on top of him. Dean sighed lightly and lifted his head, pressing a quick kiss to Sam's zygomatic process. Then he carefully lifted himself off of Sam, propping his weight on the back of the couch as he rolled out from under Sam's arm slowly. It took at least five minutes and three close calls before Dean finally got a solid foot on the ground. Once he had one foot down, he managed to roll into it, kind of somersaulting-ish onto the ground and away from the couch. When Dean landed, sitting on his ass on the ground, Sam was still sleeping.

He shifted in his slumber, a few worry lines appearing back on his face, his head turning and the arm that had been holding Dean curling up over his chest like he was missing Dean's warmth. Dean felt a pang of sorrow, but Sam could really use the sleep and Dean still had things to do, so he had to leave Sam here alone. Dean silently got up to his feet, padding lightly back over to the couch and tugging at the corners of the blanket to cover more of Sam's body. The blanket wasn't big enough to cover him all the way, but it reached up to just where Dean had placed his good morning kiss.

Dean looked down at Sam for a few more moments before he bent over and placed one more barely-there kiss to Sam's forehead. Sam's mouth curled up just a little at the corners, and Dean straightened up, satisfied and, for once, happy.

Then he was making his way through The Batcave to his room. Dean had found it yesterday, and dumped his things in it. Sam had said he found a room for his things too. It was strange at first, having a bedroom for each of them. There was nothing wrong with space though, with something to call their own for once. Everything in Dean's life was Sam's too, which was totally fine with Dean. He didn't mind a bit. But the idea of having something that was just his, that he could do whatever he pleased with, it was super enticing.

It wasn't like having separate rooms meant they weren't going to spend the nights together. Dean's room was going to be awesome, and his bed was more than big enough for the both of them. So of course, Sam would sleep in here with him. If they wanted to. For once, they had the option to have a space all to themselves too. For most people, it might not mean anything, but to Dean it was something he'd never had before. Which was where 99% of the appeal was coming from. Besides, there were still nights in motel rooms that they fell asleep on different beds. When it was super hot, or Dean was so goddamned tired he spread out across the entire bed and there was literally no room for Sam. They were both bigger than average, so beds were smaller than average, and when both of them split one? It was cramped. Beautifully warm and comforting and basically the only way Dean got sleep on a regular basis, but still cramped on some nights.

Dean had started in on decorating a little bit yesterday, just placing strategic nails in the walls, that he was now propping weapons on. He made sure each gun was straight, made sure the design had space and continuity. It was going to be awesome in here, it had to be. Since it was the room they would spend the most time sleeping in, there was a little piece of Dean that wanted to impress Sam. Sam thought Dean was unorganized and messy, which he was a lot of times, but that was in motel rooms. Dean had something to call his now, and it was going to be perfect. For Sam, and for him. They deserved this.

And maybe there was a little tiny part of Dean that was enjoying himself, organizing and designing in here. He definitely had never done interior design before, although he might have used it once as a case cover? To get in some old haunted house they were remodeling. It had been a bit risky, since Dean knew nothing about interior design, but he'd taken out the poltergist pretty easy, and actually picked up a few tips about interior design in the process. Not that he'd ever admit that. Sam had been at Stanford, though, so Dean didn't have to bother trying.

Once Dean got all the walls done, he put together the desk and wardrobe, organizing all of his albums in a wire rack. He left the Zeppelin album out, placing it gently on top of the furniture next to it. Almost done. Dean looked up and saw a gun had slipped off its nail, and he lifted it back up to position. He ran his hand over the cold metal and pat it softly, looking at the whole wall. This was his. Wait, one last touch. Dean pulled the wallet out of the jeans he'd put on earlier, reaching his fingers in one of the leather flaps and pulling out the photo he was looking for. It was tiny, much too small to be framed and hung, but that was okay. Dean was pretty sure he had a good place for it. As soon as Dean saw the picture, a wave of nostalgia crossed over him. She was so beautiful, blond and smiling and happy.

"Hey, Mom." Dean smiled at the two of them, frozen in their joy in the picture. Then he reached out and placed it carefully on the stand of the desk lamp, which sat right next to his 1950s typewriter. It was the last touch, the final decor, and it was perfect. The whole room was.

"Wow." Dean looked up and turned around, his eyes landing on Sam, standing in the doorway. Sam'd woken up, and found him. Even though Sam had no idea where Dean's bedroom had been, but apparently he was intent enough on finding Dean to look for it. Sam had thrown on quite a few layers too, jeans and a button up and a jacket. Sam met his eyes, smiling a bit before he turned his head to survey the room some more. "Not bad."

Dean raised his eyebrows, unable to keep a smile off of his face.

"Not bad? I haven't had my own room...ever. I'm making this awesome. I got my kickass vinyl, I've got this killer mattress, which you're gonna love." Dean walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, sinking just a bit into the softness. "Memory foam -- it remembers me."

Sam nodded and took out a piece of gum, popping it in his mouth. Dean stood up again, closing some of the distance between him and his brother leaning in the doorway. Dean looked around the room, still barely able to believe it was his. And Sam was actually impressed, too. Dean was so going to show Sam just how awesome memory foam was later. Very, very, awesome.

"And it's clean, too. There's no funky smell. There's no creepy motel stains." Sam tossed the gum wrapper towards the waste basket, and Dean's eyes automatically followed the movement. It totally missed, and Sam made a sort of defeated but uncaring shrug. Dean had literally just. cleaned. in. here. He was not going to make this room some trashbin like every other place they'd ever stayed, and Sam sure as hell wasn't going to either. Dean looked up at fixed Sam with an annoyed glare.

"Really?" Sam looked surprised, like it had never crossed his mind to keep some place clean. Especially this place. Good lord, didn't Sam have any sense of pride? Sam held his hands up exaggeratedly, like Dean was making a bitchfit over nothing. Making a mess in Dean's room three seconds after it was finished was not nothing.

"Sorry," Sam said a little sarcastically. Really uncool. He made a face and walked over to pick it up at least, which Dean followed with his eyes, some part in the back of his head noticing Sam's ass as he bent over, but the majority of Dean was just annoyed. As much as Sam was Dean's boyfriend now, and as much as their relationship had changed over the years, Sam really could still be that same snot-nosed little brother that just annoyed the hell out of Dean sometimes. Dean wasn't pissed, no, just a lot of sibling-annoyance. Which meant all he needed was ten minutes of space and everything would entirely tide-over. That's how siblings worked. It may not be a normal couple thing to do, but they weren't normal, and brother came before couple. Especially when Sam was being annoying and trashing Dean's new, clean, freshly decorated room.

So he walked past Sam with some of his annoyance clear on his face, that familiar look of older-brother that Dean hadn't had to wear in a while.

"I'm gonna go fix us some grub." Sam moved his shoulder congenially out of the way, and Dean left him to survey his awesome room some more. So long as Sam didn't make a mess, goodness.

Dean made his way to the kitchen, a small smile creeping up on his face just by entering the room. They had a kitchen now. Dean could finally finally make them a meal that wasn't microwaved at a mini-mart. Something real. He made his way towards the sparcely-filled pantry, which didn't have a lot of supplies, but still enough for Dean to make a meal for both of them. He didn't have an apron, and Sam would give him shit for all of eternity if he got one. That's okay, Dean was getting one anyways. They had a kitchen now, which meant Dean was going to cook now. Which meant he'd need an apron. And pans. Unless some of the tall cabinets in here already had kitchen supplies. If it matched the rest of the bunker, it totally would.

The cabinet on the right was pretty big, and Dean moved to open it up. Yep. Plenty of pots, pans, and any other kitchen item Dean could think of. He couldn't even begin to imagine what was in all the other drawers. The whole kitchen was a little industrial for Dean's taste, but he could fix that later. If he was going to cook things, it might as well be in a place that wasn't metal like every other part of Dean's life. He needed some more light in here too, the lights on the walls cast everything in a white light, and yellow was better for a kitchen. Better to cook in. For now, this would totally work though.

Dean set out to making breakfast, although it was late enough now it would be considered at least brunch. He set himself up a neat workspace, his ingredients organized and his cutting board squared off to the counter. Dean put the burgers on the grill part of the oven, getting to work on chopping up the vegetables for the inside. Slicing vegetables brought an involuntary smile to his face. He was good at this, probably from all the knife slicing he'd done since he was 7, but it was still cool to see each slice of onion come out even and fall prettily to the side, each click of the knife against the cutting board sounding like normalcy. Like something Dean and Sam could share now. Who knew that Dean's hunting skills would cross over into the kitchen? Apparently, he was kick-ass at cutting up vegetables, which was basically 70% of Sam's diet. Sam was going to love this.

By the time Dean made it out into the library, a clean white plate in each hand with a homeade burger centered on it, Sam was sitting at a table with three-wait, no five- open books in front of him. Sam didn't see him at first, and Dean made it nearly all the way to Sam's side with brunch before Sam looked up.

"Whatcha reading?" That was the fun thing about being boyfriends - Dean could show interest in whatever Sam was doing without getting some snarky comment about why do you care like Dean used to when Sam was a teen. Sam looked from the books to Dean again.

"Sort of, uh, everything." Dean sat down Sam's plate on the table, out of the way of the books but still close enough to Sam to indicate he should eat it now. Dean was really curious to see what Sam thought of his cooking.

"Oh, good." Dean paused against the edge of the table next to Sam's, his ass leaning against it for a moment while he spoke, raising his eyebrows and grinning. "Somebody's gonna have to dig through all this, and it ain't gonna be me."

Dean pulled out his chair and sat down, placing his plate in front of him too. He looked over at Sam, who was looking down at the burger with surprise, the top bun in his hand as he inspected the (perfectly sculpted and cut) insides. He sat it back down, looking over at Dean and pointing a finger at his (gourmet awesome) burger.

"You made these?" Dean couldn't fight to keep the grin off of his face.

"We have a real kitchen now." Dean wasn't sure which part of that sentence felt better. The "we," because it was finally them, just the two of them and all of this stuff all for themselves and they were finally a we. Entirely, completely, a "we." That felt pretty awesome. But then there was the "real kitchen" part, because damn. They had needed one of those since the beginning of time, and now it was theirs, fully stocked and super awesome.

"I know. I-I just didn't think you knew what a kitchen was." Sam leaned forward a bit, a teasing look on his face. If they were closer, Dean would kiss it off of him, but as it was they had food and if he kissed Sam now, they wouldn't eat for another half-hour at least. Sam was still wearing his teasing face, a smirk on his lips and all kinds of jokes and remarks in his eyes. It wasn't just about the kitchen, he was basically making fun of Dean for everything, the room, the kitchen. The cooking. How damn excited he was. And yeah, okay, Dean had never been the organized, cleaning, cooking housewife type, but it was the first time he got the opportunity to, so Sam could suck it up.

"I'm nesting." It was the least-girly way Dean could explain it, and besides Sam still hadn't tried his burger. So Dean drew the attention off of himself and pointed at Sam's plate. "Okay? Eat."

Dean turned back to his food and picked it up, noticing Sam's glance his direction, but attempting at not smiling yet. Sam opened up his mouth and finally took a bite out of his burger. Dean looked over, watching and smiling. Sam sat up in his chair and Dean's eyes went from his (beautiful) creation to Sam's expression. Dean was a little ridiculously excited, but he really wanted to know what Sam thought. This was something Dean had never gotten to do for Sam before, and now that he finally had the chance...

"Huh? Yeah." Sam made this face, this really surprised but extremely pleased face.

"Wow," Sam got out in between chews. He liked it. Dean couldn't help the little spark of pride that bubbled inside his chest. He was actually a good cook. Good enough to impress the ever-picky eater Sam Winchester. Sam literally complained at every other burger Dean ever got him, saying how greasy, or unfresh, or just plain gross it was. There was one time when Sam had nodded and said one wasn't half bad, and Dean had been super happy then. But, for the first time ever, Sam had just taken a bite of a burger and said "wow." And it was entirely homeade by Dean. Maybe it shouldn't have felt like a major accomplishment, but it totally entirely did.

"You're welcome." Dean smiled. He had made it as organic and healthy as possible, knowing that that would taste better, even if Dean complained about Sam's uppity foodie tastes. Dean hadn't even tried it yet, but he had a feeling it might be one of his favourite burgers too. Probably because it was made from their kitchen. Everything got a label like that now, and it was so exciting Dean wanted to just say it over and over again.

Theirs. His. Dean's. Sam's. Our. Together. Owned. Mine.

Dean picked up his burger, bringing it to his mouth and ready to sink his teeth in to the first ever homeade meal that didn't include something from a can, when of course. His cellphone went off. Dean sighed and sat his burger back down, brushing off his hands and pulling the cell out of his pocket. It rang again and Dean answered, putting it up to his ear.

"Yo."

"Dean? Come quick." Kevin's voice was weak sounding and his words were even worse.

"What?" Dean's question was met with silence. Crap, that click had been an end-call click. "Kevin? Kevin?!"

"Something wrong?" Sam looked over at Dean worriedly, still chewing another bite of his burger. Of course, something was wrong. Something was always wrong. Dean's joy had entirely drained, and his mouth was set in a straight line as he responded to Sam.

"Guess." Dean clicked his phone off and Sam made a disappointed face, like he was just as upset about getting their brunch interrupted as Dean. Dean stood up, plate in hand, and hurried off back towards the kitchen. His burger could wait. Dean sat the plate down on the counter and walked back out into the hallway towards his room, grabbing a duffel from his closet.

Dean threw supplies in quickly, his head lifting as he heard a noise. Sam passed by the doorway to his room, holding a-- wait, did Sam still have his burger? Dean allowed himself a tiny smile as Sam hurried by, chewing and carrying his burger with him. Apparently his cooking was good enough for on the go too. Honestly, Dean couldn't wait until they got back again, until Dean got to try his hand at some fancy italian dish, until he got enough time to go shopping for real ingredients, take Sam with him so Sam could get what he wanted.

They normally never went shopping together, because they both had been eating the same thing for all of eternity and had never had a reason to change that. Now though, Dean could make new recipes, meals that both of them could enjoy. It was kind of really exciting.

Well, that is, if they had enough time between hunts. And Kevin. What had that kid gotten himself into now?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Ellie first opened the door and gestured a hand inside Dean thought he only saw one bed. He was torn between vaguely insulted for being assumed gay and vaguely excited to have a big enough bed for them to share without cramping for once, until he realized there was a little gap in the middle and it was in fact two beds. He huffed out an annoyed breath.

"You bed down in here. Breakfast is at 5:00, dinner is at 8:00, and in between, you're mine. Questions?" Dean looked with disdain at the checkered comforters and strange woody smell. He hadn't even gotten to spend a night in his room yet.

"I miss my room," Dean pouted. Ellie gave him an incredulous look, and Sam quickly stepped in to save the day, a hand landing on Dean's lower back as either a warning or some vague form of support.

"We're good." Sam smiled that pretty smile of his and Ellie's dubious look faded a little bit. Dean was mostly just thinking of how breakfast at 5 meant that he wouldn't have much time to investigate and fuck Sam nine ways to Sunday, which was disappointing. And that he really would like to sleep in his room tonight. His room.

Ellie told them the job was theirs, and to report to the main barn in 20 minutes. As soon as she turned her back Dean wagged his eyebrows at Sam, who rolled his eyes in response. Then he stepped past Dean, tossing his duffel on the bed and inspecting the little room with the adjacent bathroom and shower. Dean sat his stuff down too, standing in the middle of the room and waiting for Sam to come back from his mini-investigation. Sam finally turned around and noticed Dean standing and waiting. He raised his eyebrows, stepping a few feet closer.

"What?" Sam looked genuinely confused at why Dean was just watching him. Dean raised his eyebrows again, smiling deviously.

"We've got -" Dean looked down at his wrist, calculating the time on his watch quickly. "-seventeen minutes."

Sam's jaw dropped slightly, a small disbelieving laugh escaping his mouth. He closed the rest of the distance between them, walking all the way up to Dean and placing a hand over the tattoo that was hidden by the three layers of shirts and jackets on Dean's chest. Dean looked up at Sam, who was smiling too now, but it was a sideways smile that was more smiling at Dean than with him.

"We are not having sex, getting ready, unpacking, and getting out to the barn in seventeen minutes, Dean." Sam had a very valid point but Dean had a very valid erection so guess who wasn't going to listen to Sam.

Dean didn't answer, he just connected his lips to the ones making the bitchface above him, pushing his hips roughly against Sam's and grabbing two handfuls of his ass. For all that he had been protesting earlier, Sam melted instantly. His mouth opened wetly against Dean's, his knees going weak as he pressed back against the heat of Dean's hips. Dean grinned in victory at Sam's desperate kissing back. Dean tugged at Sam's bottom lip and squeezed his ass a little tighter, taking tiny steps forward to steer Sam back to the beds. When they reached the edge, Dean pushed Sam back easily, forcing him down onto his back. Dean bent over to keep their mouths together, then climbed up onto the bed too. He crawled up over Sam's body and straddled his hips. Dean grinded his erection down on Sam's bulge, his hands cradling Sam's face now and forcibly tilting his head to match the angle Dean wanted as he mashed their mouths together insistently.

Sam suddenly turned his head away from Dean, detaching their lips so quickly that Dean was suddenly tonguing the side of Sam's cheek. Which was fine with him. He worked down Sam's cheek to his jaw, nuzzling down to his neck with soft nips covered seconds later with a swirl of tongue. Sam was panting, his fingers clutching at Dean like he would die if he let go.

"D-Dean, we--ugghh," Sam stuttered out. Dean rubbed down harder, making an almost painful friction between their clothed cocks. Dean could have Sam stripped down and have pushed inside him by now if it weren't for the fact that he didn't have lube in his pocket, and his bag was three feet away. If Dean jumped up and grabbed it, Sam would be off the bed and running for the bathroom before Dean could even close his hand around the tiny bottle. If Dean just got Sam a little harder, Sam might stay put long enough for Dean to slick them up.

Sam shuddered and bucked up against Dean, making a soft cry of arousal. Dean bit down harder, shifting his body off a little to the side, one hand sliding down Sam's chest and cupping at the bulge in his pants. Dean could feel the twitch in his hand, could feel the strain of Sam's cock against his jeans, practically begging to be touched. Sam's hand closed over Dean's, applying more pressure and friction. Dean swatted at Sam's hand, wanting to make him beg for it. His finger hit something metal as he smacked Sam's hand. His watch. Damnit.

Dean pulled his hand back up to his face, turning his watch towards him, lifting his head away from Sam's neck for a moment and letting Sam writher under the weight of his body. They had 11 minutes left. Goddamnit. Dean sighed and dropped his head onto Sam's clavicle in annoyance. Whhyyy.

"Dean, please," Sam gasped. Dean grumbled something along the lines of "fucking time schedules" and "fucking stupidly attractive little brothers" into Sam's skin. Then Sam rolled his hips up into Dean's and Dean was much more preoccupied again. He sunk his teeth down into Sam, sucking flesh in between them. Sam's body arched up at that, then his hands were running up Dean's back, all the way to his jaw. Sam lifted Dean's head and crashed their mouths together hungrily, biting down roughly on Dean's lip, breaking a blood vessel or two. Dean cursed into Sam's mouth and fucked his tongue down in between Sam's lips, stabbing at him rough and dirty and fast. Sam's fingers curled into the back of Dean's jacket, threatening to rip if it weren't for the extremely tough material.

The buttons on their plaid overshirts kept clinking lightly, a constant reminder of the six layers between them. Even though they were entirely clothed, Dean could feel the heat of Sam's skin, the softness of it, like it was right under his fingers. Dean turned his jabbing tongue into an exploring one, running over Sam's tongue and sweeping over to the roof of his mouth, touching the backs of each of Sam's teeth. Sam pushed up into Dean's mouth, asking for more with a tug of his fists on Dean's jacket. Dean pulled back his mouth and nipped at Sam's lip, quick little bites that gave Sam just a few seconds of bliss before Dean was gone. Sam made it through about seven little bites before he growled low like an animal, rough and needy. Then he was crashing his teeth against Dean's, pulling Dean's still slightly burning lip and just holding it between his teeth, forcing Dean to still himself. Dean instantly started protesting, his tongue trying to force its way into Sam's mouth while he flicked his hips back then slid them up, running the side of his erection up the entire length of Sam's cock before sliding himself back downwards, the pace slow enough to antagonize Sam but not slow enough to be sweet.

Sam let go of Dean's lip and threw his head back, panting again like all of the oxygen had been ripped out of the room. Dean lifted a hand to run through Sam's hair, and the light of his watch reflected sharply into his eyes. Right. Again. Dean made a groan and tipped his head back too, but for quite a different reason. Then he brought the little clock up high enough to see the time. Three minutes. Shit it was going to take them like five to walk over. Dean leaned down and pecked Sam's cheek, before lifting his leg off of Sam's side, removing all of the heat and friction that had been against his groin. A quiet noise of disappointment and annoyance fell from Dean's mouth, then he was pulling at the lapels of Sam's jacket, tugging him up gently off of the bed. After a few seconds of switching into a state of mind that he could understand what was going on, Sam sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed, running his hands through his hair and dropping his head.

"C'mon, man, we gotta go. Two minutes." Sam sucked in a breath and sighed with a rise and fall of his entire body. Then he lifted his head, meeting Dean's eyes with still-hungry ones.

"This is why we don't have real jobs. Fucking time schedules." Dean smirked in agreement and rubbed a hand on Sam's shoulder for a moment, then he lifted him up by his jacket again and started pushing him towards the door. Sam stumbled for a step or two, then he caught his balance and started walking like a normal person. Well, a normal person with a massive erection they were hurriedly trying to get rid of. Dean smiled a little at his accomplishment, at the way he could make Sam a mess like this.

When they reached the door, Sam spun around and grabbed Dean before he could protest or remind Sam of the time. Then Sam was circling his arms around Dean's waist and kissing his mouth, and Dean couldn't breathe. The kiss was all lips, just open mouths overlapping and moving together. The contrast was so strong to just a minute ago, when they'd been biting and practically fighting their way through their arousal. This felt like a boyfriend kiss, like a couple that had been going for steady for years and still had that spark, that fire.

It was over much too soon, and they were outside and separated before Dean could register the harsh glare of the sunlight. Then Sam was leading him, a hand on Dean's lower back as they started walking towards the barn. Dean slid his hand into Sam's back pocket, squeezing lightly before just resting his hand there, like no one else in the whole world would ever have permission to touch Sam there. Which no one ever did.

When they neared the barn they both reluctantly pulled their hands back to themselves, walking so that their shoulders still brushed with every step. As much as they were boyfriends now, on a farm like this being homosexual might have its disadvantages. Even before Dean realized he was in love with Sam, he never understood why there was a line between people based on who they took to bed. As far as Dean was concerned, what happened between the sheets was no one's business, especially the government's. But he wasn't a politician and he never would be, and even if he was his argument would be considered invalid and he would probably get thrown in jail for fucking his brother. So. The precaution to make it seem like they weren't dating was a safe bet anywhere, just in case people recognized them as brothers. Most of the time though, they didn't care enough to pay attention. For now, though, they seemed to convince at least Ellie of their straightness.

Well, at first, anyways. Later that evening, Dean had been making some hellhound-glasses when Ellie had walked into the barn. Dean stamped out the fire quick enough for her not to see, but he turned his head to her with the glasses still on unfortunately. She walked up closer, looking at him with a flirty smile.

"I like it..." Dean took the glasses off quickly and shoved them down into his pocket with an awkward smile."...the whole Clark Kent look."

"Ellie, hey." She stepped up closer to him, tilting her head to the side. Dean's smile had faded into something more polite and genuine.

"Hey. So..." Her hand was suddenly stroking down his chest lightly, her touch barely feasible through the layers of his shirts and jacket. Dean furrowed his eyebrows and flicked his eyes from her mouth back up to her gaze, a force of habit. He was aware his face looked probably a lot more overwhelmed and confused than it should be in this situation. "I think you're really hot. You want to go to my room and have sex?"

"What?" Dean just stared at her, basically not believing what he had just heard. But he wouldn't be fantasizing, because then she would be Sam. So apparently this must be real.

"I -- sorry. I don't usually do this. I guess I'm feeling my oats." She started leaning in closer and all of the panic bells went off in Dean's head. He leaned back, making sure to keep his eyes on hers so he could see what she was doing. Then it all sunk in and he realized what she was suggesting. Asking.

"I can't." The words came out strangely from Dean's mouth, ones he was pretty sure he had never said to a girl before ever. Ellie froze and looked up at him, still leaning forward like she was going to kiss him. See, if this was just about the case, about the hellhounds and the trial, Dean could have at least kissed her and apologized, telling her he'd be in her room in a few hours. A few seconds for a kiss wasn't going to make the difference in the case, and that'd honestly be a faster way of convincing her to leave him alone, sending her off with a promise for later.

But this wasn't about the case. This was about Sam. Dean was in a committed relationship now, Dean had a boyfriend. Who gave Dean everything he could ever want and more. Even if he and Sam had decided to have an open relationship and fuck other people, Dean was pretty sure no one could get him off like Sam could. And now Eliie was offering, which was nice, but Dean couldn't. He couldn't do that to Sam, he couldn't do that to himself. Dean was already taken. Very very taken. And he had a bruise on both hips to prove it.

"What?" Ellie blinked rapidly and looked at him for confirmation. Dean looked apologetically down, then opened his mouth to say something, but closed it knowing that the only words that would come out would be something about Sam. Dean wouldn't have a problem just saying oh, I'm busy, how about after I finish what I'm working on? But when this was about his boyfriend, Dean didn't know where to start.

"Okay. Uh, embarrassing." Ellie took a few steps back and Dean suddenly realized she thought this was about her, that she wasn't good enough for him or something. Well that certainly wasn't the case, a single Dean would've jumped all over this opportunity. Why didn't this ever happen to him when he was available and actually wanted chicks to offer sex to him?

"Oh, no, no, no. No, it's not that I don't want to. Believe me." Well Dean didn't exactly currently want to, but he totally would have like three years ago. Which was kind of the point, so that she knew she at least wasn't unwanted.

"No, it's okay -- you don't. I guess I'm gonna..." She moved to turn around and Dean felt a ping of guilt. He knew how much rejection sucked, and the poor girl had totally gone out on a limb and approached him and everything. She didn't deserve to feel like she wasn't good enough. No one deserved that. Maybe Dean was too nice, and maybe he was totally evil for giving her false hope, but he was kind of on a desperate last straw here.

"Ellie, um... Rain check?" Dean attempted at raising his eyebrows. Yeah, he didn't mean it, and yeah he was going to have to come up with an excuse for later, but at least now he had time to sort through the right thing to tell her besides "I'm banging the tall guy I brought here with me." Ellie just looked at him sadly, her eyes drooping like she felt like crying. Damn, Dean had totally blown this one.

"This is one night only. Sorry." Ellie turned on her heel and walked a few steps, then she stopped and spun back to Dean, who was still watching her and feeling super guilty. She got a small sad smile on her face as she spoke. "You know, you could have just told me about your boyfriend."

Dean startled at that, not sure how this had turned full circle back to him. And how did she...he and Sam had totally gotten to the point of not-noticable boners by the time they'd started working. Ellie just tilted her head at Dean's surprised expression, waiting for him to say something. Dean swallowed and managed to stammer out a few words.

"How did you-" Dean stopped, motioning a circle with his hands. He wasn't sure how to even ask this, but Ellie at least didn't look so miserable now that Dean had confirmed he and Sam were together.

"You two couldn't hide that if you were on separate continents. I-- I hope everything works out." She smiled sadly again, then she was walking away and Dean just listened to her retreating footsteps. Well, that could have gone a lot worse. It also could have gone much better, but whatever. At least Dean had gotten to prove to himself that he could do this. He'd avoided her lips entirely and managed to say I can't, managed to stay faithful when a beautiful woman literally threw herself at Dean.

Dean felt a spark of pride, which may seem a little ridiculous, but hey. It was a good thing to know, that he could be loyal to Sam no matter what. He'd never assumed he'd have trouble with that, Sam was his entire world and everything else ever paled in comparison to that. And that transferred to the bedroom too. It wasn't even just because Sam knew Dean so well, it was so much more than that. No one would ever love Dean the way Sam did, and that was something Dean was happy to return. Dean had never been good at this whole relationship thing, but apparently he was good enough for Sam. Which is all Dean would ever need.

~*~*~*~

"So," Dean heard Sam's footsteps and felt him coming up behind where Dean was spreading a line of Gupher Dust on the ground, so he straightened up, his torso landing less than a foot away from Sam's. "What's our play?"

"Well, you camp here, figure out who whored their soul. I'm gonna go scout the grounds --" Dean looked over at the family, seeing them secured in their shackles. Then he turned back to Sam, his eyes flicking up to the pretty hazel ones. "See if I can't gank Huckleberry Hound before he makes his next move."

Dean turned to the side and started walking towards the door. His footsteps got echoed by a little heavier steps, and Dean bit his cheek in annoyance. Sam was at his shoulder now, following Dean closely, close enough for Dean to feel his heat. If Sam wanted a goodbye kiss because of the approaching danger, fine. But Dean could feel the tension in Sam's body from this far away, so he had a feeling it wasn't that.

"Wait, you're not going alone, Dean. I'm gonna come with you." Sam said it like there was no other way, like it was the most axiomatic statement ever. Like he hadn't just heard what Dean had just said.

"Wrong." Dean kept walking until Sam reached out and grabbed his wrist gently, making Dean turn to face him. Sam was in his explainy mode and Dean honestly just needed to get the hell outside and gank a damn hellhound before it came in here and started shredding people. Or before they lost it and had to go find another damn one.

"Uh, they're on lockdown, and you need backup." Sam's hand landed on Dean's arm on the word you, but Dean shrugged it off easily.

"No, I don't." If things were different, if Dean had an option of someone else for backup, then fine. This wasn't even an argument on whether Dean could do it safely alone, because honestly Dean knew this would be much more likely to be successful if he had backup with him. But not Sam, Dean wasn't going to go for that.

"Yes, you do." Sam's voice was stubborn, but Dean cut in sharply.

"No, I need you to be safe, Sam, okay?" Sam tilted his head back like he was surprised, like that was a somehow flummoxing statement. Like that hadn't been Dean's purpose in life since the moment a newborn Sammy had been carefully placed in his outstretched toddler arms. And Dean didn't even care if the words were cheesy, like some line out of a romance movie. It was true, more true for Dean than anything else he knew. And he was accurate in the word choice too, it was something Dean actually needed to function, not something he just wanted. "That's what I need."

"What? When am I -- when are we ever safe?" Sam placed his hand over Dean's tattoo, over his heart. Dean knew Sam could feel it, feel how it was pumping faster than usual, with adrenaline and a little fear, fear for Sam and for not being able to return to Sam. Sam was looking at him so earnestly, so confused and needing answers. Dean turned his gaze away, looking down against Sam's prodding eyes and his firm touch.

"This is different." Dean took a breath, his chest rising underneath the touch of Sam's familiar palm. He wasn't sure how to even begin to explain this to Sam. To explain what this new trials crap meant for them, what Sam meant to him. He wasn't sure he even had the words.

"How?" Sam sounded almost offended. Dean flicked his eyes up to Sam cautiously. Sam caught him in an expectant stare, waiting for an answer. His fingers curled over Dean's heart, lightly digging into the material of his jacket. Dean couldn't let Sam just convince him into letting him come with his touch. Dean meant business right now, and he had to get that through to Sam, who was not listening. So yeah, if Dean raised his voice a little, fine.

"Because of the three trials crap-" Sam drew his head away, totally taken aback. Dean just kept explaining, since apparently Sam didn't see the seriousness of this situation. "God's little obstacle course. We've been down roads like this before, man -- with Yellow-Eyes, Lucifer, Dick friggin' Roman." Sam turned his head away from Dean in exasperation, his tongue sticking in his cheek the way it did when he was getting pissed and attempting to keep his calm. "We both know where this ends. One of us dies... Or worse."

"So, what -- you just up and decided it's gonna be you?" Sam's hand flew off of Dean and up in the air as he spoke. Sam was full on pissed now, turning back to Dean and holding him in an angry glare. Dean wasn't sure how over the past 8 years, actually - scratch that - the past 29 years, Sam still hasn't caught on to how this works. Sammy was more important, and Dean would die for him a thousand times over. If the choice is ever between the two of them, which right now it was, Sammy had to come out as the OK one. Dean's only purpose was to make sure that happened, he was nothing beyond that.

"I'm a grunt, Sam. " Dean smiled tightly. It was the truth, and honestly not something Dean had spoken out loud before. He'd thought it a hundred times, but the words falling out of his mouth made them so much more real. Admitting that, to Sam. "You're not. You've always been the brains of this operation."

Sam shook his head and started to protest. He could try to sugar coat what Dean was all he wanted, but it didn't change the fact that they both knew how wickedly true it was. Sammy went to Stanford, Dean had a GED. Sam researched and thought and had brilliant ideas and he was so full of life and so beautiful, and Dean was here to protect that. He was the soldier built to take the bullet for the most perfect creation on this earth.

"Dean --" Sam interrupted, sure to butt in about something about how Dean was smart too, but he wasn't. Dean knew that. Dean was a solider, and he was damn well going to do his job. Sam, Sam deserved more. Sam saw more, Sammy had hope and a chance at a future. Dean hated to have to shout that at him, but sometimes that's the only way he could get his point across to Sam.

"And you told me yourself that you see a way out. You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. " Dean shook his head at the pure irony of it all, of the words he knew had to come out of his mouth, that Sam finally had to know. If Dean was doing this, if Dean was going to take on the trials and risk his life for this, Sammy had to know before Dean died. Every time Dean or Sam got separated, there were so many things left unsaid. Dean couldn't let that happen this time, Sam had to know what was on his mind. Sam was staring at him now, taking controlled breaths like Dean's words were causing him physical pain, like it hurts.

"But I tell you what I do know -- it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me -- that's all I have waiting for me." Sam's breath hitched. The pain was practically visible on his face, in his chest, in the way his mind was racing thoughts all through his eyes for Dean to see. That's all I have waiting for me. So I'm not there, Dean doesn't see me in his future. Dean looks at what his life and his death are going to look like and he doesn't see me there beside him. Dean doesn't want me in his future? Dean doesn't want me? Dean knew what his words had sounded like, what this looked like to Sam. Like Dean was saying there was no future for them. Which, in reality, Dean had always feared anyways. Honestly everything with Sam was too perfect, too right to last. It was going to be ripped out from under Dean some time, it already had been a hundred times it felt like. So why wouldn't it again? They had a track record with losing each other in some bloody, painful way, and Dean was going to make sure it was him who took the worst end of the pain.

"I want you..." Dean paused, knowing that his heart wanted two things. Part of Dean just wanted to end there, to tell Sam what his heart longed for, what he wished he could say. I want you. I want you and me forever, to live together in the bunker or some house somewhere or something. Wherever we're happy. And for me to make you breakfast, for you to be a man of letters and the two of us falling asleep together until we're gray and bitter as Bobby, the only thing left in us the love for each other. I want to be there every step and every moment of the wrinkles on your face. I want to lie beside you while we both drift off together, into the end. But Dean couldn't say that, because he knew. He knew it was impossible, impossible for them. As badly as Dean wanted that, it was like wanting the Mitus touch, entirely irrational and glorified to a point that even Dean could recognize it was never going to happen. So a long time ago Dean had settled, had settled for wanting something else. And that, Dean could tell Sam.

"...to get out. I want you to have a life -- become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and -- and -- and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra -- that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get." Sam wasn't looking at him, couldn't look at him. Just breathing, just looking down. Dean knew it wasn't what Sam wanted to hear, but it honestly was the only perfect ending Dean could have. He'd considered every possibility, every option, and that was it, that was the ultimate for him. Dean's perfect ending was wherever Sam was happy. Dean may not say I love you with the three words the rest of the world uses, but what he'd just said to Sam meant that, and so much more. If love was what Dean thought it was, then that was the end all to beat all.

"So I'm gonna do these trials. I'm gonna do them alone -- end of story. You're staying here. I'm going out there. If landshark comes knocking, you call me. If you try to follow me, I'm gonna put a bullet in your damn leg." Sam stayed silent and breathing, like he was numb. Dean couldn't stay a second longer, couldn't wait another moment or he might spill out the other half of the insides he had left. So he brushed past Sam, headed for the door so fast he almost tripped on his way out.

As he walked away, it felt like goodbye. It felt like an ending. And Dean hadn't even gotten his goodbye kiss.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean wasn't the type to complain about pain. But when your entire side gets shredded to ribbons by the touch of all-too-familiar claws, it was a bit difficult not to make a few noises of discomfort as you got stitched up. If Sam had been the one doing the stitches, it might have been a bit less painful, but Ellie had offered and Dean still felt bad from earlier so he let her do it. Sam had half-carried Dean back to Ellie's room, which thankfully wasn't far at all. The warmth of Sam's body pressed up in a line against Dean's right side, Sam's arm slung around Dean and tucked just above the slash, propping him up and taking some of the pain away with his touch. Once Sam let go of him for Ellie to stitch him up, the pain got a little worse, which Dean gritted his teeth against. As his shirt fell back over the new bandage and brushed the wound, a soft sound escaped his mouth.

"Mnh." Ellie looked at him concernedly, thankfully keeping her distance a bit.

"You need to go to a hospital." Dean looked up from his newest dog chew toy marks, seeing the worry on her face. Dean couldn't see Sam from the direction he was turned, but he could feel where he was propped up against the wall, could practically see his matching grimace at the word "hospital."

"Oh, I've had worse." Ellie looked over at Sam, like she was getting confirmation for Dean's words. Which Dean supposed made sense, she had found out he was Dean's boyfriend after all. Sam's voice had a twinge of pride in it while he spoke, like he was smug to know that she had turned to him, and that Sam easily knew the answer. There wasn't a lot that Sam didn't know about Dean. Besides the six years they'd been apart, including Stanford Lisa and Purgatory. And Sam had just learned something new a few hours ago, too. Of course Dean still had about 20 confessions of that same importance in his head, hidden from his brother, but that was only fair. Dean just wasn't really an open person.

"Yeah, he's had worse." Seemingly satisfied with Sam's answer and the serious looks on both of their faces, Ellie turned back to Dean.

"So, what now?" Dean stood up, sucking in air against the ripping sound coming from his side. He's had worse. His voice was steady though, thank goodness.

"Now we make a hex bag, and you start running. If Crowley can't find you, then he won't be able to stick another mutt on you."

"So I'm not going to hell?" Ellie's eyes lit up with a spark of hope, hope Dean wished he still had. Hope that had deserted him in a muddy field, holding his little brother dying in his arms, and had never come back since then. There were times when he had a vague form of it, like when he and Sam first got together. When Sam got his soul back. When Sam had said yes when Dean asked him out. When he saw Sam again, after spending a year in Purgatory. When Sam asked him out. When they found the bunker. Earlier, when Dean had found a kitchen and made a meal that Sam actually enjoyed. A vague, diminished version of hope that flashed in front of his eyes, only to fade with the next fight, the next monster. Because no matter what, deep inside Dean always knew his place. Dying for Sam, that was his place. And now Sam knew that too.

"Not on my watch." Dean may not have hope for himself, but he could give it to other people. That was his job, right? That and Sam. Who Dean hasn't had a chance to talk to since his confession earlier. Dean looked at Ellie and shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of how she was standing in the way of him and his brother. "Will you give us a minute?"

"Sure," Ellie said, looking from Sam to Dean and blushing shyly. She had a knowing look on her face, but she was quick to walk past Dean. Dean tapped her shoulder gently as she passed, letting her know how appreciative he was for her stitches and understanding. And for taking his rejection without hating him.

"Thanks." Then Ellie was gone and the door closed behind her. Before Sam confronted Dean about his confession though, they needed to get this trial over with and out of the way. Dean turned towards Sam and snapped his fingers at him, beckoning towards the bloody shirt Sam had crumpled in his hand. Sam totally ignored him.

"Dean, even if she can dodge Crowley, as soon as Ellie dies, her soul is earmarked for hell." Dean took a few steps towards Sam and his logic, searing pain sparking through his torso. As much as it made him feel weak, not collapsing would be nice. Dean put his hand over the bandage, holding the gash on his side and applying a bit of pressure. Like that might somehow help the shreds of flesh from hurting.

"Not if we shut it down first." Dean leaned forward and snatched the bloody button-down shirt out of Sam's hand. Sam gave Dean a look that Dean was going to pretend he didn't see. He walked back over to the table, setting down the dog-soaked shirt. Sam's voice came back, condescending and quiet.

"The spell's not gonna work for you, Dean." Dean sighed heavily and threw his head back, shooting a glare over his shoulder at Sam. Sam was not going to go there. Dean wasn't going to let him. Clearly, he hadn't heard a thing Dean had spilled earlier. Fine. If Sam was going to ignore him, Dean could play that game. He turned back to the shirt and dug his fingers in his pocket, pulling out the paper with the spell.

"Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr." Dean looked around, not sure what to expect. Well whatever it was nothing was happening. Which wasn't all that surprising but fine. "Doesn't matter. We'll track down another Hellhound, and I'll kill it."

"No." Sam's voice was patiently annoyed, as firm as the shake of his head. Dean paused, stilling and just looking at Sam. If his voice was a little louder now, it was only in anticipation of what Sam was probably going to say next.

"Sam, I didn't pass the test." Sam seemed entirely unfazed by Dean raising his voice, he just looked calmly at Dean, his eyes warm and passive.

"But I did..." Sam got up off of where he was propped and leaning back, walking towards Dean. The pace of Dean's heart picked up with each step Sam got closer, and it was pounding in his ears by the time Sam stopped a few inches away from his chest. Dean's body ached to reach out and touch, but he held his ground, waiting for Sam to speak, with an edge of vehemence in his stance. Sam better not say..."And I'm doing the rest of them."

"My ass you are!" That was actually not intended sexually for once because Dean was quite serious right now. Sam was being unbelievably stupid and Dean wasn't going to listen to all of his talk about taking on the trials. Just, no. It went against everything in Dean's world.

"I'm closing the gates. It's a suicide mission for you."

"Sam..." Dean turned his head in exasperation. Sam didn't get it, how did he still not get it? That was kind of the entire point, Dean was supposed to close the gates and save Sam, whatever the cost. How was this so difficult to comprehend? Sam just kept talking though, his body so close to Dean's that Dean was forced to listen.

"I want to slam hell shut, too, okay? But I want to survive it. I want to live, and so should you. You have friends up here, family. I mean, hell, you even got your own room now. You were right, okay? I see light at the end of this tunnel. And I'm sorry you don't -- I am. But it's there. And if you come with me, I can take you to it." Dean almost snorted at that. "If you come with me, I can take you to it." What was this, some Elvis song? Take my hand, take my whole life too. What part of Dean deserved that? What part of Dean deserved Sam's guidance? Dean was a murderer, a torturer, a man who had fallen in love with his own brother and then let him die, twice, and then left him and died himself. Twice. Dean didn't deserve this, and Sam wasn't stupid, Sam should know that.

"Sam, be smart." Dean blinked and gave Sam that look, the one that was telling him to use that brain of his.

"I am smart, and so are you. You're not a grunt, Dean. You're a genius..." Dean swallowed and looked away, nodding to himself. It was just what Dean had been expecting, for Sam to try to convince him with all of this sugar talk he didn't mean. As if that would somehow be better than the truth. "...when it comes to lore, to -- you're the best damn hunter I have ever seen -- better than me, better than dad. I believe in you, Dean. So, please -- please believe in me, too."

Dean just looked at Sam, at all that sunflower sincerity in his eyes. He took a breath, focusing on the expansion of his lungs and ignoring the pain in his side. Dean's eyes flicked down Sam's body and back up, taking in the entirely honest way he was standing. He was begging Dean practically, feeding him all of these words, pretty things to make Dean look that temporary hope directly in the face. Sam just held his gaze, daring Dean to counter his argument. Dean was sure Sam would have a hundred backup examples, more things that would twinge inside of Dean and make him want to believe in something he'd never believed in before. Something that apparently Sam believed in. And wanted to believe in him.

Dean didn't have a lot of options here. It was more ridicule from Sam, for all of eternity, or to stand by his brother and hold him through the fight of these trials. And when push came to shove, Dean could still step in and force Sam to stop, take up the trials himself. There were more hellhounds out there than the Clifford they just killed. Sam just killed. Dean looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, the Enochian symbols that were so simple and somehow so important. He didn't have to be happy about it, but Sam was asking for something and Dean couldn't deny him. How could Dean say no to one of Sammy's pleas? His hand reached over and slapped the paper into Sam's. Sam's fingers curled around it almost disbelievingly, then he was looking up at Dean and Dean was forcing himself into deep breaths. Sam saw the look on his face, how damn unhappy Dean was with this. But Sammy had asked for Dean to believe in him. In reality, Dean just can't believe he is letting Sam do this. If it weren't for the stupid speech. Sam looked down at the paper and sighed, like he was gathering courage too.

"Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr." A whooshing sound swept across Dean's ears, like all of the air suddenly got sucked out of the room. Sam's eyes widened in a mix between surprise and pain, then he was twisting around and falling before Dean could even reach out and attempt at catching him. Dean took a step forward, his hand flying to the flayed skin on his side again automatically. Sam landed on his knees, grunting in pain.

"Sammy?" Sam made another noise of pain and Dean suddenly only had one purpose, trying to fight through his own biting torture to reach out, to cover Sam and make him okay. But he couldn't reach, couldn't force his body forward. Dean can't get to him, but he needed to know right now if Sam's okay.

"Sam!" Silence from his brother for too long, just this terrifying crackling sound and Dean can't take this, can't listen to whatever's happening, he can't see Sam's face and there may be a part of him that was a little terrified. He attempted another step forward and nearly doubled over with the sting, the burn. Dean could feel the fresh rips, the just bandaged skin surely bleeding again. Why did the cut have to be so goddamned deep? He managed to catch his breath, speaking out to Sam again.

"You okay?" Sam's noise of hurt snapped into gasping. Sammy was breathing again, breathing like he'd just ran a marathon, but breathing. It was another moment too long, and then Sam was standing up again. Sam's breathing calmed backed out and Dean's racing heart slowly returned to a pace that won't kill him at least.

"I'm good. I'm okay. I can do this." The words sounded like Sam was convincing himself just as much as he was convincing Dean. Sam exhaled sharply, looking at Dean like Sam was the strong one again. Dean couldn't keep the concern off of his face, but Sam met him with a sure, steady gaze, promises of serenity and a happy ending in his eyes. There was a moment or two of silence in between them before Dean looked down and nodded tightly, half to himself and half to Sam.

Dean straightened up a bit, his fingers feeling warm with the new blood soaking through his bandage. Dean let out a pained sound, as quietly as he could, but Sam still heard it. Suddenly the spell of the trials lifted from them and Sam snapped into nurse mode, hurrying to Dean's side and placing a hand on his neck, another gently landing over the one Dean had pressing to his damaged skin.

"Here, let me help you with that." Dean grimaced at Sam's touch, but not as much as he would have if it was anyone else in the world. Dean couldn't let Sam nurse him when Sam had just fucking collapsed on the floor.

"Sam-" Dean tried to cut in, to reason with his little brother.

"Dean, I'm fine, okay? Really. I promise." Sam leaned forward and pecked Dean's forehead, which made Dean's eyes close involuntarily. When he blinked them back open, Sam had turned his attention back to the gash on Dean's side. His fingers were ghosting over Dean's hand, touching the edges of the bandage lightly like he could fix it with his hand. "Does it hurt?"

"Uh, unf. Yeah." Dean lifted his hand off of the bandage and grabbed onto Sam's hand, a little desperately, but needing something to keep his balance. Sam used his free hand to sweep down the side of Dean's face, gently and so caring it was almost hurt.

"Okay. I'm driving, alright?" Dean didn't bother arguing, there wasn't any point. Not when Sam was so dead set and Dean couldn't take a step without wincing and clutching his side. Sam lifted Dean's arm and threw it around his shoulders, walking them towards the door. They stopped in their room on the way out, Sam quickly packing all of their things while Dean shut his eyes and lay on the bed. Before long, they were on their way to the car and Dean was cursing hellhounds each step of the way.

Sam helped Dean around to the passenger side of the car, and Dean reached for the handle of the shotgun door. Sam just kept walking though, opening up the back door and gesturing for Dean to duck inside. Dean shot Sam a glare, rolling his eyes at the suggestion.

"Sam, I can sit in the front seat, I'm not going to die if I don't lie down." Sam's hand landed on the top of Dean's head and pushed it down, firmly shoving Dean into the backseat. Dean's jaw ticked with annoyance, but then Sam was climbing in after him, pulling a needle and thread out of his pocket. Dean saw the needle and thread and sighed, pulling at the hem of his tshirt. A quiet moan fell out of his mouth as he tugged it up past the soggy bandage, and Sam looked up in concern from where he was threading the needle. Sam asked him a question with his eyes and Dean nodded, confirming he was okay (well not really but he'd survive). He lifted his shirt the rest of the way off, tugging it over his head and balling it before tossing it in the front seat.

When Dean turned his head back to face Sam, Sam's lips were on his before he could even get out what he was going to say. Dean totally lost whatever train of thought he had as Sam kissed him, fiercely sweet, his mouth pressing and still soft, moving slow but heatedly intense. It shouldn't have been possible, but it somehow was and it was making Dean's head spin. Or maybe that was dizziness from loss of blood. Or lack of food, he hadn't eaten since...yesterday, damn. Either way, whatever it was - probably a combination of all three - Dean's head was swirling and it was getting hard to focus.

Even with his eyes shut, he still felt like the world was tilting around him. Dean was just about to try to push Sam off when his brother finally pulled back his mouth, his hand resting on Dean's jaw. Dean was a little afraid to open up his eyes, afraid of the car spinning around him and losing it, hurling in the back seat or something. So he just squeezed his eyes tighter, motioning with his hand for Sam to get a move on. Sam's thumb brushed lightly over Dean's right closed eyelid, then there was a hand pushing back on Dean's chest. Dean laid back, unfortunately engaging his ab muscles on the way and sending a few new drops of blood onto the white and red bandage.

Sam thankfully didn't question his closed eyes, probably just assumed Dean was tired or remembering the kiss. Dean's stomach was clenching uncomfortably, which could totally end up being a total disaster. If it hadn't been hellhounds, maybe it wouldn't have been so bad. The cuts were bringing back memories, memories of being a chew toy one time too many. There weren't a lot of creatures that could scare Dean just by mentioning them, let alone hearing one, but hellhounds definitely took the cake. Maybe that was attributing to the pounding in Dean's head, the wicked dizziness that was making him clutch at Sam's jacket with one hand.

Sam's fingers worked nimbly and swiftly, tugging at the corner of the tape on his side. The second the bandage left his skin, Dean sucked in a breath at the cold air hitting the exposed muscle and skin. There were a few moments of silence where Dean could feel the burn of Sam's eyes on him, could feel the worried air in the car as Sam looked at the deep claw marks. After the silence stretched on, Dean considered risking opening his eyes, then there was something sharp and cold on his skin. Dean grit his teeth and tightened the fist in the stomach of Sam's jacket, trying not to scream out in pain. The needle slid through his skin, piercing what was already super sensitive. Dean shuddered and started to shake, which was bad for both of them, because Sam wouldn't be able to get a steady surface to sew through. Which meant a lot more pain for Dean.

A solid hand landed on his hip and Sam held him down to the seat, trying to steady him through the pain. Dean focused in on the warmth of Sam's hand, on sending some of the pain into where their bodies were touching, skin on skin. Energy transfer was something that most people did automatically without knowing it - it was why people craved touch when they were hurting. Even if they didn't want to admit it, a caring hand on a shoulder or a tight hug helped. It was because the pain energy could be relieved a little bit into the other person, minuscule enough they didn't notice but enough for the person in pain to feel a little better.

There was actually something about it in some of the lore books Bobby had, and if both people were aware of it, the pain could actually physically fade enough for both people to notice. Once, when Dean had gotten all of the skin ripped off of his knee by being shoved onto gravel and sliding during a hunt, he'd been laying on the motel couch and torn between screaming and biting his lip. Sometimes he was okay, and other times the very air around the exposed muscle felt like it was burning. It had been late at night, and Dean had been going through the worst of it. His head was thrashing and his fists clenching the couch material, everything burning and pulsing and hurting so damn bad. Sam had come over and sat on the ground beside the couch, wrapping his thin fingers in Dean's, holding his brother's hand and closing his eyes, focusing on Dean's pain. Dean's cries had faded into whimpers as Sam held his hand tightly, took away some of the pain. Dean remembered turning his head and seeing Sam's face, the dead concentration and furrowed brows as he tried taking the hurt away. Then Dean was waking up the next morning, Sam's touch taking away so much pain it lulled Dean into sleep.

Now, it was having seemingly the same affect, the sharp thud of pain slowly lessening as Sam's hand kept his hand wrapped tightly around Dean's bare hipbone. The dizziness was subsiding too, and some of the creases on Dean's forehead evened out, his tightly shut eyes relaxing a bit into sleepiness. It wasn't long before Dean heard the tell-tale sound of medical tape getting torn from the roll, and Sam was pressing a new bandage over the stitched slashes. Dean sucked in a breath but other than that, he ended up being okay as Sam pressed the corners of the tape to his skin.

Then Sam pressed a quick kiss to Dean's lax lips, rubbing his thumb reassuredly over Dean's hip before there was the sound of a door opening. And closing. Then the trunk opening, a duffel zipper. Dean breathed through his nose, feeling the leather seat against his bare back, listening for Sam. Then came the sound of the trunk closing. And the back door opening again. Sam's heartbeat, from where he was probably ducking his head down to look at Dean, who still had his eyes closed.

"You want me to help you up or did you want to just sleep while I drive?" It may have been childish, but it would get through to Sam, so Dean reached up a hand, extending all of his fingers towards the direction Sam should be in, beckoning him to come back inside. Then there was the creak of leather and the shutting of the door behind Sam. And then a gentle hand on the center of Dean's chest, a quiet question of what was wrong.

"Sam..." Dean blinked open his eyes finally, taking a moment to adjust before he could see Sam leaning over him worriedly, a little bit of pressure on the hand on Dean's chest.

"What is it, baby?" Dean smiled softly at the pet name, a rarity between them nowadays. He pulled Sam's head down next to his, his lips brushing against Sam's ear as he spoke, just a whisper against Sam's skin.

"Make love to me," he whispered. The words fell out of his mouth and directly onto Sam's skin, low and breathy. Sam drew his head back, looking at Dean's eyes with surprise and concern. Dean never said anything like that, but right now he was entirely sure and honest. Sam just looked worried, not at all swooned like Dean was wanting. The back of his fingers stroked down Dean's face, swooping up under his chin and tilting his head up a little. Sam's hair was falling around the sides of his face as he looked down at Dean, and Dean shifted his grip from the back of Sam's head to the side, sweeping some of his hair back and pinning it with his palm.

"Dean, are you sure? You're still injured an-"

"Sammy, I need this. Please?" All of the words were unfamiliar on Dean's tongue, words like make love, need. Please. His word choice was probably scaring Sam just as much as the gashes on his side. But Sam couldn't deny him, not when Dean was weak and needy and asking. Sam leaned back on his heels, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it up front, landing to cover Dean's. Then Sam's hands were unbuttoning Dean's jeans, sliding down the zipper carefully before lifting up Dean's hips with one hand and tugging his pants down with the other. Dean shivered a bit as his thighs got exposed to cold air, but Sam would be covering him soon so Dean would be okay.

Sam had a bit more trouble undressing himself too, but he managed eventually. Dean ran his hands over Sam's chest as Sam lifted up Dean's leg, bending it at the knee. There was always a bottle of lube within reach of the backseat, and Sam worked Dean open slowly, placing kisses to the inside of Dean's knee, to the purple scar that was still there from so long ago, from the first time Sam had soothed Dean into sleep with the grip of his hand.

Tingles went down Dean's spine, taking some of the dizziness away with them. By the time Sam pushed inside him, so slowly it ached, Dean couldn't feel any pain anymore, just Sam. Sam rocked them together, careful and wary of Dean's bandage, but his fingertips touching Dean everywhere else. Dean's back rubbed into the leather, his body damp with sweat at Sam pushed deep inside of him. Dean's eyes drifted closed again, his hands keeping a light grip on Sam's arms. The sensations were powerful, the hard muscle of Sam inside his body, the walls of muscles stroked repeatedly, just as sacred and sweet as it was arousing.

Dean stayed quiet, letting only soft breaths escape his mouth. Sam occasionally let out a quiet groan, his hands tighter on Dean than Dean's soft grip. Dean let Sam take him, sweep him off into a world only they knew. The air between them was gone, the gravel under the tires just space, a cloud of something warm that Dean could lay on forever. Sam carried him away, past a place where there were eternal sunsets, into a skyline that Dean had seen a thousand times but never felt so vividly aware of. There was light on the horizon, Come with me, I can take you to it.

It was like what spring in Paris should feel like, looking up at the light sifting through the leaves. It was late nights and open roads, Sammy's head asleep in his lap. It was like summer nights under a big Texas sky, how once the sun would set the heat would just linger, not enough to burn like it did during the day, but just suspended in the air under a dark and open starlit blanket. It was cool Michigan rivers in the summer, splashing and throwing rocks. It was like the afternoons in Florida, where the beachy warmth of the day got cooled by light, misting showers of rain. It was flashing lights in Vegas, the air of success in every neon sign. It was like the hard wind coming off the pier at the top of a lighthouse in the outer banks. It was Sammy's laugh, the sweet dimples as he looked over at Dean. It was everything beautiful Dean knew.

When his body shook and he spilled onto their chests, Dean could see entire constellations bethind his eyes, could see the same night sky that he and Sam had camped out under on his 29th birthday, just a few months before Dean left for Hell. It had been the only thing he'd asked for that year, and it had been perfect. Sam had set up a blanket on dry grass in a field, a cooler and their little jukebox set up on the side. That night had been something Dean kept inside him for the forty years he'd been in hell, and for the six years since he'd been back. It was those stars, those twinkling bits of hope, Sam pressed up against his side, a kiss pressed to his temple, that Dean held on to know as he tipped over the edge, as he closed in tighter on Sam and shook through the waves of his orgasm.

Sam was warm and heavy inside him, pumping him full of the same bliss leaving Dean's body moments ago. Dean opened his eyes as he stilled under Sam, who was just riding out the last of his own high. Sam was looking down at him with all of this love, with everything in the world Dean used to run from. Dean ran his hands over the curves of Sam's sweat-shean shoulders, his touch grazing down to Sam's biceps, then his elbows, forearms, all the way past his wrists and hands to his fingertips. Dean lifted Sam's right hand and held it up, pressing their palms together and watch as their fingers lined up. Sam's fingers were taller, poking out above Dean's, which were thicker than Sam's slender ones. Their palms were roughly the same size, pressing and lining up along all of the edges, a tiny space in between the dips of their hands, enclosed entirely like a little bubble of air between them. Dean kept his eyes on their hands as he slid his a little to the left, curling his fingers down to entwine with Sam's.

"I love you," Sam said quietly. Dean's eyes snapped to Sam's, a little moisture gathering in the corners of the hazel trying to blink it away above him. Dean just held Sam's watering eyes in his own, saying so much more with that than he could ever say out loud. But his mouth opened anyways, the words coming out a little hoarse and spent.

"Me too." Sam's mouth curved up, a single tear falling from the edge of his eye onto Dean's cheek. Dean returned the same broken smile, the hand that wasn't holding onto Sam's reaching up and brushing at the corner of the water. Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head into Dean's hand, and suddenly Sam was the injured one, the hurting one that Dean needed to hold.

Dean shifted his body over, making the bandaged side hang off the edge of the seat, leaving enough room that Sam could squeeze on his side next to Dean. Half of Sam's body covered half of Dean's this way, the only real solution to the gash on Dean's side. Dean brought their hands to his chest, holding Sam's tightly as he centered them just next to Sam's shoulder.

Dean turned his head over, looking at Sam and the tear track on his cheek. Something was very wrong, so wrong. Sam Winchester cries his way through sex was not a real thing. At least, it hadn't been before. Now, even laying there with his eyes shut, there were tears gathering on Sam's lashes. And it wasn't like this was one of those "you're dying tomorrow so I'm crying 24/7, whether your dick is up my ass or not" moments. This was just them having slow sex in the back of the car and Sam suddenly losing it and tears coming out of his eyes. Sam wasn't a crier, he never had been. Even as a kid, Sam never cried unless it was bad. And as a teen, Sam hadn't cried basically ever. At least not in front of Dean.

And now here he was, crying post-orgasm when he should be fucking blissful and elated. Not...this. Dean rubbed his hand across Sam's back, ignoring the sharp pull in his side again. At least he hadn't pulled any stitches. Yet. Sam was trembling just a little and that was way scarier than if he was bawling into Dean's chest. It meant that Sam was stock full of tears and stubbornly trying to hide it from Dean. And they did not have a good track record when it came to hiding things from each other. It always blew up into huge proportions that could have been easily prevented if they just didn't lie.

Dean would ask Sam now, but he was already nodding off underneath Dean's protective arm. Dean could feel a dampness on his shoulder where Sam's eye was pressed, the tears leaking against Dean's sweat-damp skin. Dean pressed a kiss to the side of Sam's face, below his temple, the only place he could really reach. Sam mumbled something that Dean couldn't make out, although maybe it was just sleepy Sam nonsense.

Tomorrow, as soon as they got back to the bunker, he promised himself. He'd ask Sam then. If he asked in the car, Sam could just avoid it somehow. But when Dean could get his hands on him, hold Sam in his palms until he got a real answer, Dean could get the truth. Although it turns out they wouldn't be headed back to the bunker after all, morning bringing a text that sent them off on the path of an old friend. Fine, Dean could interrogate Sam about his tears there.

It wasn't long before Dean was nodding off too, both of them drifting off into the same dream. Something that involved hellhounds and stars, their lives always checked by darkness, even in the beads of light that fell from the sky.

But at least they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> thequeenofhell (thequeenofhellmademedoit):
> 
> "This chapter was sooooo good! It hurt and it comforted and the imagery and the flow of your words was just magical. Sorry it took so long to read! I've been a bit preoccupied with recovering from my car accident. But well done, I found your description of Dean's pain in his side to be quite accurate-- I'm experiencing the same thing myself at the moment. I can't wait to read more!"
> 
> FlyByNightGirl:  
> "Absolutely no worries about timing! I'm actually overcoming a recent (very minor) injury myself. I kind of broke 2 fingers sledding (for the first time) which of course makes it quite difficult to type. I'll try to update as soon as possible though, just in case a distraction will help you with your recovery! I got a lot of Dean's pain description from an accident I had freshmen year that involved not walking for a week, and it's quite interesting you are experiencing similar pains! I hope they get better soon xx"
> 
> ~*~*~*~
> 
> romantically_apocalyptic :
> 
> "This broke me...especially with Dean calling himself a grunt. We all know he's not...yet here he is not believing a word Sam says. It always hurts when he thinks that he is just the soldier to protect Sam...which is why I think it was a huge thing that Sam did the trials instead. Dean had to let him do this...Sam needed Dean to let him do it.
> 
> Now since we know what is coming up leading to the end of S8 and into s9 when everything happens and Sam finds out what Dean did...it just makes me wary because I really...really want to see what you do with the episodes but I am also like not wanting to cry. Ya feel me? Haha. You are amazing at making me emotional over the boys. :)"


	4. Elongated (Man's Best Friend with Benefits 08x15)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot of porn dunno why but yeah. Here is an awesome video you should watch :
> 
> http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=cQVhGISjKro
> 
> And warnings: a bit of blood!play, pain!kink, and bondage

"I'm gonna go for a beer run. You need anything?" Sam looked up from his duffel at Dean for a moment, a faint smile from their earlier conversation still on Sam's face. They'd fallen asleep in the car last night, and had been woken up by buzzing from Dean's phone. Dean had sleepily read Sam the text, then tilted his head back and groaned. Then they wrapped up everything and were on the road again, miles of annoying traffic and light-hearted arguments ahead of them. It had been a day with just one stop for food, which they ended up eating in the car anyways, Sam feeding Dean fries while Dean drove (Because apparently his hellhound ripped up side was feeling lots better) and ranted about a thousand different things under the sun, especially how if they just went back to the bunker he could've made them burgers that didn't taste like grease. Sam had heartily agreed with Dean, just like Sam so heartily agreed with those burgers. Dean was literally a wonderful cook. Which was quite surprising. In the past, it had always been "beer runs" and diners for them, but Sam was secretly looking forward to the next meal that Dean made for them.

"No, I'm good." Sam replied easily. Dean turned back towards Sam as Sam turned towards his duffel and Sam just opened up the inner zipper pocket, looking for his lavatories bag. Dean's voice came again and Sam turned his head, a little surprised.

"You sure?" Dean had a contemplative look on his face as his hand hung suspended in front of him, his fingers pointing towards Sam. Sam wasn't sure what Dean was checking for, Sam never changed his mind in a two second interval. Maybe he was stalling in hopes of a goodbye kiss.

"Yeah," Sam froze and looked over Dean's face, which had suddenly changed expressions from a usual one to a darkly serious gaze. So he wasn't just plugging for some action, something was going on in Dean's head. And based on the fact that Sam had seen that look periodically today, it had been on Dean's mind for a while. Sam just stood where he was, eyes locked with Dean and waiting for Dean to speak. Sam wasn't going to prompt if he didn't have to. Dean finally did speak, after a few elongated seconds of silence, his words just as serious as his eyes.

"'Cause you did just gank a Hellhound, which is no slice of pie, and, uh, there is a mine field of who knows what crap ahead. Just want to make sure that you are okay." Funny how Sam was nearly thirty and Dean still thought of him as three whenever it came to anything even remotely dangerous. It had been happening his entire life though, so Sam was used to it.

"I'm good." Dean looked entirely unconvinced. Actually, entirely ignored Sam's words.

"'Cause, you know, we could find another devil dog. You could tag out. I could snuff the son of a bitch." Dean was trying to make this light-hearted with his gestures, but honestly Sam was kind of done with Dean saying the same thing over and over. Okay, so Dean wanted to make sure he took these trials for himself. That was fine and sweet and all, but really? The mother hen thing was getting pretty old, and it hadn't even been 24 hours since Sam had taken the trials on.

Sam took a step towards Dean, annoyed with Dean's words by this point but knowing that the best way to let Dean know that, believe him, and make this work, Sam would have to be a lot closer. Dean's eyes stayed worried as Sam got closer, worried to the point that felt like maybe there was more to this than what Dean was saying.

"Dean, Kevin doesn't even know what the next trial is yet. So whatever it is you're worried about, stop. I'll be ready." Dean tilted his head up in acknowledgement, a pompous fine to Sam's last sentence. His eyes were still just as concerned though, and the bottom edge of his lip landed in his mouth in an attempt to refrain from saying something.

He stayed silent though, so Sam leaned in and kissed Dean's cheek, a little hard, before turning around and walking back to his duffel. Dean turned too, his bootsteps walking over to the door. They paused though, and Sam turned around to meet Dean's eyes again. Dean's hand was on the doorknob, but his body was fully facing Sam, concern lines in his forehead. Apparently Sam would get to hear what Dean was really worried about after all.

"Sam, look. About last night...after we, uh. You-" Dean was tripping all over his words, not exactly sure how to come out and say you were crying after we had sex and now I've been worrying about it all day. Sam held up a hand, freezing Dean's speech before it got any more awkward. They both knew what Dean was talking about anyways.

"I was tired, okay? Don't worry about it. You're still just as great as ever."

"Sam, that's not what I meant--" Sam was already anticipating Dean's exasperation and crossed the room in quick strides as Dean rebutted and tried to go back to the topic he was aiming for.

"Dean. Really. I'm good." Dean looked like he really wanted to say something else, so Sam lifted his chin and kissed him, stopping whatever words might have come next. Dean was a little hesitant at first, but he kissed Sam back, parting his lips just a fraction of an inch to breathe in Sam's air. They didn' t kiss for long before Sam pulled away, smiling at Dean and clapping a hand on his shoulder before walking back to his duffel for a third time.

There was no way Dean would try to follow that with another protest, and it was only a few more seconds before the door swung open and closed again, the faint rumble of the Impala starting in the distance. Sam had just barely avoided that, but he couldn't talk with Dean about this. How was he supposed to say everything he wanted to? Needed to?

Sam couldn't just tell Dean what had been on his mind lately. He couldn't even barely scratch the surface and confront Dean about Dean's confession about his perfect ending. There were so many things Dean didn't know, but how could Sam say them? How could he even start? When Dean felt the way he did...it was better if Sam kept it to himself. That's what he would have to do.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam was just watching the dark, wet road in front of the car for a half hour. He was thinking, back on what he'd seen, on the sucky raspy feeling in his throat. On Dean's reaction to Sam saying Dean didn't trust him. He was totally zoned out by the time Dean spoke up, which is why he probably answered lamely.

"Well, it's possible I was wrong." Sam turned his head at Dean's voice, studied the silent jaw and forward set of his eyes, the intense, unnecessary absorption with the road.

"What, about James? Dude, we were both ready to gank the guy." Sam turned back to the road, his mind still preoccupied with everything Dean had said in the past 24 hours. And with the awesome trip down memory lane of hell and fire and burning and the pit and losing Dean hurting Dean and everything that witch bastard had dug out of the corners of Sam's mind. Dean spoke up again, making Sam turn his head and actually listen.

"No, that's not what I meant. Back there, when Spencer had us. He screwed with my head." Dean looked over at Sam, almost a little shyly like he was even surprising himself by talking about this. A few years ago, Sam could never have imagined Dean sharing emotions with him. Details, events, yeah. But emotions? Never. The raw openness on Dean's face was beautiful, and Sam honestly felt honored. "I saw mom... When she died... And then some other crap."

Sam wasn't sure what all "other crap" entailed, but he could make some pretty good guesses. If they were anything like Sam's, Sam totally understood. He looked out the window again, his jaw set firm. If Dean was being strong through this, Sam could too. Even if Dean was acting so controlling with these trials.

"Yeah. Me too." Maybe Sam should say more, but all the things he left unsaid he was pretty sure Dean knew. Well, about this. Sam still couldn't tell Dean everything, Dean didn't even trust him. At least they got the Spencer vision thing off of their chests. Sam was a little surprised though, when Dean's voice interrupted his thoughts again.

"You know, when I look back at what our family's been through, what everybody's been through, seeing all that pain... I realize that the only way we've made it through it all is by hanging together." You and me, against the world. The next words sent a tingle through Sam's body, and he had to look at Dean, had to see his eyes, see if it was true. "I trust you, Sammy."

Maybe he did. Maybe Dean did trust him. Honestly, Sam couldn't tell. Dean looked honest, and this felt real. How many important things had they confessed to each other in just these seats? They'd confessed their love, they'd fought and argued and made love and fucked and lied, and here Dean was, sealing another promise into the etched, faded leather of their so familiar seats.

"With this deal, locking those sons of bitches up in the furnace once and for all, it's too important not to. So if you say you're good...then that's it. I'm with you 100%." The way Dean looked at Sam when he said that spoke just as loudly as his words. He didn't believe that Sam was okay, didn't believe that Sam wasn't hurting. Yeah, Sam's insides had been twisting all day, yeah, his chest kept constricting. Honestly, it was mild enough it could have been bad food. Maybe it was. The raise of Dean's eyebrows showed that he was giving Sam an out, a chance not to lie and to tell Dean that he was hurting.

Sam opened his mouth to speak and all of a sudden his throat was scratchy and his chest constricted, a cough ripping out of him. Then another. Sam managed to get himself under control, shooting Dean a side glance as the loud noise fell from his lips. Sam didn't turn to face him though, just looked back out the window and lied again, the words gliding off his lips like they had a thousand times too many.

"I'm good." Of course the coughing chose that very opportune moment to start up again, this time feeling like a lung was trying to escape up through his throat. Sam forced the coughs out roughly, his throat feeling shredded for a few moments. The coughing finally stopped and Sam pulled his hand away from his mouth. Wait, what...

Sam reached up fingertips to the corner of his mouth, feeling the warm red copper of blood on his mouth. Blood. He wiped it off and kept his mouth shut, afraid what might happen if he were to open it. He had just lied to Dean, and yeah this was way worse than it had been. But Sam couldn't just tell Dean, Dean would flip. Sam breathed in through his nose and cleared his throat, trying to write off his coughs as normal. Fine. Good. He could do this. But god, coughing up blood? That wasn't okay at all. Sam had no idea what it meant, just that it was anything but good. And if it was in his mouth, Dean was sure to find out. Maybe it was just a one time thing. He just needed the rest of this drive to cool his body down, and he'd be fine. He was feeling good enough, and he knew something that could make him feel even better.

Sam needed a distraction, and what better than his gorgeous, fit boyfriend in the seat next to him? As soon as they got back to the bunker. And Sam still had an hour to make plenty of plans. (And ways to keep Dean from finding out he's coughing up blood. And to figure out why. And how to fix it).

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean swung open the bunker door, sighing exaggeratedly with joy. Sam just shook his head and grinned, stepping over the threshold behind Dean. Dean paused for just a moment on the balcony, looking over the library in what was sure to be an expression of excitement. Sam looked at the muscles in Dean's back, the way they were still sculpted even through his leather jacket. As he stepped back from the balcony and started toward the stairs, Sam followed behind him closely, his eyes still grazing over Dean, and the way his ass fit in the jeans he was wearing. After all of the tension in the case, lord knows they could both use a little release. With each other, preferably.

"So," Sam started, a smirk on his face as he rounded the corner of the stairs, stepping down behind his brother. The tone in Sam's voice was definitely teasing, but Dean still spun around with the tips of his ears red. "You seemed pretty interested in the whole beastiality thing."

"What?! No, no, man. I mean, there are a lot of things on the list of 'kinky shit I'll try' and that is not one of them." Dean was looking at Sam like he was crazy, which wasn't surprising because Sam had been pretty sure Dean hadn't actually been into beastiality. It was just the perfect opening he needed, though. Sam took a step forward, his body suddenly closer to Dean, close enough to see the dark flash in Dean's eyes at Sam's proximity. He reached a hand up, stroking light fingers down the length of Dean's arm teasingly as he spoke.

"Then what is on this list?" Sam made his voice low and gravely, his grip tightening on Dean's forearm on the word "list." Dean looked down at the hand and then back up at Sam's eyes, his own green ones going wide as the words sunk in. Dean swallowed tightly and stammered his way through his first words.

"I- uh. You-- I-I dunno." Dean looked genuinely afraid and Sam couldn't help but laugh. It took a lot to get Dean bashful, but apparently he had some kinks that were interesting enough to be bashful about. Sam slid his hand back up to Dean's bicep, his grip tightening around the toned muscle.

"Alright then, I'm just gonna have to start guessing." Dean's eyes somehow got wider and Sam dropped his duffel. Then he reached out another hand, hooking this one in Dean's belt loop and tugging their bodies together. Dean dropped his duffel to the ground next to Sam's and then their hands were all over each other.

Sam swung them around and pushed Dean up against the stairs banister, making soft sounds with his head tilted back as Dean tugged at his hair. Sam wasn't entirely avoiding kissing Dean, although he was a little. He still wasn't sure why he had blood in his mouth earlier in the car. And if Dean found out, he'd freak and go all over-protective. So Sam figured he'd wait a bit longer until the taste of copper was replaced with the taste of Dean's skin. If it was just today, Dean shouldn't notice. Dean did notice Sam's tilted back head, though, and started mouthing at Sam's neck, tilting Sam's head to the side manually with a sharp tug of fingers in his hair. Sam gasped and grinded his hips up against Dean's, reaching for the hem of Dean's shirt with two hands.

Suddenly both of Sam's wrists were snatched and twisted behind his back, crossed over each other and pined in Dean's rough grip of one hand, the other returning to Sam's hair. Sam squirmed just a little before he brought his head back, trying to get away from the bondage and the heat of Dean's tongue on his upper neck. Dean's hands gripped tighter and Sam squirmed a bit more, vaguely embarrassed by the fact that his pinned wrists were making him harder each passing moment.

Just as a Sam was about to either break free or start cursing Dean out, Dean's teeth grazed his earlobe, sending shockwaves down Sam's spine. Then Dean had his lips nearly closed over Sam's eardrum, whispering low and filthy, like the words weren't allowed to touch the air, only Sam's flushed skin.

"You got a kink for ropes, huh, Sammy?" Sam could barely breathe at those words and it took a few seconds to regain temporary composure enough to protest. Even though his words had a few pants in them.

"I don't know what you-" Sam started, until Dean dipped his tongue around the top hook of Sam's ear, swirling around it to run down the side of Sam's face. Sam's instinct was to complain about Dean's spit being all over his face now, but he knew Dean would just counter with you love it. One of the things that came along with sleeping with Dean was basically unlimited ammo as siblings. They'd teased each other their whole lives, and there was always that natural instinct to give the other one shit for things. Which sometimes included noises that escaped their mouths. Dean had full out stopped kissing Sam and thrown back his head and laughed at times. Sam would just glare or smack what part of him he could reach from whatever position they were in. Then he'd lick the laughter out of Dean's mouth, only to be teased about it again over breakfast. Which lead to a heated make out session (at the very least) where Sam pulled noises just as embarrassing out of Dean. It was a never ending circle of teasing and sex.

"When you had no soul," Dean scraped his teeth over Sam's jawline and Sam wiggled his wrists in attempt to touch, god. "...you got off on me being tied up."

Sam turned his head to the side in attempt to meet Dean's eyes. Dean finally lifted his pretty pink mouth away and looked at Sam. There wasn't any hate there, just the darkened forest-green of lust and curiosity. Sam breathed out a puff of air in relief, his fear that he had traumatized Dean faded considerably. Sam fully remembered how good Dean looked, struggling to get away from Sam even though he was rock hard from the ties himself. He'd forced the image out of his mind til now, and Dean hadn't brought it up since the one time Sam got his soul back, so he hadn't had the chance to really analyze it. Dean had, apparently.

"And if soulless you liked it that means you've been secretly repressing liking it for ages." Dean grinned wickedly and tilted his head to the side in his "you know it" look. Sam gave him a heatless glare before thrusting his hips roughly forward, grinding Dean's ass against the banister behind him. Dean's tilted head left just enough room for Sam's mouth, and Sam bent down his head to bite lightly across Dean's neck. Dean tightened his grip on Sam's wrists, probably subconsciously, and a fairly loud moan rumbled from his mouth as Sam licked over his already fading teeth marks. Wait. That gave Sam an idea.

"After Purgatory..." Another bite, still gentle, followed by a flick of tongue. "...you fucked me on the floor with a knife to my throat and rubbed your hand in my blood." A pitched sound came from Dean, which was actually quite girly sounding, but Sam had much bigger plans than just verbal teasing right now.

"I may have a thing for chains and handcuffs, but you've got a thing for whips and knives." Sam finished, growling in Dean's ear. Dean made another girly sound, tilting his head to expose more of his neck. He was just drinking this up.

"D-do not --" Dean's voice was low and somehow still whiny sounding, a gruff protest that they both knew was total bullshit. Well Sam could prove his point too, even with his hands still being held behind his back. Sam leaned his head back for a moment, eyeing Dean's neck until he found a dry, unmarked spot just above the huge muscle that connected neck to shoulder. Sam closed his teeth over the skin, hard. Sam bit down hard enough to nearly draw blood, and if he bit down any more, there would be. All of his other spots were barely just teeth grazing compared to this. Yeah, it wasn't the pretty silver sharp of a blade pressed against Dean's skin, but it would be enough of a spark of pain to prove his point.

The moment Sam's teeth sunk in, Dean shouted and bucked up against Sam, his erection more obvious than ever, straining against his jeans. A string of curses, at Sam and Purgatory and Sam and Sam, spilled from Dean's mouth. The one Sam still hadn't gotten to kiss yet. Although, if he kissed Dean and Dean could still taste the remnants of blood...Dean might assume it was from the bite. That could be Sam's way out.

Sam pulled his teeth from the indents they had in Dean's skin, causing a sharp gasp from Dean. Sam looked down at the mark he made, beautifully purple and red, the two dents where his canines had been actually seeping just two tiny dots of blood. Sam turned his eyes over to Dean's face. His eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged and heavy, out of his mouth, the parted lips that had been screaming profanity a few seconds ago. Dean must have felt Sam's gaze on him because he opened his eyes, tilting his head a bit and wincing at his neck.

"Fuck, Sam," Dean groaned, rubbing his hardened dick over Sam's. Sam returned a groan at the sensation, tipping his head back and pressing more friction between them.

"Yeah, that's the intention," Sam managed to breathe out through the heat and pressure that was threatening to consume him. Dean whined low at Sam's words, running a hand across to the back of Sam's neck and pulling him down. Sam opened his mouth and covered Dean's tongue with his own. Dean kissed up into Sam, their chests tight together as Dean leaned up as far as he could. Sam scraped his teeth over Dean's bottom lip, humming at how amazing Dean tasted, at the way his body arched up into Sam when he used his teeth. It figured that Dean had a kink for pain, it was what they did for a living after all. Nothing quite so sacromasochist-inducing as slicing up things with knives you keep in your leather jacket and in the heel of your lace-up boots. Just the thought of that, of Dean in leather handcuffs...Sam nearly lost it on the spot. He broke away his mouth, attempting to tug his wrists free again.

"Bedroom," Sam growled. Dean blinked at him with bruised lips for three seconds before he was letting go of Sam's wrists and practically shoving past Sam to scoop up his duffel bag and take off. Dean was legitimately running, and Sam had to spin the rest of his body in the direction his head was facing, grab his own duffel and sprint to even keep Dean in sight. Sam would be able to find Dean's room eventually, but following him would go much faster and Dean was clearly in a hurry. Sam turned into a hallway just in time to see Dean turning into an open door. Sam hurried behind him, dropping his duffel as soon as he crossed the threshold. Sam looked around the room, confused, not seeing Dean.

"Dean?" Sam called out, taking note of Dean' open duffel beside the bed. So he had to be in here--

All of Sam's brain functions got overruled as he was suddenly grabbed from behind, slammed up against a firm wall of chest muscles that was pressed up against the wall. There was a very familiar knife at his throat, Dean's favourite, and suddenly Sam remembered they'd been in this position once before. They'd been chasing down a succubus of sorts and the creature had gotten the jump on Dean, poisoning him into trying to kill Sam. Dean had held them up against the wall, just like this, knife to Sam's throat and everything. That had been a crazy hunt, especially considering that Dean's succubus had turned out to be Sam. Which had confused the hell out of Sam at the time but made total sense now.

"How would you like that sweet little ass to be ridden?" Dean growled into Sam's ear. Sam canted his hips backwards, slotting Dean's erection in the crevice of his ass, as best as their jeans would allow.

"Oh I'm definitely getting ridden, just not my ass." Dean snorted in Sam's ear, tightening the knife against Sam's skin and nicking just a centimeter of skin with the blade. Sam could feel the warmth of a single drop of blood pooling and he smirked. Dean may be the one with the knife, but Sam could wrestle Dean into submission easily. Knife or not.

Sam hooked his foot around the back of Dean's ankle, crossing his left arm over his body to hover, and finally lifting his right hand up to the blade handle. In one quick movement, Sam tugged his foot to the side, spinning Sam to the right and forcing Dean's leg to come with and spin out his left hip from the wall. Sam used the hand crossed over his body to grab the hip's momentum and slam Dean the rest of the 180° into the wall as he spun around himself. All while closing his right hand over the handle and sliding the knife out of Dean's grip and into his own.

Sam had the side of Dean's face pressed up against the wall and the blade held perpendicular to his shoulder blades in a few seconds, the roles entirely swapped now. Dean made a growl of pleasure as Sam's fist, holding the blade an inch away from the freckled muscles of Dean's shoulder, pushed his bare chest even more roughly against the surface. Dean must've shed his jacket and tshirt while Sam was hurrying down the hallway after Dean. Sam leaned back and used his one free hand to undo his belt, sliding it out of the loops quickly with the distinct sound of the rivets passing the loop holes.

"Wrists crossed behind your back," Sam ordered. Dean squirmed a bit against the wall, his ass tantalizingly close to where Sam's dick was straining against his zipper.

"Make me." Dean said low, his voice dripping with teasing and arousal. Sam's dick jumped at Dean's words, and the fist keeping Dean against the wall pressed tighter. Then Sam wound most of the belt around his hand, leaving just the leather end freed. It was out there, but Dean was into it, so...

He flicked his hand out, smacking the flat end of the belt against Dean's ass. It was more like a hand slap than a whip crack, because belts were easy to take a step past pleasure-pain. Dean let out a shocked cry nonetheless, writhing against the wall. Then his hands shot backwards, wrists crossed just as Sam asked. Sam grinned and unraveled the belt from his hand, wrapping it around Dean's wrists and weaving it the best he could. Sam had to set the knife down to finish tightening the makeshift cuffs, pressing his knee to Dean's ass instead to keep him pinned against the wall.

As soon as Dean was properly bound, Sam's hands were manhandling Dean's hips backwards, enough that he could undo the button and zipper over his crotch. As soon as that was free, Sam tugged down Dean's jeans and boxers in one swift movement, all the way past his ass and thighs and knees, down to his ankles. On his way back up to standing, Sam pressed a quick kiss to the red stripe mark across Dean's ass. Dean made some sort of incoherent noise at that too, struggling against his bound wrists. Sam tsk'ed and slapped Dean's other ass cheek with his hand. That stilled Dean, although he was still making moaning sounds every time Sam touched him.

Sam popped his own button and zipper free, tugging his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs. Sam smeared the precome beading out of his slit over the head of his cock, his eyes steadily on Dean's red ass, handprint on one cheek and bright red stripe on the other. Sam popped his middle finger in his mouth, wetting it with saliva, then stepped back closer to Dean, off to the side just a bit. He spread Dean's cheeks with his hand, just enough to stab his finger into Dean, sinking in all the way in with one quick jab. It was a wickedly tight fit, and it had to sting at least a little but Dean groaned and pushed back, asking for more.

"Give it to me raw, Sam, c'mon," Dean urged, his voice gruff and insistent. Sam didn't need to be told twice, and he quickly wrapped his left arm around Dean's neck, pulling him back in a chokehold as he lined up with his right hand, nudging his wet head against Dean's unprepped hole. Then Sam pushed inside, not stopping until the head of his dick shoved past the outer ring of muscles. Dean was so goddamned tight Sam felt like he was suffocating. He was still steadily leaking precome, which would at least make this slick, but Sam spit in his hand and lubed up his shaft anyways.

Then he snapped his hips forward, forcing further into Dean and getting a strangled cry out of his brother. Sam loosened the grip on his arm a bit, just holding his arm around Dean's neck. The first few thrusts were careful, although not at all gentle. Then the choked bursts of pain from Dean's mouth subsided and Sam picked up speed. He drilled Dean into the wall, causing all sorts of friction against Dean's straining cock with each fast, rough pump of his hips. Dean's bound hands were sitting on the swell of his ass, his curled fingers pressing up against Sam's abs at the deepest part of each thrust.

Sam's mouth worked over the entire expanse of Dean's shoulders and neck, biting and twisting flesh, imagining he could practically taste the freckles under his tongue. Dean made an array of sounds, shouts and animalistic cries, moans and curse words when he could manage them. Sam growled into Dean's skin, drawing blood on four different bites across his shoulders. Dean's body was tight and hot against him, his pulse thrumming underneath Sam's lips and forearm, which was still pressed tight against Dean's neck. Any troubles Dean was having breathing though was from the other sensations rocketing through his body.

Sam could feel the affect this was having on Dean, could feel it from the way Dean's ass clenched and squeezed around his cock, from the way Dean's hips canted backwards with each thrust, pushing for deeper, more. The way Dean screamed the first time Sam broke skin with his mouth, how his body seized and nearly came on the spot, the only thing keeping him back being Sam's quick clamp on the base of Dean's cock with his free hand. Sam's fingers were still there now, had to fly in and hold Dean off every time Sam's canines drew blood. Dean was ungodly tight around Sam, so much to the point that it almost hurt. Which meant it hurt like a bitch for Dean. Who was riding back onto it with vigor.

It wasn't like Sam wasn't enjoying the hell out of this too. The sight of Dean's rough hands, perched atop his ass and wrapped up in Sam's belt was enough to make him lose it. And Dean took it so well, let himself be tied up and smacked around and pounded into the wall while Sam made his pretty shoulders bleed and kept him tight and compliant in a chokehold. It was a sight Sam had never thought he'd get to indulge in.

The twitching in Dean's cock finally steadied back out, and Sam took his hand away again and brought it back to Dean's hip, digging his thumb into the already thumb shaped bruise. Dean sucked in air at the spike of pain to the wrecked spot. Sam broke his mouth away from where he was twisting his teeth and tongue over a patch of skin at Dean's spinodeltoid muscle, instead turning his gaze down to his hand. Dean's hip was barely visible from where Sam was slamming their bodies together, but the finger shaped bruise was super obvious.

An idea suddenly crossed Sam's mind and he gasped, hips faltering at his rhythm for a second. Then Sam shifted a little to the side, picking up again, faster this time, and punching straight into Dean's prostrate. Dean screamed, a sound Sam could easily make impossible with just a little tighter grip on Dean's neck. But Sam loved the noises, the audible proof that he was wrecking Dean nine ways to Sunday.

Sam bit down one more time, at the top of Dean's spine, sinking his teeth down and sucking. Dean was shooting all over the wall in the next second, making a mess of the room he was so anal about. Although, clearly, not that anal was a bad thing. Dean was screaming a long, drawn out version of Sam's name, just barely muffled with his cheek and temple pressed up against the wall. Dean's inner muscles contracted and Sam couldn't move inside Dean anymore, it was so goddamned tight. Sam's body shook as he came too, his dick buried so deep inside Dean he wasn't sure whether his come had anywhere to go. By the time he could think again, which was much faster than Dean's post-orgasm functioning, Sam was already reaching down for the knife. He slipped out of Dean with a wince and a tug (still so goddamned tight even after Sam fucked him hard) and unwrapped his arm from around Dean's neck. Sam slammed a palm in between Dean's shoulders to keep him still flush against the wall, which rewarded Sam with a weak whimper from the shut-eyed Dean.

Now with knife in hand, Sam moved his entire forearm to press against Dean's shoulders, holding him so tight and still he wouldn't be able to move if he wanted to. Sam's eyes swept over Dean's skin, at the tiny drops of blood here and there, like red freckles, and then the occasional row of red drips from a particularly nasty bite. There was a wicked purplish bruise on the back of Dean's hip, looking like a modified tramp stamp. With a smirk, Sam situated the handle of the knife in his fingers.

Sam pressed the tip against Dean's skin, not too deep, then sliced down at an angle. Dean gasped and his eyes flew open, still hazy with bliss and not quite comprehending the source of the pain. Sam re-angled the knife and slashed again, shallow and sharp precise lines. Some of the fog left Dean's eyes and he squirmed a little under Sam's blocking arm. Sam just pressed his arm tighter and made the third line.

"Aaaa, Sam!" Dean made a cry of genuine pain and Sam made the last four lines quickly. Then he pressed himself up against Dean's back, his not-so-soft-anymore dick showing a little interest in Dean's ass and the warm feeling underneath Sam's palm as he closed his hand over the cuts on the back of Dean's hip. Dean hissed at the contact, and Sam pressed a kiss to a spot of unmauled shoulder. With a glance down, Sam could see that Dean was at the same not-so-soft state he was, apparently the knife carving having done quite a bit to get him back on his feet. Sam grinned against Dean's skin, warm underneath his mouth.

It smelt like blood and sex and sweat and Dean, which was actually a pretty regular combination. The blood was just normally due to some douschebag demon or pissed off poltergeist. They both were in desperate need of a shower, and Sam could feel his own come leaking back out onto his cock, which was pressed up lightly underneath Dean's ass. Sam's hand on Dean's hip was slick and warm, blood seeping in between his fingers. Chills ran down Sam's spine as he smiled at what was now carved into Dean's hip. It wasn't deep enough to stay more than a couple of weeks, just barely grazed that would fade with time and with their rapid healing rate. And the help of Cas coming along and fixing some of their worst scars every now and then.

Although Cas hadn't been around lately, not since he bailed on them (on Dean, or so his brother thought). Sam had avoided bring him up, because the pain and disappointment and emotions that flooded Dean's eyes at the name was enough to kill them both. Sam was surviving, he was okay with Dean and Cas and whatever it was they had. Well, not exactly, but he didn't hate either of them for it. Especially not Cas, because Sam saw exactly what Cas saw in Dean and he entirely understood how irresistible his boyfriend was. But if Sam could avoid bringing him up around Dean that would be great. Because watching Dean watch Cas was one of the most painful experiences Sam had to go through.

When Sam had left Amelia, his ultimatum was for Dean to cut it off with the vampire. Because he was a vampire. That was pretty damn obvious. But Sam would never, never, make Dean chose between him and Cas. Not just because part of him feared the answer, but because he knew it would take away a piece of Dean that kept him alive. Dean needed his angel, Sam understood. Just. He didn't need to kiss him. That was aggravating. Really aggravating. And now that they were dating, Sam was pretty sure Dean wouldn't. Or at least, Cas wouldn't. So that was good. Laying claim to his territory. Just like the sharp letters etched into Dean's hip, his little modified tramp stamp.

Sam squeezed Dean's hip, watching as a few more drops of blood seeped in between his fingers and ran down his hand. Dean groaned in pain and annoyance and arousal, shifting his ass back a little more against Sam.

"What the hell was that?" Dean grumbled, pointedly tilting his head down to his hip and the knife that had clattered to the floor.

"What's this?" Sam asked teasingly, sliding his non-bloody hand down Dean's abs to his vaguely interested cock. It jumped in his hand and Sam pumped it slowly, eating up the groans from Dean's lips. Dean tipped his head back, resting it on Sam's shoulder as Sam jacked him into full hardness again. He put his mouth behind Dean's ear, breathing on him as he spoke. "You get this way every time you bleed? Or is it just because it's me?"

"Just you, you smug bastard," Dean sighed, his eyes closed and head still tilted back in relaxation. He looked so peaceful, which was strange with the amount of blood and come on his body. As sweet as it was to see, Sam was in a peace-breaking mood.

He pulled his hand off and swung Dean around, letting go of his bloody hip with the knife marks. Dean started to protest, then Sam was pushing him towards the bed, snatching a towel out of his duffel. There were handcuffs in there too, but Dean was already tied up. Sam should gag him some time, make those pretty pink lips have to stretch around a handkerchief as Sam fucks him. For now though, they just needed a towel to keep blood off the sheets. Sam tossed the towel out on the bed, snapping it once, then he was turning to Dean and grabbing him by the biceps, scooting him up onto the bed. Dean had to arch his back as he laid down, the cuffs behind his back making it so he couldn't lie down. Sam could tie him to the headboard, that would work.

Just as Sam was about to climb up over Dean, his chest seized and tightened, then coughs were suddenly wracking his throat. Sam turned his head, coughing into the hand that flew to his mouth. Which was, thank god, already bloody. The sound echoed in the room, and Dean was looking at him concernedly the second the coughs started attacking his chest. It wasn't too bad this time though, and Sam managed to clear his throat and look up without too much trouble. Dean was worried as hell, but Sam just pushed him backwards, gripping Dean's clean hip with the bloody hand now. Sam was pretty sure he could taste copper on his tongue, and he had a feeling it was his blood, not Dean's. So Sam rolled Dean on his side, and closed his mouth over the knife cuts.

Dean hissed in pain and probably would have smacked Sam on the head if his hands weren't still belted together. Sam didn't stay long, just traced over each line and then crawled back up to Dean's mouth.

"Really? You carved your initials into me?" Sam hovered over Dean, running his tongue over his teeth in an attempt to get the blood off of them. It was bringing back some quite unwanted memories, but Dean honestly tasted nothing like demon blood. Actually, quite the opposite. And it wasn't like Sam hadn't had Dean's blood in his mouth before, that had happened a few times. Like sucking snakebite poison out of Dean's ankle when Sam was 10, or the 306 times he'd probably kissed Dean while they had cuts in their mouths, or after fights, or any of those times. This was just a little bit more intense.

"Don't pretend you don't love it." Dean rolled his eyes and Sam pressed their mouths together. Dean kept his mouth closed for as long as he could stand before he finally opened up, cringing at the taste of blood on Sam's tongue. It was strangely connecting, their shared saliva mixing with their shared blood. Not that Dean knew that, he thought the only blood in his mouth was his own. Sam had better get over this tuberculosis cough soon though, because the convenience of having an explainer for the blood in his mouth wasn't going to be something he could count on.

The type of sex they had totally differed based on the moods and state they were in, and Sam highly doubted it'd be S&M til the trials were over. This wasn't super hardcore, but they could work up to that. In the meantime, there was sure to be plenty of times Dean would lean over to kiss Sam in the car, or at a diner, or over breakfast in the bunker, or when they first woke up, or going to sleep, or any of the 100 other times they could and probably would end up kissing. And if Dean tasted blood...

It was just a drop or two, though, so Sam might be able to write it off as a cut or something. So long as it didn't get worse.

Sam was totally out of it with his thoughts and hadn't even noticed Dean's condition until Sam was suddenly grabbed by the waist and flipped over, roughly landing on the towel of the bed. He was so surprised he didn't even manage to stop the sudden pull of leather on his wrists as they swung up above his head. He also couldn't see anything, since Dean was still kissing him. Sam pulled at his hands, which didn't even budge from where they were pinned...tied? to the headboard. It was a few more long moments before Dean pulled off, grinning wickedly down at Sam.

"Dean, what the-" Dean held up his wrists, slightly chafed but totally free of their bondage. Which was now on Sam's wrists, pinning him to the headboard. Sam was about to say something else, squirm, something, when Dean suddenly lifted up and scooted back, grabbing ahold of Sam's cock. Sam's words died in his throat, replaced by a gasp. Then Dean lowered himself down, all the way onto Sam until he was balls deep inside the still sticky hole.

"Dean, Dean, oh god, yes," Sam bucked up into Dean, who had slid on him like a champ, still warm and cozy around Sam. Dean tilted his head back, arching his spine and letting his mouth fall open as he absorbed Sam's involuntary thrust. Dean looked so beautiful like that, all perched and fucking perfect on top of Sam. "Oh god, baby, yes, fuck."

Dean leaned over, grinding his ass down on Sam and barreling in deeper. Sam shut his eyes for a few seconds, needing to and dying to touch Dean right now, to get his hands on those bruised and bloodied hips, bounce Dean on his cock like a girl, tell him how pretty he looked and how wet he was around Sam, all tight and hot and god. When Sam opened his eyes back up, after struggling a bit against his hands, Dean was still looking down at him, slowly and torturously lifting his ass up, sinking back down on Sam again. His elbows were digging into Sam's chest, his hands up with the edges of his palms touching, curling sweetly around the chin resting in them. Dean had this stupidly evil grin on, riding Sam with practically no effort, rolling their hips together lazily like he had all the time in the world, fucking resting his chin in his hands and propping his elbows on Sam's chest.

"Who you calling baby, baby boy?" Sam threw back his head and lost it, his hips snapping up as his orgasm hit him out of nowhere, making everything spark and Sam's heart stutter for a few beats. He vaguely registered Dean leaning back and sitting up surprisingly, saying "woah, woah," as Sam shot up inside him after literally four or five minutes of Dean riding him. Dean was as unprepared as Sam had been for the tidal wave that just slammed into his lower stomach and shook his body. Sam was pretty sure he had never come that quickly in his life. Well yeah, he'd been hard for at least 10 minutes, but fucking still.

By the time Sam's mind straightened out again, Dean was laughing on top of him. Laughing. And on top of him, still. Even though Sam was clearly not going to be of any benefit for fucking Dean now. Dean didn't seem to notice, or maybe he didn't care, because as soon as he caught Sam's eye, he swiveled his hips again. A spark of a very unwelcome over sensitive sensation ripped through Sam, pain spiking up along his shaft and hip bones. Dean's grin was open mouthed as his laughter finally died, an occasional huffed laugh breaking through his words.

"You get off on that, huh? Lord, Sammy, never seen you come so fast. And just on some words, too. You know, Sammy, coulda said something, I'd have been calling you baby boy a lot sooner." Sam groaned as Dean said it again, trying to tilt his hips and knock Dean off of him. Dean was still keeping up his stupid slow slide, making Sam wince and groan in pain. Sam wasn't sure how Dean was managing to even stay on Sam anymore, although he was basically hilt deep, give or take a few inches, the entire time. "That really flips the switch for you, doesn't it Sammy boy?"

"God, Dean, I don't know. It just - will you get off of me?! Ow, Dean, fuck, that is not a good feeling at all. Get off of me you ungrateful bastard!" Sam bucked his hips up in attempt to shake Dean off, but only succeeded in finding an angle to get him deeper inside Dean. Dean shuddered and clenched tighter around Sam which - fuck. Hurt a lot.

"I'm not ungrateful," Dean finally gasped, his hands down on Sam's hips now, pining him down so he couldn't buck Dean off. Then Dean looked up, meeting Sam's eyes and pulling his plump bottom lip into his mouth, biting it and letting it slowly release until it popped back out again. His voice evened out, whispering instead of gasping now. "...baby brother."

"Fuck you, Dean."

"That's the intention."

"Holy fucking shit are you fucking kidding me? I will motherfucking end you and slaughter your children if you don't get off me. Right. Now."

"They'd be your children too. And technically, brotherfucking."

"DEAN!!"

"Okay, okay, no need to be a bitch, god, calm down." Dean grumbled as he finally released Sam, crawling off to the side with a wince. Sam closed his eyes and tilted his head back, nearly tearing up with relief. As soon as he got out of these cuffs he was going to kill Dean. Huh. Maybe if he wasn't tied up and Dean wasn't torturing him on it, this bed would be kind of nice. Sam hadn't had a chance to notice until now, but this mattress was really freaking soft and comfy. He understood why Dean was raving about it now, this room was pretty awesome.

A warm wetness slid up the underside of his soft cock and Sam's eyes flashed open, his gaze landing on Dean' who was swirling his tongue over the head of Sam's dick. Dean looked up and met Sam's eyes, grinning just before he sucked half of Sam's length into his mouth in a single slide. Sam felt a slight tingle in his skin, not as painful as before, but still definitely not a good feeling. Even if Dean looked gorgeous with his lips stretched around Sam's cock. It just, wasn't happening.

"You just don't give up, do you? Dean, I'm almost thirty. I cannot physically come again and- oh...ughh." Dean tongued at the slit in Sam's cock, which twitched and started to fill, making Sam's head rush slightly from the feeling. The dizziness made the room tilt a bit, the ceiling turning a little, which was not very pleasant either.

"Your cock begs to differ." Dean lifted his head and licked over his lips, raising his eyebrows at Sam. Sam gave a weak tug at his wrists, which had loosened zero since the last time he tugged at them. Then he just rolled his eyes and laid his head back down, talking up to the ceiling as Dean went down on him again.

"Is this like some sort of punishment? What did I ever do to you? I'm pretty sure orgasming three times in an hour isn't healthy for anyone." Dean hummed his disagreement against Sam's slowly more interested dick and Sam could picture Dean's face, his playful tone as he smiled at Sam, looking over from the driver's seat and refuting that "It's a natural and beautiful act, Sam. Nothing unhealthy about it." For now, Dean was a bit too preoccupied to speak.

Sam just closed his eyes again and let himself finally let go, drifting back into the feeling of Dean lavishing Sam with his tongue, gently stroking him back into hardness with a caution that showed he was at least a little sorry for earlier when he'd refused to get off of Sam. It wasn't long before Sam was leaking precome into Dean's mouth and moaning under the press of his lips.

There was a pause a beat and a half too long that Dean's mouth was gone, and Sam finally opened his eyes again, just in time to see Dean grab ahold of Sam's hardened cock and sink down onto it, bottoming out in one again. They gasped in unison, Sam rolling his hips up experimentally into Dean. Dean shivered and rocked into it, settling Sam deep inside him again. Sam struggled against his restraints for the thousandth time and mentally cursed himself for bringing up the kink thing. Although it was worth it, being able to see Dean like this.

He sat on Sam's lap, pining Sam's hips down with his hands and doing all of the work himself. Sam couldn't even reach out and touch, couldn't thrust up into the torturously sweet ass. And Dean was so beautiful too, his hair ruffled and eyes shining. Sam's gaze trailed down Dean's body, tracing every piece of his work. Dean's lips were slightly reddened and puffy, but not as much as they normally were, due to Sam avoiding kissing Dean somewhere Dean could taste the blood on his tongue. Dean's jaw had a few red marks, but the one side of his neck was riddled with purpling marks and red flecks of blood. The tops of Dean's shoulders showed a peek of a few bruises, and there was a dried drop of blood on the edge of his shoulder and neck. Dean's chest was starkly bare in contrast, entirely untouched by Sam's wicked ways. His side was still ripped up from his hellhound encounter, the claw marks ragged and just barely closed over. If only Sam could reach out and trace them. There was a big bloody distorted handprint on one of Dean's hips, and four finger shaped bruises on the other. The bruised hip showed a peek of the mess of marks carved into the back, the very top of the "W" visible at the side. If Dean hadn't had been complaining so much, Sam might've made it cleaner looking, but whatever. At least the "S" looked amazing.

Dean rocked back and forth on Sam, his smile fading into him biting his lip, or panting, or bending over to nip Sam's chest. Sam stayed put, much to his dismay, as Dean fucked down on him, making a show that was killing Sam not to be a part of. Sam survived the lip biting and the arched back, he even survived the noises Dean was making, the breathless "Sam" in between each one. Sam lost his head a little when Dean bit down on his pectoral muscle, directly halfway in between his tattoo and his nipple. He shouted Dean's name, thrashing his head and pushing up into Dean's mouth by engaging his shoulder muscles.

The teeth left abruptly after that, Dean planting a firm hand on Sam's chest and shoving him back flat, growling for him to stay put. Sam whimpered but obeyed, having to use every ounce of strength not to override Dean's fierce grip. Sam survived another few minutes of torture, although he spent it in one long chain of Dean's name, moaned and gasped and shouted as Dean twisted and sped up above him.

Then Dean caught Sam's eye, his expression forcing Sam to keep looking at him. Dean kept up his rhythm on Sam, up and down, too far away and so deep Sam was pretty sure his dick was in Dean's stomach. Even though that wasn't possible. Once Sam's gaze was locked on him, Dean stuck two of his own fingers in his mouth, fucking them in and out in time with his ride on Sam. Sam whimpered as Dean popped the fingers out, running his wet hand down his own chest, leaving a wet trail all the way down to his belly button. Sam's breath quickened as watched Dean's fingers trail down further, all the way from the base of his own cock up to the slit, thumbing over the top with a gasp. Sam couldn't take it. He couldn't take it.

"Dean, please, Mmm, god, fuck, so fucking beautiful, please, please Dean, need to touch you, Dean," Sam just lost it, blabbering and begging and just needing to touch Dean so badly, Dean who was riding his cock and jerking off and was so perfect and golden and so untouchable, just inches away from Sam, closed around him in the one place that drove him so crazy that he needed all of Dean. If he was vaguely coherent, he could probably slip his wrist-ties, but with Dean doing that obscene thing on his cock and stroking himself in front of Sam, there weren't any proper brain function capabilities left.

At the state he was in, probably not even Dean could untie Sam right now. He was a panting, open-mouthed mess above Sam, his hand twisting and speeding up on himself in time with his thrusts down on Sam. The tight coil in Sam's stomach was basically at the point of painful now, for the third time in an hour and who the fuck cares if it was healthy or not this was some alternate version of Heaven that didn't have the corruption of angels to fuck everything up. Because this was his brother, boyfriend, soulmate.

His orgasm hit him just as hard as his first one of the evening, skyrocketing him into an almost painful state of bliss, furthered by the sudden warmth of Dean coming onto Sam's chest, the tightening of his inner muscles again. Dean rode Sam through their orgasms with a hand planted firmly on either side of Sam's face, gripping the sheets in fists as his mouth spilled out the same curses and praises at Sam that Sam echoed back to him.

It was all Dean for who knows how long. Maybe Sam should finally agree to Dean's convincing to make a porno, just to see how long he actually orgasmed for because he was pretty sure it was unnaturally long and hard. When he lost it, every sense in his body all tuned into the same four letter frequency that consisted of green eyes and freckles and the smell of leather and sex and beauty and the grip of rough hands and a tight little hole and happy smile and precious laugh and the vague taste of whiskey during harder times.

Sam didn't know what Dean saw when he came, what he felt, and he was pretty sure if he could pick any part of Dean's brain to read, it'd be that one. If Dean ever asked Sam, Sam would gladly tell him that every orgasm was green, just like his dreams, just like the eyes locked on his now, as Dean collapsed down next to Sam.

"Hands...please," Sam gasped, his chest heaving up and down, moving Dean's entire body with each breath, since Dean had only made it halfway onto the bed and his shoulder and healing hellhound scratches were still pressed up against Sam. Dean lifted his head and tugged at the edge of one of the knots, making it unravel halfway. Really, all Sam had had to do was pull that one strap of leather...urghh. It was enough looseness for Sam to work his hands through, and the second his red, sore twists broke free, Sam's hands were on Dean.

He wrapped his arms around the marked up back, pulling Dean in close and kissing his ear as his hands slid greedily over every inch of surface he could touch. Sam swept over the line of Dean's shoulders, fingertips stopping to trace every bite mark, every speck of Dean's precious blood splattered on his own skin. Then he was down to Dean's spine, palms bumping over every spinal bone, down past his thoracic region and to his lower back. Sam's hands swept out to the sides, his left hand pausing when he reached the bruising and the initials carving. Dean tensed a little as Sam traced the barely clotted blood, but he was otherwise quiet with his face tucked against Sam's collarbone.

Sam spread his touch out further, up over Dean's ass and palming his cheeks. Dean snuggled his face in closer to Sam's chest as Sam's hands rounded over the curve. Where the slope ended and became Dean's thighs, Sam circled his hands around, squeezing the warm skin while his palms trailed through the come all over Dean's ass and thighs. Dean muttered something along the lines of "gross" against Sam's skin, but Sam had gone without touching Dean so long he didn't care.

Once Sam's hands came back up to Dean's back, he lifted his head and made a face at Sam. Then Dean was leaning in to kiss him and Sam swallowed, running his tongue quickly to see if there was a copper taste anywhere. A faint one, but that could be explained away if needed. It wasn't necessary anyways, because Dean stopped just as his lips brushed Sam's. He spoke his words against Sam's mouth, barely touching on each syllable.

"I'm gonna get us cleaned up, Kay?" Sam groaned at the idea of not being able to touch Dean again, but the towel under his hips wasn't nearly as comfortable as the sheets against his arms. So if it meant falling asleep next to Dean, Sam could comply.

He followed the white and red speckled back as Dean scampered out of the room, bare naked in search of a washcloth. Sam turned back up to face the ceiling, a happy smile on his face. Dean was just the cutest thing ever.

"Hey Dean! Can you bring me a glass of water too? Since you're already running around nak--" Sam's shouting was suddenly interrupted by his chest seizing and a loud cough wracking out of his throat again. Shit. Sam sat up, afraid the coughing attack might make him choke on his own blood. The coughs echoed in the emptiness of Dean's room, each one making Sam's body shake. It wasn't too long before the painful forced air subsided its attempt to escape, and Sam opened his eyes to look at the hand he held in front of his mouth. Three drops of blood now, not one. Sam quickly leaned forward and wiped his hand on the already bloody towel, just as Dean came rushing through the door.

"Sammy! You okay?" Dean hurried to the bed, washcloths in one hand and glass of water in the other. Dean sat the water down on the nightstand and sat down next to Sam, his forehead crinkled with lines of worry.

"Yeah, fine. Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" Sam reached for a washcloth and dabbed it against Dean's neck, carefully getting the splatters of blood. Dean was still watching Sam with worried eyes, distrusting of Sam's response. Sam didn't meet his eyes, just gently washed Dean down, occasionally piping up with a chipper, "okay, turn to the left a little." Dean just stayed quiet, and the air between them started to fill with all the things they weren't saying.

Dean was dying to ask questions, and Sam was refusing to give answers before the questions were even asked. Hopefully, the coughing would pass tonight. Maybe Sam just needed sleep. That would be great, if it were the case. But inside, Sam was just as worried as Dean. If not more. Because Sam knew a lot about what happened to people who coughed up blood.

They died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> romantically_apocalyptic:
> 
> "This chapter was awesome. Okay...not Sam coughing up blood because that is some scary shit...but the rest of it. I knew Sam was gonna use the biting and blood to his advantage. But their kinks...holy crap. Yes please. I love you for this.  
> //"They'd be your children too. And technically, brotherfucking." //  
> This was the best line. I had to think for a moment and go back and reread the last sentence before this one to get it. Plus, Deans wit just makes my night. :)"


	5. Deterred (Remember the Titans 08x16)

When Dean woke up, he was shivering slightly. He blinked his eyes open, rubbing a hand down his face in habit. Then he lifted his head, glancing over his shoulder to confirm his suspicion that he was alone. The sheets were basically all on that half of the bed, since Sam had a habit of stealing them, one instilled in him since he was a kid. Dean always made sure Sam was the warm one, and Dean had woken up shivering for a large portion of his life. Normally though, Sam was wrapped around Dean, tucking the covers around them both and radiating off an unnatural heat that soaked into Dean's bones and always brought sleep faster than a man with as much blood on his hands as Dean should ever have the luxury of. It was only when Sam left that there was a problem.

Dean sighed and looked towards the door, hoping for a moment that Sam might come back and cozy up to Dean's skin, let them spend all morning wrapped around each other in an entanglement of limbs. But Sam was clearly gone, and there was no evidence he'd even been here at all. His duffel was even gone, the place next to Dean's just an empty space. Dean rolled off of his side and onto his back, planning to stare at the ceiling in his depressing solidarity when a sharp fire burnt into his side.

"Ow, damn, what is--" Dean rolled up onto his other side with a hiss, peering over his shoulder in attempt to identify the source of the throbbing in his hip. Rolling onto this side meant his hellhound beauty marks were stretched tightly, which hurt too, but not nearly as much as the back of his hip. Which was red and sliced up and...oh. Yeah. Sam's initials. So, no evidence other than that.

Dean stumbled off of the bed, wincing as soon as his feet touched the ground because his ass ached like hell. He grabbed the bathrobe from where it was draped over the chair and headed for the bathroom with the least obvious gait possible. The second Dean flicked on the light in front of the mirror, his eyes widened at the sight of his own body. Just from here, Dean could see purple and red splotches on his neck, all the shape of Sam's mouth, and a few hints of spots on his shoulders. Dean dropped the bathrobe to the floor and turned around slowly, staring in a mixture of awe and pain at his back.

His shoulders were covered, bruises and scabbed over bites, little circle shaped marks everywhere. There were a few white lines arching down to Dean's lower back, light fingernail marks from after Sam had gotten his hands untied. Then, below it all, the sharp red lines detailing out the SW on him. It wasn't deep, already dotting over with red, but it still hurt like a bitch. Dean reached out tentative fingers, gingerly touching what bruises and bite marks he could reach. He traced over the letters last, sweeping his fingers in the same pattern Sam had. Hm.

Dean turned back to the front, looking carefully at the healing skin on his side. It was healing fine, and only ever really hurt when Dean got into certain positions. Dean sighed. Mornings by himself were upsetting, there was no one to banter with or bitch to about his injuries. Speaking of which, Dean should find Sam. He scooped the bathrobe off the floor and shrugged it back on, tying it at the waist.

Sam turned out to be in the library, no surprise there. He looked up as Dean walked in, a customary and dull "hey" coming out of his mouth before he turned back down to whatever book was in front of him now. Sam was fully dressed and seated at that same table, everything except his jacket on. Dean returned the greeting, although his was much brighter. Not that Sam noticed, his nose was buried in the 60 year old words Sam had to have read by now. That was basically all he did anyways.

Not to be deterred by Sam's lack of enthusiasm for seeing him, Dean walked up to Sam's side, stooping down to the height of the sitting Sam and planting a kiss on his cheek. Sam actually lifted his head, probably just from surprise, but Dean could take advantage of it nonetheless. He scooted his feet around so his body was angled more behind Sam's, a hand on each shoulder and his face still by the side of Sam's. Dean kissed his cheek again, letting it linger for just a bit longer this time. He slid one hand down Sam's chest, his fingers pointed towards Sam's belly button as Dean pressed up his chest against Sam's back.

"Goodmornin'," Dean teased, his voice low and suggestive as he pressed the word into Sam's jaw with his lips. Sam shifted in his seat, and for a moment Dean was thinking Sam was going to stand, push Dean's robe off again and bend him over Sam's books, licking his tongue over every bruise and mark from last night. But of course, Dean's wishes never came true and Sam's shifting actually brought his body a little further away from his.

"I'm a little tired, maybe later, okay?" Sam shrugged his shoulders a bit and Dean drew back, his brow furrowing and his hands dropping to his sides as he straightened up. It wasn't like Sam to brush him off, even if it was for research. And Sam never told him to leave without some sort of kiss and a smack to Dean's ass or something. And using the whole tired excuse? Dean had thought they were above that.

"Well, maybe you wouldn't be tired if you actually slept in, instead of getting up at whatever ungodly hour you deemed it necessary to start applying yourself this morning." Sam didn't even look up as Dean circled around to the side of the table, leaning against it and folding his arms over his chest. Sam read a few more lines in the silence before he sighed and turned the page, answering Dean as his eyes were absorbing more words.

"Maybe I wouldn't be tired if I hadn't orgasmed three times in an hour." Dean almost face-palmed himself with the realization. Duh, of course that's why Sam was acting strange. Dean had pushed him to his limit and Sam was still recuperating. He propped himself up further on the table, sitting on it at an angle, his feet dangling off the ground as he tried to catch Sam's eye, placing a hand over the page Sam was reading. Sam finally looked up at him, a thin veil of patience about to snap in his eyes.

"Sam, if that's what this is about, I'm sorry man. I pushed you too hard, it's my fault." Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then he snorted, running an absent-minded hand through his hair.

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about it. You had it way worse than I did last night." Sam gestured a hand towards Dean's bathrobe, or rather, to the bruises and cuts underneath the bathrobe. Dean studied Sam's face, trying to make out emotions from the nonchalant mask. There wasn't a lot Dean could pick out, except for a bit of guilt in Sam's eyes. Dean's voice softened even more, the hand on the book lifting to close over Sam's hand.

"Sammy, don't beat yourself up. I'll survive, I promise. You were still amazing, and I know it must hurt you to hurt me, but I wan--"

"Dean. I wasn't worried." Sam huffed out a kind of half-assed laugh that didn't even fool himself, let alone Dean. "You're a big boy, you've had it a lot worse than a couple of bruises."

There was a moment or two of silence where Dean just stared at Sam. Okay, fine, Sam could be an ass in the mornings sometimes. Dean could deal with that. Sam just returned his gaze levelly, no remorse in his expression at all. Dean looked down and slapped his hand over his knee, easing it away from Sam.

"Okay, then." Dean stood up off the table, still propping a hand on it since standing made the slight burn in his backside and thighs much more obvious. "You want breakfast?"

"Already ate." Sam turned back to his book, his thumb slipping in between pages and his eyes scanning. Dean just looked at him a moment, his eyebrows furrowed and an incredulous look on his face.

"You already...what?" Dean knew he sounded pouty and argumentative by now but Sam was annoying the hell out of him this morning. Sam glanced up for a millisecond then returned to his stupid book. Again. Dean was pretty sure Sam was just pretending to read it. It wasn't like you could get anything out of it when you were reading it in two second spurts.

"There was cereal and I made myself a bowl." Dean blinked a few times, then nodded slowly to himself.

"Okay, well, I'm going to go make myself a real breakfast. Then do you wanna--"

"I want to get this done, I've still got a lot to catalog before this stuff is useful." Sam looked fully up, his mouth set in his serious research mode of a straight line. "You go ahead with out me. I'll catch up when I'm done."

Turns out Sam had things to do during lunch too, something about being almost done with deciphering the catalog system the Letters used in their margins. Dean brought Sam out a salad anyways, which went untouched saved for the bite he ate when Dean was in the room. Dean went outside and tuned up the car after lunch, since Sam was clearly not interested in even being in the same room as Dean.

They ate dinner later than usual, since Dean ended up breaking a plate in the careless annoyance he'd spent half the day in. He had been busy trying to figure out what the hell was up with Sam at the same time he was pulling the porcelain plates off the top shelf. The top one slid off and shattered to a million pieces on the ground.

Sam had called out Dean's name, and after Dean shouted back that he was okay, he was left to himself and the silence to clean the mess up. Dinner was in silence too, Sam barely touching his food and avoiding meeting Dean's eyes, answering Dean's first few questions about Sam's day and his reading with as few words as possible. Dean had given up and just eaten in silence, taking Sam's hardly eaten meal back to the kitchen with his empty plate.

Scrubbing the dishes, Sam was all Dean could think about. Dean was pretty sure it wasn't the kinky stuff that had driven Sam away, Sam had been pretty clear he wanted it at the time, and it sounded like he didn't regret it this morning either. So then what was it? Sam was still coughing from time to time, but he said he was fine. And Dean had given his word he'd believe Sam on that.

There was only really one other thing it could be, if it wasn't the cough. Dean had been avoiding thinking about it, hoping that it had slipped Sam's mind just as easily as it had slipped Dean's mouth. Last night, Dean had accidentally blurted out something that Sam could have put too much thought into, could've analyzed in a way that could potentially destroy them both. Sam had said something about threatening to slaughter Dean's children if Dean didn't get off of him, and Dean had instantly responded with "They'd be your children too." He had no idea why that had been the automatic response, but it scared him. Maybe that was implying marriage, or that they'd be fathers together or what, but Sam hadn't commented on it at the time. Or lately. If Dean didn't even know what it meant, what would Sam be thinking?

It would be a valid reason to avoid Dean all day though. Marriage...Dean couldn't say the thought had never crossed his mind, because it had, but it had only done just that. Crossed over, briefly noted, never really considered in any form besides that they couldn't. Even if they wanted to. Even if Sam wanted to. Why would Sam marry Dean? It wasn't like Dean had anything to offer him. It wasn't like being married would change anything. Dean wasn't sure what even all marrying entailed. And the way Sam was acting, it made it even more obvious. Sure, Sam would sleep with him, in more ways than one, even call him his boyfriend, just so Dean wouldn't sleep with other people. But dedicating the rest of his life to Dean? Every day, every minute? Dean was fairly sure no one would ever want him in that way. Hell, Dean couldn't stand being around himself sometimes! why would Sam?

Dean forced himself to stop dragging his feet as he made his way back to the library. He was sadly quite good at pretending to be cheerful, and so there was even a bit of a smile on his face as he walked into the room. He pushed all of his other thoughts aside, just focusing on Sam and the way he looked so goddamned beautiful sitting in that chair, a strand of hair escaped from behind his ear and dangling in his face. Dean's fingers itched to reach out and tuck it back, but he kept his distance between them, stopping before he even reached the other side of the table.

"Hey, I'm turning in. You comin to bed?" Dean knew his tone was hopeful, even though he'd been shut out by Sam all day. Dean wasn't even pegging for sex, he honestly just wanted to lie next to Sam. Hell, Sam could even still read, keep the lamp on and everything while Dean curled up to his side, digging his fingers into Sam's thigh and falling asleep with his nose pressed to Sam's hip. Sam met Dean's eyes again, a fleeting smile crossing his mouth.

"I'll be in in a bit. You don't have to wait up." Then Sam was looking away again and Dean was trudging back to his room. Even though he'd tried not to walk like he was disappointed, what was the point? He waited up anyways, or as long as his body would allow. Dean fell asleep with his body turned into the empty Sam-shaped space that not only the mattress remembered. His arm was stretched across an imaginary person, fist tight in the sheets with stress. The door to Dean's room stayed slightly ajar all night, and the closed eyes of Dean didn't see Sam stopping outside the door, watching Dean sleep with moisture in his eyes and the taste of blood, imagined or real he wasn't sure, in his mouth.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean woke up to a second round of shivers that was much colder than the first. As soon as his eyes opened, Dean knew Sam hadn't ever come in to lie beside him. He bit back the (tears) and emotions threatening to tide up inside him at that thought. Instead, Dean wasted no time getting out of bed, throwing his robe over his tshirt and boxers and going to find Sam. Well, after he grabbed a cup of coffee. So he had enough energy to even find Sam.

Dean spotted Sam before Sam saw him. He was bent over one of the wall sinks, the water blasting and the mirror reflecting worry lines on his forehead. Dean approached him slowly, seeing the glass in Sam's hand and his cheeks puffed with water for just a second before he turned his shoulder to block Dean's sight. There was nothing else Dean could see, so he might as well alert Sam of his presence.

"What's up with you?" Sam jumped, startled, and spun around quickly to face Dean. The worry lines were gone, replaced with the mask of calamity. Sam must not have known Dean saw the switch. His fingertips were fidgety though, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be. Dean scanned his eyes down Sam's body, back up to his face, but couldn't notice anything out of place. Just a water glass.

"Nothing. Why?" Sam reached over and shut off the water. Dean wasn't going to tell Sam why, he wasn't just going to bring up the fact that Sam had entirely avoided him all day yesterday and all night last night. That it actually hurt, a lot, that Sam was avoiding him. Without even telling Dean why. Dean made a face, not even caring that Sam knew he didn't believe him. He wasn't even going to give Sam the satisfaction of talking about it. Not when Sam left him alone in bed all by himself. And wouldn't eat Dean's food. Or even with Dean in the room. Or even talk to Dean. But mostly for leaving him waiting in the cold all night.

"Heard from Kevin?" Dean walked past Sam, forcing Sam to follow him. Sam was following, which was at least better than yesterday, but he was keeping his distance from Dean.

"Uh, no. Nothing yet." Sam looked back in the sink as Dean made his over to the end of the control room table. Like he was looking for his damned soul in there or something, he'd been so cold yesterday.

"What's it been, like, three weeks? What's taking that little brainiac so long? It's a book..." Dean plopped down in the chair at the end of the table so Sam couldn't avoid him. Dean wasn't just walking away and giving Sam space today. Either Dean was going to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Sam, or he was going to give Sam the chance to stop acting like a dick and pretend yesterday was just an off day that never happened. Just thinking about yesterday made Dean's mouth taste sour. So maybe he was a little exaggerative with his complaints about Kevin. And maybe it wasn't really necessary but he threw his hands up in frustration anyways. "Read it."

"Just a guess, but translating an ancient language with zero help might be more difficult than we think." Sam had a bit of a sassy face on but Dean wasn't fooled by a single Sam-like comment. Dean did just witness Sam acting like a weird-ass at the sink like 3 seconds ago. So he just shot an unimpressed look at Sam's attempt at normal. Sam was anything but normal, Sam was acting all avoidy and strange. And if Dean didn't say anything, Sam would think he could get away with it. Dean had given Sam 24 hours, but he was done now. Something had to change or Dean was going to shoot something. Like, soon.

"So, no word from Cas, Kevin's taking his sweet little time, and you're acting cagey." Sam startled at that word, at the accusation that he was anything other than perfectly regular Sam. Dean almost laughed at the expression on Sam's face except this wasn't funny at all. Dean was being perfectly serious, and Sam seemed to see that on Dean's face. Which was making him fidgety, shifting his weight and his eyes like he had something to hide. Maybe he did. Or maybe he just was avoiding Dean because he was freaked out from what Dean said. About the kids thing. God, why had Dean been so stupid? He needed to get his mind off of it, and there was one way to tide over all of this easily.

"We need a lead before I start climbing these walls." Dean brought his coffee to his lips, tipping back the warm cup of coffee and thinking how much warmer Sam's mouth was. Sam's mouth that was apparently off limits. But if they took a case, Sam couldn't bury himself in years worth of research. And he couldn't avoid sleeping next to Dean. In fact, he couldn't avoid Dean at all. If they worked, Sam was forced to be with him. Hence, Dean could figure out what was up with him. And why he was acting strange. At the very least he could tell Sam he hadn't really intended for the marriage implication to come out like that. Or at all. Sam didn't want to marry him, clearly.

"Well, um..." Sam avoided acknowledging the presence of the cagey comment, which Dean pretended not to notice for Sam's sake. He still looked uncomfortable as hell, but he picked up a newspaper from the desk, tossing it to Dean. At least attempting to be helpful. Even though he couldn't hand it to Dean, apparently he had to toss it from a foot and a half away. Dean picked it up and scanned it anyways. At least Sam sat down. "In that case, I can give you zombies. Guy gets hit by a car; left for dead overnight, guts spilled out all over the road, then gets up and walks away from it."

"Nothing about brain munching?" As suddenly engaged and helpful as Sam was attempting to be (Dean could see the guilt in his eyes - guilt for yesterday maybe, or for the strange happenings at the sink, or for whatever he was guilty for yesterday morning - whatever it was, Sam was overcompensating and attempting to make up for it now), Dean still could ask for good zombies when he got zombies.

"Remember Bobby's wife? She didn't... munch on any brains." Yes Dean remembered her, she'd accused him of never being in love which had fucked with his brain, because at the time his mind had instantly flown to Sam and then he'd been confused as hell because it was like months before he even admitted how he felt about Sam to himself. So yeah, he remembered her. And her unfortunate dislike for brains. She liked pie though. Was that a zombie thing or...right, the case. Dean glanced up at Sam, who was looking at him with guarded but expectant eyes. Waiting for Dean to say something, for Dean to approve, anything.

"Well, who's the witness?"

"Montana state trooper, 20-year vet. Checked his pulse, saw his insides spilled out all over the place, pronounced him dead with a capital "D."" Dean nodded and glanced over at Sam, who's gaze was locked on him. His eyes were soft, almost apologetic, but Dean didn't give that easy. If Sam wanted to apologize for ditching him, he'd at least have to bring Dean something more than a brainmuchingless zombie article in a paper. Like pie. Dean could seriously get on board with forgiving Sam for pie.

"Alright." Dean stood up, scooting his chair back with a screech and tossing the paper back down onto the table. "Zombie-hunting it is. You need me to help getting anything into the car?"

Dean shot Sam a side glance and Sam didn't reel back and close up or snap like Dean had been expecting him too. However he didn't really get the playful banter of "I'm not an invalid" that would let him know Sam was okay. Instead he just got a slight frown, the flash of something in Sam's eyes.

"I'm fine. I'll meet you out there." Then Sam was brushing past him, not spitefully just hurriedly, and Dean was sighing again, drinking his coffee on the way to his room and attempting not to spill it down his robe. Sam was acting like nothing had happened, or was happening still. He was actually acting a bit like Dean. Which was never good, because the last time Sam started mimicking him, he'd ended up "fighting the war on his own," using his demon powers and letting Lucifer out of his cage.

So Sam should act like Sam and Dean should act like Dean. Although Dean might have to intervene and initiate one of Sam's girly emotional talks because he couldn't keep going on without knowing what was up in Sam's head. It'd kill him.

~*~*~*~

"You think maybe I could clean up?"

"Yeah, man. Knock yourself out." Shane nodded in appreciation then stood and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving Sam and Dean alone again. Not that it made a big difference, except it kinda really did. Dean turned his head towards Sam, who was standing purposely closer than he had for the past 48 hours combined. "Well, he's definitely something."

"Yeah, but maybe he's not the monster. Maybe he's the victim." Sam squinched his face to the side like he was thinking, and Dean tried not to stare but he failed. Funny how after spending years and years living in Sam's pocket, Dean was still mesmerized by his funny little quirks.

"You thinking curse?" They hadn't dealt with a curse in a while, and those always ended up being pretty interesting. Although Sam had gotten this horrible flash of terror across his face the second that Shane had said he died every day. Dean knew that was a bit of a soft spot for Sam.

Gabriel had made Dean die every day a long time ago, but it had affected Sam a ton at the time. It had been a week and a half before Dean could go anywhere alone again, and Sam had been clingy every Tuesday after that until the day Dean went to hell. So for months. When Dean had gotten back from hell though, Sam had been entirely broken of that spell. Apparently watching Dean get ripped apart by hellhounds and being able to do nothing for four months made Tuesdays pale a bit in comparison. And after Gabe bit it, they'd both dropped the memory from their minds.

Once Shane mentioned what happened to him though, Sam looked kind of struck with fear. He'd been inching closer to Dean ever since, like he was afraid of getting stuck in that time loop all over again. Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit sadistically grateful for Sam's worry, because it came along with Sam's proximity. Dean was going to try to get Sam to stop fretting anyways though, even if it meant losing the proximity again. Because better for Sam to be okay than for Dean to be selfish. Although now was probably not the time to try to talk about it.

"Could be looking for a witch, yeah. You know what? He's parked here. He's safe. Maybe we should just get another room until we can figure this out." The get another room suggestion actually surprised Dean a little. They could definitely share the other bed in here, but apparently Sam wanted some privacy. Which was probably a really good idea. Because who knows the position their bodies would end up in while they were sleeping.

"All right, but you're the one going full-cavity for the hex bag." Sam just shrugged, clearly not minding, while Dean went and booked them the room next door, which looked exactly the same. The guy at the counter looked super suspicious, like he thought that maybe they'd wrecked the first one so bad they needed a new one. It wasn't like they were honeymooning, lord. Honeymooning...marriage...why in the world did it come to this again? Dean seriously needed to talk to Sam about that before he went crazy.

By the time Shane was okay and the room was searched and proved hexbagless, Sam was shooting worried glances at Dean every three seconds. Dean could practically see the flashbacks bombarding Sam's mind, could see the pain creeping back in Sam's bones. He was anxious to get out of Shane's vicinity, or maybe he was just anxious to get into a room with just Dean. Either way, Sam practically dragged Dean to their new room as soon as he could.

The moment the door closed behind them, Sam's hands were cupping Dean's face, then smoothing down to his neck, then down over Dean's shoulders, out to his wrists, where Sam's hands paused in their frenzy and started dragging Dean towards the bed by his grip on Dean's wrists. It all happened so fast, within seconds, that Dean didn't even have a chance to speak until Sam was pulling him to bed.

"Woah, Sam, I'm right here man. Calm down." Sam's forehead was creased with doubt, like maybe Dean wouldn't be here three seconds from now. Dean knew how that could be, there had been plenty of cases that had triggered flashbacks for Dean, made him wake up in the middle of the night screaming. Sam was always there in an instant, coaxing Dean back into "okay" again. Sometimes that meant rubbing Dean's back, other times holding him, or if it was really bad, just laying next to Dean and talking him back to serenity. Those were the worse nights, when the nightmare was of torture and Sam's caring hands only felt like Alistair's, shredding off his flesh with a smile, searing his insides with the touch of fingertips.

Right now, though, Dean was pretty sure that touching Sam was the best option to calm him down. Dean's hands found Sam's biceps and tipped Sam over the same time Sam pushed him down onto the bed. They tumbled onto it in a tangle of limbs and awkward rolling until Dean could actually tell who was who and managed to separate them long enough to tug the comforter out from under them and throw it over the top. Then Sam was scooping Dean's body towards him, rolling him onto his side and throwing an arm over Dean's stomach. It went in a blur again, Sam pulling Dean towards him so fast that Dean didn't even have a chance to grab his own pillow. Sam was holding him close enough to share anyways.

"I'm okay, I just. Need to know you're here," Sam whispered into Dean's neck. His hand snaked up under Dean's shirt, resting over Dean's heart, like he needed reinforcement of the fact that Dean was alive. Dean took a second to steady his breathing, trying not to flip out from Sam's worry. Dean could be calm for his brother, especially now when Sam needed him.

"Alright, Sammy. Let's get some sleep though, huh?" Sam nodded on the pillow behind Dean and shifted his hips some, rolling them more down towards Dean, fitting his crotch tightly against Dean's ass. Dean could feel a vague outline of a bulge against his ass, which was understandable since their bodies were pressed so tightly together. Sam's breathing was already steadying out behind him though, and it wasn't like they were in a good moment to have sex anyways.

Sam was asleep in literally seconds, which did nothing but set off alarm bells in Dean's head. If Sam was this goddamned tired, something was very wrong. Dean had just assumed Sam had slept in his own bed or on the couch last night since he hadn't slept with Dean, but. What if he hadn't slept at all? The thought of Sam pulling an all nighter just to avoid Dean made his stomach twist in mortification. God, something was sooo wrong.

Dean's mind was sorting and analyzing more possibilities and theories for why, but he had to have fallen asleep at one point. Probably because Sam was just so warm, wrapped up around him. But whatever brief number of hours Dean drifted off for was suddenly interrupted in a single instant.

Sam sucked in a breath and shot up beside him, one moment snuggled up to Dean and the next sitting up, gripping the sheets in fists and panting, sweat lining his hairline. Dean woke up the same moment Sam did, but by the time he managed to scramble up and face Sam, Sam had curled into himself. Sam's knees were drawn to his chest and his arms were wrapped around them, his head tucked down and hair falling in strands over his arms. It was the epitome of a breakdown, and Dean couldn't get to Sam fast enough.

"Sammy? Sam. Sam! I'm right here, it's me. I'm alive, I'm okay, I'm here with you, now." Sam was shaking and rocking, his head still tucked between his arms in his little ball of despair. Dean's hands were rubbing Sam's back and his arm, trying to ground Sam back to reality. Sam's breathing was coming in too short, fast puffs, and if Dean didn't get Sam to calm back down in the next three seconds he was probably going to have a panic attack about Sam's panic attack.

"Dean. Dean. No. Dean," Sam was moaning under his breath. Dean slid his hand down to one of Sam's, threading his fingers through the white-knuckling ones, Dean's palm against the back of Sam's hand, which was gripping his arm tightly.

"Sam, listen to me. I need you to breathe, okay? Listen to my voice. This is Dean, you know, that pain in the ass older brother you love? I'm right here Sam. I'm okay. I'm not gonna leave you. Breathe for me honey, okay?" Dean pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Sam's head, scooting his body up flush with the curled one. One of Dean's hands kept up a repetitive stroke across Sam's back, up and down with heavy, weighted, grounding motions.

It took another minute or so for Sam's breathing to lengthen a bit, the short huffs becoming regular panting from a nightmare. It wasn't ideal, but Dean could live with that. There wasn't much else Dean could do besides hold Sam the best he could, softly repeating "I'm here" until Sam understood him.

When Sam finally lifted his head, somewhere between 5 to 10 minutes later, there were tear tracks down his face. He didn't look at Dean at first, still staring down like he was in shock. Or maybe ashamed. In their line of work, in all the shit that they had to go through, having a panic attack in the middle of the night was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Dean kept up his petting, waiting for Sam to lift his head all the way.

"You good?" Dean finally asked softly. Sam lifted his head a bit more, chancing a glance at Dean with his puffy eyes. He sucked in oxygen, then let it out as slowly as possible, a deep breath that ended up being a lot more shaky than deep.

"Yeah, I think so." Sam was quiet for another moment, staring ahead, his legs still drawn in to his chest. Then he dropped his gaze again, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, I jus--"

"Sam. Look at me." Sam lifted his head, turning his tear-stained face towards Dean. Dean reached out a hand and placed it softly on Sam's cheek, holding him in place. "Don't you ever apologize for that, okay? It doesn't make you any less strong. Okay? I got you."

Tears were welling up in Sam's eyes again and Dean brought his other hand to Sam's cheek, cupping his face like he was something precious. He was. He absolutely was.

Dean closed the distance between their mouths that had been getting further and further over the past 48 hours, finally deciding to kiss Sam regardless of whatever shit was going on between them right now. Sam's lips were salty against his own, the tears pressing into the kiss. Dean ran his tongue at the seam of Sam's mouth, asking for entrance. Sam was reluctant, but his lips finally parted a little.

Dean tilted his head, opening his mouth against Sam's and gliding them in their dance. Sam's trembling started to mild out, one hand finally unwrapping from his legs and sliding around Dean's rib cage, resting on his back. Dean pressed deeper, all of his senses overwhelming with the taste of Sam, and tears, and the faint hint of...copper? Dean froze, which in turn made Sam still worriedly. Dean almost pulled away before he remembered that he had bitten his tongue a few times in his nightmares, woken up with blood in his mouth and panic everywhere else.

He tilted his mouth and moved against Sam again, reassuredly pressing them together once more. Dean wasn't going to mention anything, Sam felt guilty enough about this as it was. Dean could suck it up and kiss Sam with blood in his mouth, after all, Dean was pretty sure their last kiss had been bloody from his hip carving anyways.

When they finally pulled away from each other, Dean pressed his forehead against Sam's, both of their eyes still closed as they breathed in each other's air. Sam was okay, and Dean was okay, and they had each other. That was all that mattered.

"Thank you." Sam's whisper broke through the silence. Dean just answered by squeezing the back of Sam's neck, the obvious answer hanging in the air between them. Always.

The moment was shattered a few seconds later, literally shattered with the sound of glass breaking into a thousand pieces. Dean lifted his head, turning it towards the room next door. Shane. He looked back at Sam, who was sitting up straight and tall now, looking like he was actually okay for once.

"Imma go check on Shane, you stay here, okay?" Then Dean was pressing a quick kiss to Sam's forehead and jumping off the bed, grabbing his jacket and running through the door. The door to Shane's room was unlocked, and Dean swung it open.

Great, an intruder. Dean's brain registered those three words, then he was on instinct a second later and raising his knife to attack the stranger. She dodged his downward slash, them suddenly something was crashing into his legs and Dean was on the ground. In pain. Again.

The woman's weapon clattered to the floor, then her attention was on the doorway again. Dean looked over his shoulder, just in time to see his brother flung backwards, hearing a scuffing sound as Sam hit the ground. Goddammit, couldn't Sam just stay put when Dean told him to? In the few seconds before Dean saw him fly backwards though, Sam looked strong. Okay. Like he hadn't just gotten over a minor panic attack.

That kid's retention rate was something Dean was never going to understand. But so long as Sammy was really okay, Dean wasn't going to question it.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean went straight for his bedroom the second they got back to the bunker. Sam was off to shower, but Dean had other things on his mind. He couldn't get the conversation in the car out of his head. Everything Sammy had said...maybe I'm being naïve. you think they chose death? the life chose it for them. maybe I can't make it out of these trials unscathed.

He'd only had a childish reply, one a fifteen year old Dean would have said to an eleven year old Sammy. But you promised.. It wasn't good enough, Dean knew it wasn't good enough. Not when Sammy was clearly way more wrecked than he was letting on. The more Dean thought about it, the more it made sense that that was why Sam was avoiding him. Dean was basically sure by now that Sam hadn't even thought about that night with the marriage thing happened, let alone thought about what Dean has said. So Dean stopped over analyzing it, focusing on the fact that maybe something was wrong with Sam, not that something was wrong with him. It was just that the whole "it's not you, it's me" crap was normally a total lie, so the fact that it might be true was scaring Dean.

He'd rather Sammy be okay and hate Dean for something than for Sam to be hurting. And Dean was running out of options too. He couldn't approach Sam before he knew more, Sam would just sigh away. So he turned to the last thing he had left.

Well, if he still had it. Dean didn't know. He had no idea if Cas even cared a smidge about him. But Dean still needed him to, he needed Cas to care. More than he'd ever like to admit. And not just for Sam's sake, Dean needed Cas for his own sake too.

Dean slammed his bedroom door shut, probably way too forcefully, but that was the least of his concerns. He tossed his jacket and crossed to the bed, plopping down on ot and throwing his eyes to the sky. Well, ceiling, but Dean felt closer to Cas this way. Looking up felt like hope, that hope he never truly dared to admit. He had to bite back emotions welling behind his eyes as the familiar unspoken name sat on his tongue. The name of the angel who'd abandoned Dean over and over. And still the source of Dean's hope.

"Cas, you got your ears on? Listen, you know I am not one for praying, 'cause in my book it's... it's the same as begging. But this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me." The desperation in his voice was something Dean didn't even want his own ears to hear, let alone Sam's. But when it came to Cas, Dean's level of trust ran so deep he didn't bother trying to hide it.

"We are going into this deal blind... and I don't know what's ahead or what it's gonna bring for Sam. Now, he's covering pretty good, but I know that he is hurting, and this one was supposed to be on me." He had been thinking that, but saying it out loud made it so much more real. Dean still hadn't pinpointed what it was about Cas that made Dean spill his most inner being. Maybe it was the way Dean felt tethered to him, like their profound bond was something physically there in space. Or maybe it was the blue eyes that seemed to chill Dean into submission, awe Dean to the point of silence. Maybe it was the gentle touch, the way he was so careful, even when he was killing things. Maybe it was just Cas being Cas that messed Dean up so much.

"So, for all that we've been through, I'm asking you..." It may be wrong to bring that up, to remind Cas of the relationship, the friendship they share. It may be cheating to ask for personal preference like this. But it didn't feel wrong. It felt like Cas, the Cas Dean knew, the Cas that loved him, he would understand. He would feel Dean's sincerity. His voice almost broke on the next words, tears threatening to gather on his lashes. But Cas would get it, Cas who loved him would help. "...you keep a lookout for my little brother, okay?"

Dean looked around the room, half expecting Cas to materialize here. Half needing Cas to materialize. There was no flapping of wings, no trench coat and tie, no soft angelic smile. Dean was surrounded by Cas's entire absence and it felt heavier than anything Dean had ever had to lift. This was why Dean didn't let himself think about Cas, because he feared one day the angel-shaped hole Cas left in his heart would collapse on itself and Dean would die from the crushing weight of Cas being gone. From Cas leaving him.

Dean shook his head, knocking that thought aside but unable to break the spell of his sadness. With everything Dean was going through, with the sucking Sam's that had been his life lately, he needed Cas now more than ever. Dean couldn't do this without the strength of his angel at his side. Dean had come to depend on that.

His voice sounded wrecked, more desperate than ever as he finally parted his lips again, heartbroken words spilling past his mouth.

"Where the hell are you, man?"


	6. Precipitous (Goodbye Stranger 08x17)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologizing in advance
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: kind of graphic violence.

The first time it happened, the gorgeous green eyes turned up, watery and pleading and honest, the body broken and twisted on the cold concrete, the plush pink lips falling open with the words that spilled out, so quiet and soft and hurting they might not have been heard if it weren't for Castiel's celestial hearing. "I love you, Cas."

Castiel froze, his entire being faltering at the words. Every ounce of his angelic being, vessel, mind, and the very space around him stumbling over any source of sanity. It was like the ground suddenly delved open beneath his feet, the same precise moment that the heavens opened up above, torn and suspended in space by the gravitational pull of Earth's core and the bright beckoning of Heaven's beacon. Somewhere in the dull corner of Cas's mind, he knew he was already in Heaven, in some place or room he couldn't identify. Those four words, in Dean's voice, pleaded up at Cas from the pool of blood he lay in on the floor, those four words.

The knife in his hand stabbed deep into Dean's heart, plunging and twisting into the organ with more brutality and cruelty than any of the other kills combined. Blood gurgled up past the pretty lips that used to press to his, the light in the bright firey eyes fading as they locked on Cas's, the final breath of life dying at his feet.

Cas fell to his knees, his fists grabbing in Dean's bloody jacket and hauling the body up to his lap, the blood mingling with the tears cascading down in rivets from Cas's eyes. He pressed his thumbs over Dean's eyes, trying to close the lids, let him rest in piece. The eyes just stayed open, blank, staring up at Castiel with an empty nothingness, with the look Dean gave Cas in all of his nightmares. Like Cas meant nothing, was nothing. And that's exactly what he was, without Dean.

Then Dean's body was getting ripped away from Cas's arms, and Cas was crawling on his hands and knees, scrambling after it, hands and knees drenched in Dean's blood, in the trail of blood the dragged body was leaving behind. He was vaguely aware of screams echoing throughout the room, and came to the meaningless revelation that the screams were coming from him. He could taste tears in his mouth, maybe blood too, all around the name he was crying out, the only shape his mouth knew anymore. Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean.

Capable arms lifted him off the ground under his armpits, dragged him backwards in the other direction, and Cas's shrill noises still pierced the air, watching as Dean's lifeless body was dragged away from him, dragged to the other side of the room to join as the 127th other, the matching dead eyes and pale lips, the twisted arms and broken necks and slashed throats and severed spinal chords and the blood staining all that leather, the sweet smell of gunpowder and impala and pie and leather and whiskey, masked over with blood blood blood Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean.

 

The next time Cas was put on the floor was a few days and lots of pain later, and this Dean looked just the same as the last, the rosy of his cheeks, the dilation of his eyes when he saw Cas. The confusion, the pain, the hurt, the pleading, the disbelief. All of it. Cas snapped his forearm, watched him scream out in pain, not showing any sign of what the screams was ripping apart inside. Then Dean was falling to the ground and Cas was watching still, then he lifted the blade up, eyes still locked on the green ones he couldn't tear away from no matter how much torture they drilled into his bones. Maybe they didn't want him to turn away. Then Dean's lips fell open again, words tumbling out into the space between them again.

"I love you, Cas." A confession. A plea. Cas screamed this time as he punctured Dean's right ventricle cavity with the sharp blade, the knife cutting into Dean's heart just like the words cut into Cas's. Words that Dean would never mean, words that Dean would never mean. Never. Mean. Dean wouldn't ever say that to him and maybe that was why Castiel cried, he didn't know why he cried, he was just suddenly draped over this dead body too, his cheek pressed to the wound in Dean's chest, blood pumping onto his face and into his mouth, into his eyes, blinding him.

Dragged away. Both of them, Dean on the other side of the room. Cas didn't fight them pulling him away this time, just let them drag him, silent save for the sobs escaping his mouth.

 

The 129th Dean said it too. Maybe because Cas always killed Dean so quickly after he said it. Maybe denying that was what he had been needing to hear. Maybe maybe maybe a hundred different things. Cas curled into a ball and cried next to Dean that time, his mind replaying the choking, the words sputtering out of Dean's mouth each accompanied by a spray of blood. I love you, Cas... Cas didn't drag his feet all the way back to the analyzation chamber that time, just until Dean was out of sight.

The 130th Dean grabbed his leg as he said it, begging for his life, begging for Cas with his three words. Followed by that same sweet sweet nickname.

"I love you Cas." Cas had to shake him off in order to stab his heart, because when Dean said that Cas couldn't end him any other way. Dean's grip was tight though, and Castiel slid in the pool of Dean's blood from his snapped femur, from the slice across his abs. His foot slipped and then he was on the ground, scooting through the blood pool to the man crawling towards him, grabbing Dean's shoulder and pushing him onto his back roughly, raising the knife above his head and slamming it home, crashing through a rib to get to his heart, piercing it and spraying blood up onto Cas's trenchcoat.

They dragged him away kicking and screaming that time. And there was an extra day in the analyzation chamber with Naomi.

The 131st Dean cried as he said it, his own tears falling into his mouth the same time the gash from his head spilled blood into it. Cas drew back a fist instead of his blade that time. His fist made a wreck of Dean's perfect nose, snapping a bone clean in two with the first hit. More tears, and Dean said it again, screaming it this time like he was angry, like it was Cas's fault he felt this way, and that made it more real. Because that's how Cas had first said it to himself, screaming it and crying and weeping on the floor, pissed, pissed as hell.

"I LOVE YOU CAS!!" Cas brought the knife down so quickly that time he missed Dean's heart entirely and had to pluck the knife out of his chest, swinging again through the blur of his sobs and sinking the already bloody knife into Dean's heart this time. Dean's eyes were cold, his whole body was cold, tears and blood and confessions lying everywhere. Cas turned heel and ran that time, past the two angels waiting to gather him and drag him away.

 

132nd Dean. I love you, Cas.

133rd Dean. "I love you, Cas."

134th Dean. I love you, Cas.

135th Dean. I love you Cas.

I.

Love.

You,

Cas.

 

(I love you Cas.)

........I love

 

...you

 

...................Cas.

 

I love  
You Cas

.......{I love you, Cas.}.......

I love you, Cas.

He started plunging the knife in before Dean could make his lips form the "k" sound at the beginning of his name. I love you Cas's became just I love you -- dead.

That might have been worse. Everything was worse. The first kill was the worst, but the second kill was the worst. No, the one hundred fifty fifth kill was the worst.

I love you Cas was worse than just I love you--

I love you-- was worse than I love you Cas.

 

Cas started to hate him.

If he were to look in a mirror now, he wouldn't see the blue eyes of his vessel, or even the trenchcoat he'd come to think of as his own. He'd see empty, dead green eyes, blood splattered spikes in his hair and a leather jacket over a heart with an angel blade sticking out of it. Cas was a walking breathing shell of 124 dead Deans that said I love you before getting stabbed through the heart.

The cut off I love you made Castiel's mind start to wander, and soon he started filling in the blank in his head. I love you Sam. The truth. What Dean really wanted to say. Cas started to stab faster, stab harder, cut off Dean's words sooner. He could see the appraising looks from the angels, as Cas got more violent, more nasty, more hateful to the green eyed man he loved and had murdered 367 times.

Like all things going uphill, there had to be a peak that broke everything. The fall was sudden, swift, and precipitous. Cas had reached the point that Dean would just get out "I lo--" before there was a twisting blade in his heart and blood squirting everywhere. Cas would look cooly down at Dean then, anger seeping through the cracks of his eyes as he glared down at the man, the same thought echoing through his head, an angry, accusatory chant.

He'd never say that. He'd never say that. He'd never say that. He'd never say that.

And therefore he had to die.

The anger was bubbling up higher and higher each time Dean's bow shaped mouth formed the words and now he was killing for the wrong reasons, and the grins on his angelic escorts were starting to fade. There was no fear in their eyes for Cas's animalistic rage, only flickers if annoyance that he was making such a mess, that he was losing the real objective.

Cas didn't know what the objective had been in the first place.

 

It was on the 484th Dean that the red film of rage over Castiel's eyes was pierced by the sharp green that was made designed and purposed only to counteract the red. Dean's eyes were the exact opposite the colour of his blood on a colour wheel, and Cas had been painted with both for however many minutes or years he'd spent in this room.

The 484th Dean whipped around to confront Cas, just as the ten thousand others had. The second he saw Cas he lowered his gun, guard down because it was Cas. Sometimes Dean kept it up, weary, but they were all the same now, just another straw added to the haystack that was readying to explode.

Cas reached out his fingers and grabbed ahold of Dean's arm, twisting it back with precision, the snapping sound and sudden cry making his gut twist with some sick emotion that Cas no longer knew how to identify. Dean crumpled at Cas's feet, eyes turning up from where he lay curled on the floor.

"Cas, please, this isn't you, you don't want to do this." Cas had to get the kill in at the heart, so he kicked at Dean's balled form, trying to crack him open and force him back onto his back before his blubbering turned into the terrified "I lo--" confession Cas had reduced him to now.

Dean's fingers curled around Cas's ankle and Cas kicked again, to shake Dean off. Dean's cries hadn't stopped, neither had his futile attempts to grab onto Cas. A lot of the Deans just tried to run from him, but sometimes they ran to him, which was always harder. Cas finally planted a kick in Dean's solar plexus, and his hand released Cas's ankle, his body rolling back onto his spine with a groan.

Cas raised the blade, but Dean was faster.

"I love you, Cas." The first time he'd heard all four words since 200 Deans ago. Cas stumbled, just like the first time, his knife stopping on its decent to Dean's heart. Dean was looking up at him, tears flooding the cheeks that were speckled lightly with blood and freckles.

Then the blade and every ounce of anger Cas had been penting up inside came crashing down, the knife darting in and out of Dean's heart inside of three seconds. Then it was carving, slicing, shredding every inch if skin he could reveal through the ripping jacket and buttons were flying and blood was in Cas's eyes and in his nose and his mouth, and he just kept cutting, screaming, dicing, spraying blood and Dean everywhere.

"YOU LIAR! YOU BASTARD YOU NEVER LOVED ME YOU NEVER LOVED ME YOU NEVER LOVED ME YOU NEVER-- Dean. Dean. Dean. DEAN!! No, no, no, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I promise I will fix you, I can fix you, I can fix this, just please please don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me DON'T LEAVE ME!!"

Cas couldn't pinpoint the moment he'd stopped making ribbons of Dean's chest and started kissing Dean's face, but one moment he had lost it all to hacking Dean into pieces and the next there were tears flooding the blood out of his eyes and salt and blood and freckles covering Cas's lips.

They had to cut Dean's body out of Cas's arms.

He lost track of how many days he spent in the analyzation chamber.

 

The Deans didn't say I love you anymore after that.

Castiel started killing in more creative ways, no longer feeling the need to indulge in his obsession with puncturing Dean's heart. There were throats slashed and organs cut out and more snapped necks. They started out as messy kills, but Castiel got more and more precise.

Then he started killing because Dean didn't say I love you. Stabbing, twisting, punching, slicing, snapping. Wanting to hear it one more time. It never came.

It was a more natural thing to kill Dean for, the absence of the four words. It was actually easier. Killing got easier and Castiel grew more numb. He stopped caring about the softness of the rough hands on him, stopped noticing the flush of warmth in Dean's cheeks. The green faded to some nondescript colour that held no relevance to Castiel. Nothing held relevance to Castiel.

By the time his kill was clean, brutal, swift, and efficient, Castiel did not even care about Naomi's praise. He'd completed a mission and he was ready now and that meant nothing to him besides that he'd completed a mission and he was ready now.

If there was a part of Cas that was asking "ready for what?" Castiel couldn't hear that part of his head now. He couldn't even hear the screams anymore, couldn't decipher the difference between a screamed "please" and "no."

And as he walked out of the room, 1189 dead Deans lay behind him and Castiel did not even turn his head once.

 

~*~*~*~

When Sam came into Dean's room last night, Dean was in the bathroom down the hall, running water in the sink like he was washing his face. Sam didn't think anything of it, it wasn't like Dean had a habit of crying and was constantly trying to hide the evidence from Sam, so Sam didn't even know he'd been crying at all by the time he made it back into his room.

Sam was already half under the sheets, curled up facing away from the door, his chest covered by a thin tshirt and his hair falling all over Dean's pillow. Dean turned out the light as soon as he stepped into the room (shutting his eyes first so they'd be more adjusted to the dark by the time he opened them) and closed the door softly behind him. He could see the outline of Sam lift his head, look over his shoulder at Dean.

"Hey you." Sam's voice was just about as warm and affectionate as he was feeling inside, and he was pretty sure he'd see an eye roll from Dean if the lights were still on. Sam could feel Dean's smile even in the dark from this far away, then the far away became a lot less far as Dean made his way over to the bed.

"Scoot over," Dean grumbled playfully, climbing up onto the bed and pushing at Sam's shoulder. There was miles of room available for Dean, big ass and all, so Sam didn't bother budging. He just reached up and wrapped his arms around Dean's torso, tugging him down onto the bed with Sam. Dean made an oof sound as Sam spun him and tucked him in close to his front, wrapping an arm around Dean's chest and finding one of Dean's hands, entwining the fingers with his own.

Dean got quiet after that, his thumb slowly stroking thoughtfully over Sam's skin. Sam could practically hear his thoughts. He watched the back of Dean's head for a while, watched Dean watch their hands with the keen fascination of someone who was still in awe to find their hand fit perfectly inside someone else's. Sam wasn't as awed by it as Dean was, it was just a given thing for Sam. Dean was his missing puzzle piece, no questions asked. Dean still seemed surprised by it sometimes though.

After a few minutes of Dean wistfully thinking about their entwined hands, Sam tilted his head forward, bringing his lips to the back of Dean's neck. A shiver ran down Dean's spine that was caught by Sam's chest and abs, slightly shaking them both. Sam lifted his lips off for just a moment before he pressed them to the warm skin there again. And again.

Then Sam was peppering the back of Dean's neck with a thousand kisses, all in the same 4inch square, a thousand quick presses of lips to the warm skin. Soft sounds fell out of Dean's mouth, and his fingers tightened where they were entwined with Sam's. A thousand little kisses, a thousand apologies.

It was killing Sam to leave Dean in the dark like this, but Sam knew it'd kill Dean even more if he knew. And Sam would rather let Dean be a little hurt by Sam's avoidance than for him to have to feel like he had failed, like he was responsible, like he was the reason Sam kept coughing up blood. This was the best way for Dean, even if it hurt Sam like hell. Sam just wanted to curl up in bed, let Dean rub his back for hours until he felt okay again. Until he felt like his internal organs weren't getting coughed out of his throat.

 

When Sam had woken up this morning, Dean had been laying on Sam's chest, snoring lightly as his hand clutched Sam's tshirt. Sam had just threaded his fingers through Dean's hair until Dean woke up, watching the slumber fade from his body and awareness take over. Sam was feeling sated and full and content, even though they'd done nothing more than fallen asleep half on top of each other. They hadn't had sex in days but Sam was still trying to figure out how the hell he was going to kiss Dean when there was blood in his mouth.

"Good morning beautiful," Sam whispered, pressing his lips to Dean's temple. Dean lifted his head groggily and blinked a few times before furrowing his eyes and looking at Ssm confusedly.

"And who were you thinking fell asleep on you?" The words were raspy and full of sass, and barely effective since Dean was rubbing at his eyes tiredly as he attempted at his burn comment, easily dodging Sam's compliment. Sam just laughed softly, which disoriented Dean even more from the quick rise and fall of Sam's chest.

"Don't kid yourself, you know how beautiful you are." Sam stroked his fingers gently down the side of Dean's face, but he just scowled and glared at Sam with sleepy eyes that held no emotion besides affection.

"I know you are, but what am I?" Dean challenged, his words making him sound years younger than he was. Sam laughed again, succeeding in knocking Dean off his chest and onto the bed beside him. Sam's hands were quick to follow, running over whatever body part he could reach, right now the back of Dean's rib cage, turning his body to the side to watch Dean as he squirmed to get away.

"Not a morning person, that's for sure." Sam said lightly, his hand running up the whole length of Dean's back. Dean stopped his childish efforts to avoid Sam's caresses, catching Sam's eye instead.

"I bet I'd be a morning person if you woke me up with blowjobs." Sam swatted at Dean's arm and Dean dodged it artfully, grinning his head off as he jumped off the bed.

"You wish." Sam propped his head up on his hand, watching Dean move across the room.

"You're right, I do. You want pancakes for breakfast?" Dean straightened up from where he'd grabbed his robe off the chair, throwing it around his shoulders and tying it snugly at the waist. It was such a domestic scene Sam couldn't fight back the dimpled grin that took over his features.

"You bet I do. Beautiful." Sam smiled around his words and Dean made a face before he raised a hand, pointing a finger at Sam very seriously.

"Blow jobs, Sam." Sam couldn't help but laugh again and even Dean's pretend grumpy facade was broken for a moment and he smiled. Then he was headed for the bedroom door and Sam reached out a hand and tapped Dean's ass as he walked by, eliciting a surprised sound that was higher pitched than Dean would ever admit to. Then Dean shot a Sam a fake glare that made it quite obvious how much he loved it, then he turned the corner and was out of sight, whistling softly as his slippered footsteps faded into the distance of the hallway.

Sam fell back onto the bed, staring up at Dean's ceiling. Why was this so much harder than Sam thought it would be?

 

Quite a few pancakes and actual fresh berries later, Sam managed to convince Dean to help him sort through the Letters' storage boxes. Convincing him included a lot of pressing Dean up against walls and kissing his neck, but Dean obliged pretty quickly. Even though he was grumbling half the time.

Sam was pretty sure he'd found a good balance for this. He could kiss Dean, so long as he was careful and avoided Dean's mouth. Everywhere else was free game. He wasn't sure how long that'd work, but it was a hell of a lot better than avoiding Dean.

He was typing away at a probable case he just found, finding another source of the article when Dean's voice popped up from the next room, where he was begrudgingly sorting things in boxes. Sam's convincing skills were awesome.

"Hey. You listening to me?" Dean was a major attention whore sometimes but Sam was totally used to it. They'd spent their lives communicating about a lot of random things and Dean hated talking if he felt like Sam wasn't listening. Someone always had to be listening. So Sam shouted back the best response he could think to. Since he honestly had not been listening at all.

"Yeah. It's, uh... " The familiar itch in his throat started up, and now was a bad time to start hacking up blood, with Dean still in sight. He liked having Dean in sight, normally, liked being able to glance up and see his brother, or to take advantage of the good view he had on that ass as his boyfriend bent over. Right now though, Sam's chest was wrenched with the effort to not cough. He cleared his throat, hoping that would scratch at the itch that would give him away. "Fascinating stuff. You should probably, uh, write it all down in your journal for the archives, you know?"

Sam had to clear his throat again, fighting back all of the urges to cough pummeling against his chest. Even through the loud clearing of his throat, he still managed to hear Dean's next complaint.

"Yeah, thanks. You're a lot of help." Dean didn't say it very loudly, but it was still clear. The last clear thing actually, before all of Sam's senses got overrided by the hell system of coughing up a lung again. He managed to just cough in short, burning bursts, trying to get it all out of his system once. Then maybe Dean wouldn't say anything. Sam would never be so lucky for that though.

"Hey, Doc Holliday, you all right over there?" He might be able to keep this up for a few days, but Dean was already getting this funny suspicious look on his face sometimes and it had Sam worried. If Dean was worried, none of them would be able to focus. Dean would insist on taking these trials on himself, push Sam out of the way and jump right at the oncoming train that Sam was still trying maneuver around. It would be a suicide mission for Dean, and Sam had to keep any pain he was feeling away from Dean. No matter the cost.

"Uh, yeah." Sam coughed again, bringing a napkin to his mouth. When he pulled back away, there was a splatter of blood on the white, staring up at Sam, mocking him. Proof of how not okay he was. Sam cleared his throat again, pushing the ideas of just how bad this was back into the corners of his mind. "Um...I'm fine."

Sam tossed the bloody napkin into a trashcan, discarding of it and tossing it out of his mind at the same time. He wasn't going to beat himself up about it, there was no point. So another lie slipped out last his lips, another shovelful of dirt deeper in the hole of deceit he was digging with Dean.

"Just, uh, wrong pipe." He took a sip of water, hoping that would calm the itch, but the second he sat his glass down he was coughing again. Shit, this really wasn't good.

If Dean hadn't found the vintage porn at just that moment, Sam could have been in a lot more trouble than he was currently. By the time Dean came into the control room holding out the magazine for Sam, his childish, "Hey, check this out," following in with his heavy footsteps, Sam had managed to get a grip on himself. Temporarily, anyways. Enough to keep Dean distracted, to keep him from more questions or side glances or comments about how Sam was acting "cagey." He even managed to pull out a traditional brother-teasing card, which was always enough to throw Dean off whatever trail he was sniffing.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?" Sam's tone was condescending, but the look on Dean's face was too cute to be anything but amused.

"What's wrong with me? You kidding me? This is a first edition, dude. You know what this would go for on eBay?" Sam had no idea what Dean saw in the Asian women, and his fascination with them had never failed to amaze Sam. I mean, if Dean needed a feminine touch to jack off to once in a while, he was only human. And interested in girls for a really long time, so it made sense that part of Dean didn't stop when he started dating Sam. In fact, if it did, Sam would be worried.

"No. Why? Do you?" Just because Sam was totally okay with it didn't mean he didn't get to give Dean shit for it. Especially when it was avoiding the topic of Sam And His Cough.

"No. Maybe. Shut up." Dean's face was priceless, and for a moment he looked young. Too young to be worrying about his brother who might be dying was coughing up blood sick. Dean didn't deserve this, he deserved that happy smile and waking up to kisses and blowjobs, if Sam was feeling nice. If only Dean would understand that. Then his beautiful older brother plopped down in a chair, sitting at an angle from the table, looking still quite content and comfortable. "You find anything?"

"I did, yeah -- uh, dead bodies showing up all over the Midwest last week. Benton, Indiana; Downers Grove, Illinois; uh, Novi, Michigan; and then again last night in Lincoln Springs, Missouri." Dean was still looking at the magazine, seemingly unimpressed with Sam's rambling list of cities where shit was goin down.

"And how is this us?" The way Dean said us was adorable. Didn't ask if it was a case, didn't ask why it had supernatural written on it. He asked if it was for them because they were a team. Plus maybe Sam was a huge girl on the inside and was acting like the seventh grader who squealed every time her crush said "us." It just sounded nice, alright? But since Sam really wasn't in the mood for getting his ass reamed or getting the teasing of the century, he kept his cool and just answered smoothly.

"Because each of the victims had severe burns around their eyes, hands, and feet, puncture wounds through the backs of their hands, eyes and internal organs liquefied." Dean smacked his lips decisively.

"That sounds like us." Sam pointedly ignored his internal smile at that word because he wasn't going to be a girl twice inside of a 30 second period. Then Sam rattled off a few more details about the case, unable to keep the smile off of his face as he looked at Dean. Dean was clearly paying him no attention though, because he was still focusing on the skin mag as Sam was talking.

"I'll grab my gear. We should probably leave in five." Dean didn't look up, just making a nondescript noise of agreement and looking at his porn. Sam grinned, slightly, but unable to pass up the opportunity.

"'Less, of course, you need some more time with Miss October." Okay, so normal brothers didn't talk about jerking off. Period. That just, wasn't a thing. But since they were boyfriends now, Sam got to tease Dean about jerking off all he wanted to. Dean finally looked up, too, registering Sam's words after "Miss October" caught his attention.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, make it 10." Dean made this priceless face, a wide grin accompanied by raised eyebrows. It was a face that said Sam knew exactly what Dean would be doing during those ten minutes. And the quirk of the eyebrow even suggested Dean was wanting Sam to think about it. Sam just laughed, because Dean ended up being way more cute than sexual, then he was walking out of the room to go get packed.

"Sam, wait!" Sam spun on his heel, actually quite surprised that he was getting called back in. Sam peeked his head around the corner, the hair on one side of his head untucking from behind his ear and flopping out around his face.

"What?" Sam wasn't as fast of a packer as Dean, and he'd have to get a move on if they were leaving in ten. Besides, he still needed to wash the taste of blood out of his mouth. He wasn't going on an entire car ride with blood on his tongue if he could help it.

"Miss October may be hot, but a man still has physical needs." Dean stood up from his chair, the magazine suddenly ignored on the table. Then he was advancing towards Sam, the same sly grin on his face from earlier. He stopped just in front of Sam, the wall the only thing between their bodies, since Sam was still tilted sideways and had just his head and shoulders poking past it.

Dean reached out and took Sam's arm, pulling him back into the room with him. Sam started to protest, even shouldered his way out of Dean's grip half-heatedly, but Dean was faster and had Sam pressed up against the wall before he could escape.

"I haven't even had my morning kiss," Dean said cheekily. Before Sam could even register the consequences that might have, let alone how to escape his brother's death grip, Dean's mouth was covering his.

Sam's mouth was already open in protest, and it was too late to close it now. Dean's lips ran over his and it felt so damned good, Sam just hadn't kissed Dean in forever. In what felt like forever. But Sam had to get out, he had to summon up the will to break his mouth away from Dean's. Even channeling a reason why he needed to seemed impossible, with Dean's sweet, plump lips dancing across his mouth, his wet, enticing tongue darting against Sam's, it was impossible. How was Sam supposed to fight this...

Then there was hands pushing between them and Sam was turning his shoulder to the side, two footsteps away from Dean before he realized they weren't touching anymore. Sam's good old fight-or-flight hunter instinct had kicked in when his brain couldn't, and Halle-fucking-luigh because he needed out now.

Sam was shouting an excuse over his shoulder as he rounded the corner, something about Dean getting him too worked up, they'd spend another hour in the bunker instead of five minutes, that they had to go, and they could take it up later. Something that made vague sense in his brain, words that tumbled out of his mouth even though his mind was just spinning.

Dean didn't follow him though, so maybe it had worked. Sam practically ran to the nearest bathroom, turning on the water full blast and dipping his mouth under the faucet. He hated to wash Dean out of his mouth, but there was blood there too, that maybe Dean had tasted, maybe Dean hadn't. Sam couldn't tell, he couldn't know, and he wasn't going to bring it up, no way in hell.

 

Dean was kind of just frozen in the same spot, one arm still against the wall, the other dangling at his side from the force of Sam breaking free. He was still for just a moment before he reached a tentative hand up, extending his fingers. He brushed them across his lips, his eyes unfocused as his fingers lingered on his lips, on the tip of his tongue.

Dean wasn't going to...he couldn't think...Sam wouldn't...he would've said...Dean walked over to the table numbly, bracing his hands on the table and hanging his head. This wasn't real, the taste on Dean's tongue had to be imaginary. Sam wasn't...he wouldn't have just bolted, even if he did...

Wasn't he coughing into a napkin earlier? Dean didn't want to look, he didn't want to, just in case it was true. Just in case his worst fear was confirmed. But his hand was tipping back the edge of the trashcan anyways, and his eyes flicked down. There was a bloody napkin in the trash, right on top. No, no, no.

Over the past week, it had been happening over and over and Dean had been ignoring, denying, turning the other way. Sam had been lying for god knows how long. Actually, Dean was pretty sure he could pinpoint it exactly. When Sam had his nightmare, Dean kissed him and tasted blood. He'd assumed Sam has bit his tongue or his cheek in his fear. Before that was the day Sam had avoided Dean the entire time...wait. That was why. This was why. This was why Sam had left him in the cold, because he'd rather sever Dean's emotions than tell him the truth.

Dean was gonna be sick.

He stumbled over to the sink and bent down beneath the faucet, washing the copper out of his mouth. The same thing Dean had walked in on Sam doing and hadn't been able to figure out why. And before that, the night Sam carved his bloody initials into Dean's hip, and Sam had kissed him with blood on his tongue. Dean had assumed it was only his blood, but it could've been Sam's too.

And their last kiss before that...that had only been tainted by tears. Dean snorted and wiped his mouth with the back if his hand, shutting off the water. Dean had been worried about tears. When in all reality, Sam basically had tuberculosis. Dean had to shut his eyes at that thought, reeling a little. He grabbed onto the table behind him, steadying himself. Tuberculosis. He carefully pushed the word out of his mind.

So before the tears had been the trial with the devil dog. Dean had already assumed this was because of the trial, but the timing fit exactly. God's obstacle course was slowly killing his brother.

Dean shook his head, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, maybe to keep it from trembling. This couldn't be real, how was this even real? He squeezed his eyes shut tighter in pain. Then he was numbly walking to his room, his hands packing his duffel while his mind just numbly watched, detached from his body like a spirit. Then he was in the car and Sam was coming outside, duffel over his shoulder. Dean carefully wiped his face of all emotions, shooting Sam a congenial smile as he slid into shotgun.

He kept up a facade the whole ride, looking over at Sam every now and then with a sculpted grin, just so Sam didn't think he was ignoring him. Even though Dean was actually just looking over for signs of coughing, signs of blood, or hollowed cheeks or flushed skin. The angle Sam was facing the window made it impossible to see anything. Eventually the music filled the space between them, music and the case.

Then it was all work, and Dean loosened up on his worry enough to be able to function together as hunting partners. He still didn't - couldn't - keep his eyes off Sam. Just in case he suddenly collapsed or some shit. The case was actually going pretty well until 3 demons showed up on the doorstep. Literally.

The fight broke out and Dean's only thought was to get to Sam, Sam who was internally bleeding and could not afford to be external bleeding too. The stupid demons were trying to take off with the map, and Dean had to chase after them even with get to Sam get to Sam chanting like a mantra in his head. He ran after the demon in Wendy, who disappeared behind a door. Dean swung it open, and. Wait, what? She'd literally disappeared, how --

A bright growing flash caught his eye the same time a sharp, almost painful, tingling sensation filled his stomach. Dean's feet were running into the next room before his mind could even process the name coursing through his veins. The flash could mean any angel, but the tingling inside him meant it could only be one.

Dean skid into the room, first taking in Sam who was getting up off the floor and clutching his shoulder, then flicking over to the trenchcoated figure. For a moment his eyes didn't believe what they were seeing. It couldn't be. After all this time, after ditching Dean again, however many months ago, he was here. Back. He'd come back for Dean. The bastard.

Cas didn't look at him as he hurried over to Sam, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him to the sofa. The angel kept his eyes cast down and so Dean just walked past him. Dean could inquire Cas about where the fuck he's been after Sam was okay. Although they didn't mean Dean's eyes didn't follow the angel as he strode into the kitchen, dragging the demon behind him by her curlers.

Once Cas was out of sight gone again, Dean turned his full attention to his grimacing brother. Sam lowered himself to sit on the couch and Dean's hands skid up Sam's sides, fingers swiftly searching for any broken ribs. Nope. Then he was moving his hands up Sam's chest, watching for any flinching. Sam endured Dean's injury check with a slightly annoyed bitchface until Dean reached his shoulder. Then Sam winced away from Dean's touch and made a strangled sound. Dean didn't bother keeping the worry lines off of his face.

"I'll be right back," Dean promised, thumbing Sam's cheekbone once before he was making his way to the kitchen. Cas was in there, yeah, but Dean needed an ice pack from the fridge. So.

Cas looked up when Dean swung open the door, but only for a brief moment before he set back to his work of building a perfect devil's trap on the floor. Dean hesitated in the door frame, then walked briskly past Cas to the fridge. Dean sung open the door, the cold spilling out and slamming his senses back into place. Casti-fucking-el was fucking here.

Dean spun around, not bothering to close the door of the fridge. He probably needed the cold air washing over him to be able to think in Cas's presence. The angel had screwed up his thought and emotional processes since the day he met him and it'd only gotten worse once Dean realized he was in love with the angel. A fat good that had done him, Cas had hauled ass out basically every time Dean saw him. Well, Dean wasn't losing him again. He couldn't. It'd destroy him.

"Cas, what're you doing here?" Cas stilled, but didn't straighten up from where he was crouched and making his devil trap. There was a moment of silence where Dean just stared at Cas's shoulders, forcing himself not to think about the last time he'd touched Cas. When the angel finally answered, he didn't look at Dean.

"I'll tell you and Sam both when I'm done here." Cas voice was flat, emotionless. Dean could feel the annoyance inside him growing. That wasn't even what he'd meant, anyways. He'd been talking about them, about how Cas had kissed him and kicked him to the curb, then shown up later asking Dean to help him, and it was like they were finally together again. Then he'd bailed for the thousandth time, and he'd been gone ever since. Figures, as soon as Dean realized he was in love with Cas, Cas starts leaving at every opportunity.

How was he supposed to say that though? How was he supposed to say anything of relevance when Cas's back was turned, the air between them chilly and tense. Fine. Whatever. Dean was used to Cas ignoring him by now, although not at such a touchable distance, but he could survive with it. If Cas wasn't going to talk about "them" then Dean was going to pretend he didn't want to either.

He spun back to the fridge, hand reaching out to grab the-- how did she not have an ice pack? Anti-ice-pack freak, everyone had one in their freezer...oh duh. Dean opened up the other door and snatched out the cold pack mocking him from it's very obvious spot. In the freezer. Dean swung the doors as fast as he could, expecting a big angry slam and echoing noise that would make Cas startle and see how annoyed Dean was, all while making Dean feel about 17% better.

But being refrigerator doors, they caught and glided shut almost silently, mocking Dean and his anger. Again. Dean was pretty sure he'd never hated a kitchen appliance more in his life.

He huffed and stalked towards the door, unable to keep his body from turning to Cas at the threshold. Cas paused in his creation for just a moment, opening his mouth like he was going to say something, then snapping it shut again. Then he resumed his work and Dean shook his head, slowing his walk a bit as he came into the living room. Sam.

Sam hated being "babied" but when you were as not-okay as Sam was, there was a law that clearly stated Dean got to take extra care of Sam because he was only coughing up his insides. Although the law unfortunately didn't state that Sam had to listen.

"Put this on your shoulder." Dean tossed the cold pack to Sam, so Sam at least felt like Dean wasn't taking away all of his capabilities of taking care of himself. Dean would've liked to gently press it to Sam's shoulder himself, but he might get punched in the nose. Sam caught the ice pack and threw it to the floor with a grimacing clearing of his throat.

"I'm fine." Dean sighed and plopped down on the couch next to his petulant little brother. Sam wasn't fine, and he might've argued it maybe, if Cas hadn't decided to stroll in from the kitchen at that moment. There was a lot of tentative and distrustful looks exchanged between all three of them right now.

Well would you look at what Team Free Will had become. The ex-blood junkie was coughing blood now, and lying about it. Mr. Comatose became Mr. No-one-knows since all he ever did was disappear without telling anyone anything. And then Dean was still a highschool dropout with a GED and probably...3 bucks to his name. So. Things hadn't quite improved.

"The other demon escaped. I bound the one I caught in a devil's trap. I'm gonna interrogate it now." Cas was standing, looking at them from above like he was disconnected from the thing they used to share. He was practically facing the other direction he was so eager to get out.

"Wait a second. Cas. How about you answer some questions first? Like, where the hell have you been?" Sam looked genuinely upset about Cas's absence, but maybe in more than just "I missed ya, man" sort of way. There was an angry set to Sam's jaw that said maybe he was pissed at Cas for ditching Dean. And hey, Dean was too, but the protective concern from Sam was kinda nice.

Although in all reality Dean would bet that Cas was here for just the opposite. Cas may abandon Dean all the fucking time, but he was still who Dean reached out to when he needed help with Sam. It was Dean's protective concern that (hopefully) stirred the angel out of wherever he was hiding. So no one commented on Sam's question, Cas's eyes just settling on Dean as he spoke.

"You heard me, didn't you?" Cas looked awkwardly away like he didn't really want to acknowledge that. Then Sam was turning to Dean, an incredulous look on his face.

"You prayed to him?" Sam asked accusingly. Dean met Sam's eyes, betrayal written all over his face. God, Sam looked like Dean had fucked Cas in their bed, not like he had just spoken to the guy. Dean was pretty sure praying didn't count as cheating in anyone's book, ever. Except to Sam apparently. Dean had been praying for Sam anyways.

He wasn't going to answer Sam's outrageously upset question though, how could he? Dean just looked down guiltily, turning his head away from Sam. So yeah, he'd prayed to Cas. Yeah, there were things Dean didn't tell Sam. Sam had no right to get pissed about that though, what about the whole coughing thing that Dean wasn't going to think about.

"Yes, I heard you. But that's not why I'm here." Dean raised his eyebrows and Cas sat down finally, perching kind of awkwardly in the chair across from them and sighing. "I've been hunting demons."

And then there was an explanation due, which Cas did give them, although he kind of blanked out at times and got a funny look on his face. Only for like a millisecond thoug, so Dean was pretty sure Sam didn't notice. Dean did though, it was as clear as day. Cas kept getting distracted by something, and Dean was pretty sure it'd take a lot to distract a celestial being. The way he was looking at them though, it was a little worrisome. Cas looked at them cautiously, doing everything he couldntonavoid eye contact without being obvious. Especially with Dean.

Maybe Cas was just sensing the turmoil between him and Sam right now. Because Dean was still shooting Sam glances every three seconds that he wasn't trying not to stare at Cas. He felt dizzy, trying to look at them both without looking at either. He let both of them do a lot of the talking because honestly he was just using the excuse of however was talking to look at them. Except when his eyes kept darting to Cas when Sam was talking. And he kept on having to check on Sam when Cas was talking.

Wow Dean was a mess. It was just, with Sam lying to him about what the hell's going on and Cas surely lying about wherever the hell he's been and this was just a lot of lying and Dean was pretty sure he might explode. He hadn't seen Cas in so long, and god he looked good, in ways that were really inconvienent to be thinking about right now but Dean couldn't help it. And Sam looked just pissed, maybe that Cas was back again, maybe that Cas had left in the first lace nadeau couldn't tell anymore.

He was almost relieved for the temporary relief when Cas stood up and abruptly announced he was going to go interrogate the demon. It meant he at least only had one thing to worry about for three seconds. Although in all honesty, the second Cas was out of sight, Dean grew extremely uncomfortable because he seriously figured Cas was gonna bolt again before Dean could talk to him again and Dean needed some alone time with Cas, they needed to talk and Dean still hasn't gotten to even tell Cas how much it hurt when Cas was gone, all the things Dean had realized since the first time Cas had sunk into that lake and Dean had finally been splashed awake from the dream he was forcing himself to live in.

Cas could not bolt on him again. But at least Sam was here, even if he was lying and avoiding and doing everything he'd promised Dean he wouldn't do again. He was pretty sure Sam could tell how tense and in shambles Dean was right now. As soon as Cas was out of earshot, Dean turned to Sam and mumbled under his breath.

"Well, he puts the "ass" in "Cas," huh?" Even if they were lying to each other (well Sam was) and they were tersely avoiding each other, they still could agree on this. At least they had some common ground still, something that they were on the same side on.

"He's definitely off."

"Off? He hasn't been right since he got back from Purgatory. We still don't know how he got out of there." Hell, Cas even kissed different after he got back. It was like his emotions were all kind of twisted and cautious at first, like he didn't trust himself, let alone Dean. Then after that one looney tunes hunt, Cas had suddenly decided he didn't want Dean anymore. Dean had no idea where that came from, but it had hurt like hell. And now, it was like he'd abandoned any bit of humanity he had at all. Like he didn't care about Dean.

Sure, maybe Dean was selfish. He wanted two of the most beautiful and perfect men to both love him, he wanted to have both for himself. It wasn't possible, let alone feasible, that he could have both. But that didn't stop him from wanting both, and apparently, wanting both to want him. Selfish.

"I don't know, Dean. If he's so sketchy, then why were you praying to him?" Sam basically just reinforced everything Dean had just been thinking. Dean was in a relationship right now! he was actually dating someone and he went behind their back and called on an ex. Ish. It was more complicated than that, yeah, but Dean could see where the angry, jealous tone in Sam's voice came from. Dean couldn't though, he wouldn't cheat on Sam. How could he do that? How could Sam think he'd do that? Although honestly, Dean wasn't sure why Sam had any faith in him at all. Or why Sam hadn't dumped him yet. Or why he'd asked Dean out in the first place. Sam knew how Dean felt about Cas, but then again, he knew how Dean felt about him too. Fuck. This was just so complicated. How was Dean supposed to even answer Sam's pissed off jealous question?

Dean ended up not having to, thanks to Cas suddenly shouting from the other room. With flawless timing, as though he really didn't want to know what Dean's answer was to Sam's question. Because he could've interrupted earlier, but...

"You know, I can hear you both. I am a celestial being." Cas's voice was emotionless, just stating facts basically. Dean shot Sam an "oh shit" glance, which had at least gotten all three of them out of watching Dean try to stumble through an answer to why he was praying to Cas if he was so sketchy. The obvious answer was of course because Sam was in trouble, but then why didn't Dean pray to heaven in general for that? Or another angel? What made him trust Cas any? Or at all?

Probably because he was in love with him. So.

~*~*~*~

As if everything hadn't been complicated enough between their fucked up love triangle, Meg of course appeared to add in to everyone's confusion and make the sexual tension and anger and jealousy between everyone basically multiply by 20 times.

Sam was getting annoyed that Dean was complaining about "Megstiel" because he thought Dean shouldn't care so fucking much. It wasn't like Dean was doing the exact same thing Cas was, crushing on two people. And Dean kept looking at him like he was made out of fucking glass and he wouldn't stop looking at Sam and the one time Sam coughed he was pretty sure Dean almost had a heart attack. And Meg kept sassing him and he didn't trust her in the first place and she was killing innocent people and this whole thing was messy and she brought up some choice demons Sam had been spending a lot of his life trying to forget. And then there was Cas, who had fucked Dean over and left Sam to clean up the pieces and then shown up again all crazy and lying and Sam was pretty sure Dean was denying just how much Cas didn't care about any of them anymore and Sam could just see the guilt and blame Dean was laying on himself for all of this. Which was going to take Sam a year of tender caresses and promises to dissipate, because god knows Dean would never love himself without a serious helping hand. And his chest kept hurting like hell and the taste of blood in his mouth wasn't going away no matter how much he washed his mouth.

Dean was feeling rejected and pissed and annoyed and extremely LIED TO and Sam apparently didn't care about how Dean was feeling and Cas was looking at Meg with these swoony eyes as he stitched her up and Dean was pretty sure he'd heard Meg say something about ordering pizza and moving some furniture around and Cas agreeing with her and then Dean walked in and Meg made a smug face at him that said "I get to fuck your boyfriend" even though Cas wasn't his boyfriend but that's what Meg's face said because she referred to him as that anyways and Dean just made a really fucking annoyed face because he was really fucking annoyed and then ALL FOUR OF THEM HAD TO RIDE IN THE CAR OVER TO THE WAREHOUSE and Dean was so close to stabbing something he was actually in fear of everyone's life right now. Meg had sat in the seat behind him in the car and kept jabbing her knees into his back and Dean didn't want her touching the leather in the first place but he didn't trust Cas to zap the two of them over like he offered, because putting Megstiel in the same place together alone was not an option, plus the two of them might just bolt because they were a rogue angel and a good? demon and if they thought Dean was going to let them go alone they were very mistaken.

The four of them walked in a line towards the warehouse, Sam standing next to Cas because he trusted him the least, Dean standing next to Meg for the same reason. Meg stood next to Cas because she damn well wanted to, and Cas just walked, staring straight ahead. The Winchesters flanked the two in the middle with watchful eyes, tension enough between them that they knew things wouldn't end well if they stood close. Everyone was hyped up, and the glares and stares were at a point of ridiculousness now. It was like everyone hated each other and wanted to screw each other and it was a very confusing atmosphere. Except for Sam, who only had feelings for Dean. Although right now those feelings were accompanied with some other great ones, like being pissed to hell and annoyed and confused as to why Dean was being so stupid. So even Sam, the simplest one, was in shambles.

"So, this is it. Basement?" Meg asked. No one really answered her. That's kind of how this worked. In some distant part of Sam's mind he was fairly sure that with some sculpting, Meg might be a decent addition to their fighting team. Sure, Sam trusted her as far as he could throw her, but she had proven them right quite a few times. Currently, Sam would probably place his cards on Meg over Cas because. Well. At least you could trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Apparently, Dean wasn't thinking the same thing Sam was though.

"All right, Cas and I will head in and get our Indiana Jones on. Sam, you stay outside with Meg." Wait, no, that would mean Dean was alone with Cas. And not even just because Sam didn't trust them not to make out or...worse, but just because he didn't trust Cas around his brother in general. And he kind of had no idea why in the world Dean did.

"What?" Sam was trying not to sound pissed, but he didn't hold back any of his surprise. Like why Dean was fine being alone with crazy, lying angel.

"We got this." Right, like that was ever happening in a million years. This was one of Lucifer's crypts, and Sam knew the guy. It wasn't gonna just be a stroll in and take it, and Dean was going to need backup. That wasn't an angel that looked at him like he either wanted to eat him or lock him away in a basement. Or make out with him. Yeah, Sam wasn't letting go of that.

"What are you talking about, Dean? I'm not letting you go in there alone." It wasn't often Sam legitimately bossed Dean around, but when he said he wasn't letting Dean he was being entirely serious. He wasn't letting Dean go in, end of story. Unless something really gravitational happened in the next two minutes, Sam would literally wrestle Dean to the ground and cuff him to his own steering wheel. Sam was pretty sure he could overpower Dean if he caught him off guard. Although not as easily now that it hurt to breathe. A little. Sam could handle it.

"He won't be alone." Cas interrupted steely, still just staring straight ahead. God, he was so off, how did Dean trust him at all?

"That's not what I mean." And Sam sure as hell didn't have an obligation to explain to Cas what he did mean, and he was pretty sure Dean already knew exactly. "Meg can hang here, watch our backs."

"Oh, what? Now you trust Meg?" Dean said it the exact same way he said "you trust Ruby?" That wasn't freaking fair, Dean couldn't just pull the "Sam's trusting demons" card every time they needed help from one. And because of the way Dean said it, now it was even about Meg anymore, not really. Sam couldn't even answer "not really, but she's the best we got" because now it was about Dean and him, and had basically nothing to do with her. Dean had just turned it into you trust a demon over me, Sam, really?

"Hey, I got you this far," Meg interjected, sounding half offended. Sam was pretty sure he'd lose it if she sassed their conversation.

"Shut up, Meg." Dean said shut up the same time Sam did, but Sam brushed that aside and turned back to the issue. He didn't care if he ended up offending Cas, what the hell ever. He needed to knock some since into his brother. "Dean --"

"Sam, I saw your bloody rag in the trash can, okay?" Dean held out his hand halfway through his sentence and everyone stopped, the brothers turning in to face each other, a step in front of the angel and demon between them. As soon as Dean finished his sentence, Sam couldn't breathe. Dean had...Dean had what? When Dean had kissed him earlier, Sam had figured he'd broken away in time for Dean not to know. But if he was suspicious enough to snoop through the trash...fuck. Sam had no idea how he was supposed to explain to Dean, make him understand. The expression on Dean's face was awful, he looked so pissed and upset, and horribly awfully let down.

"That wasn't --" Sam started in vain. There was no point in arguing this anyways, not with how disappointed Dean looked right now. Not with that cold set in his eyes as he interrupted Sam.

"Stop. Just stop. Sam, we don't know what's in there, okay? And you almost let a demon get the best of you back there." Really? Dean was chalking this up to worsened fighting skills? All because Sam had an unlucky bout with a demon. Like that hadn't happened a thousand times. Sam just snorted, Dean couldn't baby him that easily, and besides, he had a valor point about them not knowing what was in there. And if he thought Sam was letting Dean tackle that without him? Sam could deal with the sharp pain in his chest when he inhaled, what he couldn't deal with was Dean dying because he was too stupid to let Sam back him up.

"I'm fine." It was the same lie Sam had been force feeding the both of them for the past week, but a Sam was sticking by it. He wasn't in bad enough condition to not be able to protect his brother. Dean had no choice but to accept that. It wasn't fair for him to be the one making the calls on Sam's behalf, it was Sam's life, his body, his decision.

"No, you're not fine. You haven't been fine since the first trial. That's why I called Cas."

"Trial?" Meg interrupted again. She also just took away the opportunity to comment on Dean's decision to call a half-insane angel to help out with Sam's problems.

"Shut up, Meg." They both snapped, in perfect unison this time. Sam didn't notice shy of their in sync moments anymore, it was just normal to walk and move and breathe the exact same way and time Dean did. That had been normal for years. Sam turned back to the matter at hand, which wasn't Meg and her constant desire to know everything.

"Dean, I'm telling you -- I'm okay." Sam put as much convincing and honesty in his words as possible. It was true enough anyways, Sam was okay. He wasn't good anymore, but the blood and the coughing and the chest pain were no worse than a bad hunt mixed with a minor cold. Sam had dealt with, and fought with, much worse. Dean raised his eyebrows like you kidding me? Sam was about to elaborate when Cas interrupted, still looking stealily ahead.

"No, you're not. Sam..." Cas finally turned his head, looking up at Sam eith a smidgen of sorrow or regret in his eyes. "You're damaged in ways even I can't heal. Dean's right. You should stay here and protect Meg."

Then Meg was saying something and Sam wasn't paying attention, zoning in only on the look on Dean's face. The second Cas had mentioned that Sam was deeply damaged, Dean drew back his head with surprise, and fear and worry. Now he was looking at Sam with a calculating stare, like he was trying to see every single broken piece inside of Sam and stitch it up with his eyes. Sam wasn't going to think about what Cas said, not right now when it would mess with his head. Sam had plenty of time to over analyze later.

Sam shot Dean an look and a head tilt towards Cas while the angel answered Meg, asking the silent question if Dean really trusted Cas enough to ditch Sam here? Sam wasn't even sure he bought Cas's whole "you're damaged" crap, because it could be just another line to convince Dean to separate from Sam, leave Dean vulnerable and alone to Cas's crazy hands and mind. Dean could practically see the gears turning in Cas's head as he snidely told Sam he should stay here and protect Meg. It was probably just a razzle dazzle show to get Dean for himself. For whatever wrecking plans he had.

Dean just returned Sam's head tilt with a steady gaze, his eyes telling Sam all he needed to know. Yeah, he was going with Cas alone, and yeah, Sam was staying here. Worst of all, yeah, he trusted Cas enough to watch his back for this, even if he didn't trust him completely about everything else. God, Dean was such a fool. If only Dean wasn't in love with the bastard angel.

Then apparently Cas and Meg's conversation was over, because everyone was looking to Dean know. No matter what, all heads turned to him for the executive decision. If it had been Dean who was the intended to lead an army of demons, the world would be flattened and burning in hell flames by now. Sam raised his eyebrows, his tongue in his cheek as he waited for Dean to say a Sam was coming with. Dean looked away guiltily, his eyes dropping to the ground in some vague form of shame or an apology.

"All right, we'll be back." Then Cas was walking away and Sam snorted in disbelief at Dean and his stupid plan and his stupid ideas and his stupid friends who convinced him of very untrue things. Okay, not very untrue, just exaggerated.

Dean held out the hilt of the demon knife, offering it towards Sam. Sam looked at it for a moment, remembering a time Dean had given Sam the knife as his way of saying "I love you," after their big fight they separated for a week during the post-lettingLuciferout and pre-puttinghimbackin time period. Sam had taken it with a kiss then, and he figured it was probably a similar gesture now. It was the closest kiss goodbye Sam was gonna get in front of Meg, so he reached out and took the knife.

Dean shot him one last look and then he was off after Castiel, Sam watching him leave and all of his anger and worry playing on his face. It was silent for a few seconds, Sam's eyes just watching the familiar dance that was Dean walking, even if it was walking away. Then Meg interjected with another stupid comment of course.

"So I'm assuming you two are still dating, then?"

"Shut up, Meg."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

From the moment they were alone, Dean could feel the temperature of the air increase like 5 degrees. The tension between them was palpable now, their profound bond proximity making Dean's spine tingle. He forced his eyes to stay on the wall as Cas's hand sent energy out into the material, not letting his gaze drift to the angel's rippling shoulders, or the invisible wings Dean wished he could see see sometimes.

The wall crumbled and fell beneath Cas's tender touch, and Dean suddenly caught himself empathizing with a wall. Which sounded crazy, but Dean knew how it felt to be unraveled by Cas's hands. On his neck, his face, lips pressed together as Dean suddenly felt saved, warm, worthy. He could so clearly remember the way his knees felt weak, the way Cas tasted on his tongue even after they kissed. It had felt just like that wall.

The last piece of rockish brick crumbled down, revealing another wall, this one looking much less sturdy and more worn, little holes and gaps in it big enough to see through. Cas put his hand up to this one too, then Dean flinched as it exploded into a million pieces with a loud bang. Wow. Okay.

Well Dean knew how that wall felt too. That's exactly what happened to Dean's insides every time Cas ditched him. Dean was actually surprised none of the debris from the wall hit him, which would have been quite ironic in the situation. Instead, they all seemed to bounce off of some force field just in front of Dean, which made no sense...oh. Cas's wings, okay. So Cas had saved the pieces of the shattered wall in the end. Huh.

Then Cas was stepping forward into the short tunnel/big entryway and Dean snapped out of it, shaking his head once to clear it. Was he just comparing himself to walls...? Although Dean had compared himself to Sorry! Board game pieces once. At least those had colours, so it made more sense. Wait. Dean paused and repeated that last sentence in his head. At least those had colours....okay it was official, Dean was losing it. Today had been a lot of stress in one day and his grapefruit finally broke. Well, it was starting to disintegrate at least.

Cas paused in the entryway, waiting for Dean to pick his way over the crumbled pieces of the first wall and the shattered pieces of the second. The angel was standing in the middle if the passageway, so Dean would end up quite physically close to him if he passed by. Cas was still waiting though, so he must be assuming Dean would enter first.

Dean turned his shoulders to the side and scooted past Cas, their chests almost brushing as Dean side stepped. His heart was pounding and he was pretty sure his skin was flushed pink with the heat in his stomach. Dean's eyes couldn't help but flicker down to Cas's light pink ones. Good god, they were so close and it had been so long...

He caught himself when his hand was already reaching for the other man's waist, his fingers just a few inches away from the back of Cas's trenchcoat and his mouth just a few centimeters away from Cas's. Shit.

The wall hit hard against Dean's shoulders as he backed away quickly, his heart beating a mile a minute. The cold concrete felt good through his jacket, and it woke him up even more, his eyed wide as he realized everything he almost just did.

"S-sorry, I. Uh. Not much room," Dean stuttered out lamely, already sliding against the wall to get into the big open chamber room. Cas just watched Dean cooly, not moving a muscle while Dean was flipping the fuck out. The second he was free of the clutches of Cas's body heat and pinning eyes, Dean turned away, digging a flashlight out of his inside jacket pocket. God, it was dark in here. And Cas's eyes were practically goddamn glowing in the dark and Dean was like a moth to light and he seriously needed some space away from Cas right now, he needed room to breath air that wasn't filtering through the angel's mouth that Dean could not stop staring at.

Fuckin torture, that's what this was. Dean flipped on the light and got some distance between them, half running to what seemed like the other side of the room. Dean was not going to cheat on Sam, he couldn't. Not now, not after all this.

And it wasn't like Cas was helping any. The moment Dean looked over his shoulder, Cas's eyes flew up to meet Dean's from their previous target, Dean's ass. Great. Cas had this look on his face, and Sam's words, fom years ago, echoed in Dean's head. He looks like he wants to eat you alive. Maybe Sam was right, but all Dean wanted was to give in, let Cas do with him whatever he pleased. And the way Cas kissed people, so rough and controlling, shoving them into the wall and threading his hand up into their hair...no, Dean wasn't going to think about it. He was going to entirely ignore the beautiful man staring him down in this dark, secluded room.

Dean paced the crypt, keeping as far of a distance from Cas's burning eyes as possible. He scanned his flashlight over the dusty, spiderweb-covered trinkets, everything looking similar and useless and not at all celestial or important. The weak beam of his flashlight barely cut through the ancient particles in the air, but Dean's eyes had adjusted to the dark considerably. Everything was still gray and colourless, but that could have been the case for everything anyways. Because Cas was still HD full colour gorgeous from where he stood watching Dean.

After a few minutes of an unmoving Cas, Dean was just about to make a comment about Cas's propensity towards finding this thing and seemingly disability to help when Cas's voice cut through the dank air, making Dean turn his head back to the angel.

"Dean..." Cas lifted a hand, his finger pointing towards a shelf against the wall. Dean followed the fingers path with his eyes, taking in the old, ornate box. Well, more like wooden chest. "That's it."

He turned his flashlight on the chest, looking at it with new eyes. Yeah, it still looked irrelevant. Every object in this crypt has to be somewhat important, though, since it was Lucifer's crypt. Dean wondered what could be terrifyingly special enough to be deemed worthy of being placed alongside the Angel Tablet and receive thousands of years of hidden protection in an underground vault constructed by the devil himself. There were a lot of chests and boxes in here, but the one Cas pointed to seemed no different than any other. And Dean really didn't want to open a chest and be greeted by one of Lucifer's creepy treasures, thinking it would be an Angel Tablet instead of...whatever the hell that archangel keeps in here. Dean turned back to Cas, raising an eyebrow.

"How do you know?"

"It's the only thing in here warded against angels." Okay, that was definitely a valid enough reason for Dean. He wrapped his arms around the chest, hoisting it up and shuffling over to plunk it down on the table behind him. Now to open it...Dean spotted a somewhat rusty dagger lying on the table, and he scooped it up. This should work. He shoved the tip into the space between the lid and the front, twisting upwards until he heard the chest give. Lifting the lid upwards, the dust cleared enough for Dean to see a large, misshapen rock. Bingo.

As soon as Dean freed the tablet, Castiel instantly reached out for it. Now that it was no longer warded against him, Castiel could take it back to its rightful place in Heaven and complete his mission. The danger the angels had been placed in would be expelled, and Castiel would slowly become worthy of his own grace again.

That is, if Dean would stop being difficult. The man got a strange, distrustful look on his face and Castiel could hear the rate of his heartbeat increase. If Castiel could just find the right combination of words, surely he could convince Dean into giving it to him.

The moment Castiel took the problem to his superiors, Naomi was decisive and precise. She gave Castiel instant orders to kill. Castiel was not disobeying exactly, just postponing his command in the chance that Dean would be reasonable. There was no reason to spill blood if it could be prevented.

"I can't let you take that, Dean." Castiel closed some if the distance between their bodies, not oblivious to the way Dean was looking at him. Like Castiel was a creature to be feared. For once, Dean had an accurate read on him.

"Can't or won't?" He said cautiously. Castiel stood frozen, a few feet away, but still acutely aware of the warmth of Dean's body, the gravitational pull that was making Dean draw towards him like a planet to the sun. Dean was clearly conflicted, but that was not Cadtkel's problem. His only mission was to obtain the tablet, and he intended to do so in the cleanest way possible. If Dean would allow.

"Both." Castiel warned. Dean did not look afraid, he only looked as though he was suspicious. Then his expression shifted, his features becoming more open, his tentativeness becoming a more bold style of questioning.

"How did you get out of Purgatory, Cas?" The question was an outlier among the others, a new subject of discussion Dean would not have brought up at such a high-intensity time if it had not been already present in his mind. Castiel could not answer that, but he was sure the extra time was making his superiors impatient. It was becoming more evident that the solution was killing, although it wasn't a solution Castiel was looking for.

"There has to be another way," Castiel pleaded to Naomi. She looked at him sternly, her expression equally frightening and reassuring.

"You have done this a thousand times, Castiel." More than a thousand. Castiel had taken Dean's life 1189 times and each moment of every kill was permanently engraved in his brain. "You're ready. Kill him. Then take the tablet and bring it home, where it belongs."

Looking in Dean's eyes, Castiel did not feel ready. The green was worried, pleading. Scared, begging green eyes looking up at him from the ground. 1189. These eyes were no different than those. The mouth that opened to speak was no different than the ones that had shrieked and screamed and cursed and whispered four words that ripped apart any bit of humanity Castiel had been convinced he had.

"Just tell me how you got out of Purgatory. Be honest with me -- for the first time since you've been back --" Dean's voice was collected, convincing now rather than worried. There was still an undertone of fear as he nodded to the stone in his hands. "...and this is yours."

His. Mine. No, nothing was his. Only the memories, the echoed screams. I love you, Cas. 1189.

Castiel's blade dropped into his hand.

He was ready.

~*~

"Cas. Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this." It was the speech Castiel had heard nearly 900 of those 1189 times. And now out of 1190 times. Castiel swung the blade down at Dean, who held the stone up to block the blow. "Cas!"

The heavens spoke, thunder cracking and a flash of lightning temporarily illuminated the room. Castiel was pacing in another room as well, in the place where the thunder called, the white tiles seeming cold and too bright under the sound of his feet.

"This isn't right." There was a part of him that understood he had already stalled too long, his superiors would be disappointed. Punishment. Duty. And there was another part of his being that wouldn't drive the blade into Dean's chest, no matter how many times it had happened before.

"Do you realize what that tablet can do for us?" Naomi's voice drilled into him, quite like her favourite analyzation device.

"I..." Castiel started.

"For heaven?" For Heaven, for home, the place Castiel had destroyed. Ruined. For Heaven, Castiel could have a chance to fix this. Dean. Dean. At what cost?

"I won't hurt Dean." It was simple to say, but the words tasted almost sugary on Castiel's tongue, sweet in a way he couldn't quite place. It felt powerful, right. He won't hurt Dean. Saying it made it real.

"Yes. You will." Naomi corrected. The sugar burnt into ash on his tongue. "You are."

Dean begged him to fight it. Cas heard it echo in his head, each with a different cry, some with blood in the words, others with tears, the same words fight this which had become meaningless in the thousand times Dean had said it. Any word repeated over that many times became a useless entanglement of syllables, and the protests held no purpose but to fill the storming space with sound.

Castiel was yelling at Naomi, trying to make sense through the searng pain in his head and the ashes on his tongue. He could feel the backs of his eyeballs begin to bleed into his skull, and his mouth opened in a flurry of pain and demands, realizations and everything ten minutes too late.

"Cas!" Dean's voice snapped Castiel back into the crypt, no longer feeling the desire to feel at all. The Dean reached out and then he was touching Castiel. That warm, calloused hand, placed on Castiel's shoulder in a grounding, comforting gesture. When had Dean ever comforted Castiel? When had Dean done anything but hurl him and his future at the ground, never actually there for him. And now this Dean was doing the same thing Castiel had seen more times than he could count (although he had never lost track of each time the pair of green eyes faded into coldness). Dean was trying to communicate through touching Castiel. That was the most efficient way to piss Cas off.

It was swift, brutal, and vividly bruising as Castiel whipped his arm around, backhanding Dean so hard he flew across the room. Dean made a painful-sounding thud as he hit the solid wall! then his body fell to the floor in a tangled mess. Castiel stalked over to Dean as he scrambled to stand, clearly in pain and a bit disoriented.

Dean had barely regained his footing by the time Castiel reached him, but Castiel observed him cooly for a moment, just staring at the challenging green eyes. This Dean was calculating, partially terrified and partially desperate, trying to debate on what to do. Castiel saw the punch coming in advance, it was almost always Dean's first move, and Castiel countered it easily every time. As Dean's fist swung out, Castiel grabbed the side of Dean's forearm and snapped it raggedly in two. The loud snap of the bone was followed instantly by a sickening scream, wrenched from Dean's mouth. It was the most familiar sound to Castiel's ears, and Castiel filed the sound away as progress towards Kill 1190.

A new sound accompanied Dean's scream as well, the sound of the encompassing rock surrounding the tablet shattering as the tablet broke free, clattering to the ground. Lightning flashed and thunder struck again, all sounds carefully organized and placed alongside Dean's screaming and protests.

Now that Dean was on his knees with pain, it was easy to work his damage. This Kill wasn't intended to be one of the instantaneous swift ones. Castiel reeled back a fist and landed it squarely against Dean's jaw, eliciting a bit-back sound of pain. Castiel punched Dean again, on the same spot he had a minute ago, watching as the pain visibly shot through Dean's face. Castiel punched again.

The Deans that cursed Castiel got a slashed throat. The Deans that damned him to hell got a cut off arm, the one Castiel had gripped him by, and a twisting blade to the stomach. The Deans that begged got snapped necks.

The Deans that said I love you got the swiftest death, stabbed instantly in the heart.

This Dean's face was already bruising and bloody by the time he managed out words. His voice was laced with pain, his head still tilting up and turning towards Castiel after every wicked punch to his cheekbone, jaw, mouth, brow bone, cheek. The purple blossomed and slowly spread over Dean's features, skin breaking on Castil's knuckles, shattering in some places, burning raw in others, blood dripping and coating and bursting from the scabrous skin.

"You want it?" Dean finally croaked. Castiel paused for just a moment, looking dispassionately to the side at the exposed tablet. The tablet was the ultimate goal after this was all over, yes, but Castiel had done this Kill more than a thousand times and other distractions were not permitted. The only thing that martered during the kill was Dean's body breaking. Dean's voice rasped out again, angry through the lacey pain. "Take it! But you're gonna have to kill me first. Come on, you coward. Do it. Do it!"

Deans that egged him on got beaten more. The Kill would not come quickly for those who wished to die. The intention was to cause pain, was it not? His fist landed on Dean's face again, the sound of bloodied knuckles smacking against the blood-splattered skin wet and loud.

Dean's words traveled through to a more distant part of Cas's mind, and he was facing Naomi, banging his fist down on her desk. Dean had asked Cas to kill him and Cas knew he should have the moment Dean said it, but at least his body was postponing the death, beating Dean to a pulp beforehand. Still, if Cas couldn't stop himself soon...Dean was already a wicked mess.

"Please," Cas pleaded. His superior just looked at him cooly, her voice unmoving and rough. Demanding. A command. Order. Duty. Discipline.

"End this, Castiel." Naomi's voice was steel, her eyes titanium. Cas--Castiel raised his fist again, his protests dying in his throat. They were only verbal protests anyways, they did neither Castiel, Naomi, nor Dean any good. What was the point? His weak pleas made him a lesser soldier. Castiel could feel himself slipping,trying not to follow through. But he must.

His fist slammed down, brutally snapping something in Dean's face. The features were nearly distorted now, and the words were full of blood as they gurgled past Dean's lips.

"Cas...This isn't you. This isn't you." Castiel attacked Dean again. The words were buried away, categorized as no longer egging him on, the continued beat down and pain making it obvious that egging Castiel on would not stop the torture.

Castiel heard Naomi's next command to bring her the tablet, and that meant now, Castiel had to put the knife in Dean's brain at the next punch, end this quickly it had gone on to long already. Castiel slammed his fist back into the destroyed flesh, no knife in hand even though there should be. Castiel ignored that this was taking too long. He punched again.

A sound of pain escaped Dean's mouth with a whoosh of oxygen. One of his eyes was swollen shut now, it wouldn't take much longer before the punches ended Dean. Castiel hadn't committed a Kill that way before. He should end it with the blade. Another punch. Dean's mouth was bloody now and his vocal chords were wrecked, his voice weak and pleading.

"Cas. Cas." Castiel brought back his arm again, angel blade in his hand. He paused at the top, Dean's hand outstretched, reaching for him. Fingers spread, energy buzzing in them, reaching for Castiel in a blatant sign of hope. Castiel's blade stayed in his hand, ready to strike. He didn't though, he looked down at Dean, watching his final plea. Dean knew he would die from the next blow, and his arm was outstretched, reaching for Castiel the same way his words were. Why was he reaching? They had reached before, though. Castiel just watched. Dean's voice was weak and pleading. "I know you're in there. I know you can hear me."

"Cas... Dean's voice broke, arching over the word with pain and hurt. He was begging now, on his knees and pleading and reaching. "It's me."

Me. Dean. He said me like he was special to Castiel, like he was someone Castiel knew. When he was being trained in Heaven, all 1189 of those Deans had been Dean too. Why, though? Why hadn't they been Sam, or Kevin, or little kids or pregnant mothers? Surely those would be just as difficult to kill. Except they wouldn't. Because this was Dean. Me. He was special. He was everything. It's me.. Me, your everything. Your world. Castiel just stayed still, watching Dean cautiously. Watching his everything cautiously. Dean spoke again.

"We're family." The words were almost broken they were so full of pain. The echoed, the rang. This time, he said the most impactful thing he could have said. With just those two words, Castiel's vision was swimming, his mind was blanking. His body swayed a bit with the blow of those two words. Family. Family was the most important thing to Dean. Cas was the most important thing to Dean. Maybe. Everything was whirling and the blade in his hand felt cold, unreal. Not when Dean was kneeling before him, hand outstretched, labeling him with the most important thing.

Not even "You're family," because that meant something else entirely. But we, together, are family. "We're family." The two of us, we share that importance to each other. And family is the greatest honor, the most profound bond someone could have. Family means forever.

Dean was looking up at him, open and vulnerable and bleeding and broken in every way imaginable. He held on to the front of Castiel's trenchcoat, his fingers curling into the material like a child on its mother's skirt. Trusting, scared, asking silently for help, for salvation. Who are you? I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. Dean's mouth opened again, fearful and hesitant of the words on his tongue. Castiel could see the struggle, the internal battle over the words he wanted to say but couldn't. Finally three did tumble out, honest and pleading.

"We need you." Dean's brigade, Team Free Will, the movement. It needed him. Cas was sure there was a part of him that cared about that. But there was still the muscle memory making him itch inside, the 1189 others he had sufficiently destroyed. This should just be another, another pair of green eyes looking up at him, another brilliant, beautiful fire Castiel could smother with a well-placed stab. Just another Dean.

The beautiful man kneeling before him opened up his swollen mouth again. Castiel had seen Dean in a thousand different situations, had seen him happy, sad, pissed, content. Had seen him in love, smiling at Sam. Had seen him on the ground, crying up his love for Cas as Castiel twisted a knife through his heart.

But through it all, Cas had never seen look as honest as he did in this moment. As unguarded. Unmasked. True, real, no visage or walls or hiding. Never. Even with a Sam, there was always a part ofmDean that kept tucked away. Right now, Castiel felt he could see everything, every ounce of the man. Pounds of things he didn't even know existed. And then, Dean spoke, one final time. Three final words.

Clutching Cas, bleeding, broken, bruised, kneeling before Cas as though he was some kind of twisted god figure. Like Cas was worthy of anything. Of something. Of everything. And the three words fell into the air between them, each one diffinitive.

"I need you."

Cas was standing in a barn in Pontiac, Illinois, getting stabbed in the chest. In Bobby's kitchen, being threatened. In a dark and wet street, looking cautiously at the man in front of him. On a dock over a lake, standing beside the man peacefully fishing. In a used car lot, facing the one he'd been tortured for. In a white and gold room, his heart aching as he was begged to change his mind. In the first prophet's house, saying goodbye before he died for the first time. Outside the Impala, a warm and unfamiliar mouth on his. Standing outside of a portal in Purgatory, throwing the only hand he'd ever wanted to hold. Go.

Castiel had killed all of the Deans who said I love you. Because it killed Cas, knowing Dean would never say that. He'd never say that and mean it. But here, now, he'd just said it. And meant it. In every way imaginable.

I need you. It was the mistake heaven made, not knowing Dean had a different way of saying I love you. I need you had so much more depth, more promise, because it was how Dean really felt. That was how he really said I love you. The only way he'd say it and mean it.

And Cas heard it, with every ounce of his being. With the celestial presence he held in Naomi's office, with all the bits if grace inside Jimmy Novak. Castiel heard it and he felt it and there was nothing else that mattered besides this man kneeling before him.

Naomi's words watched over his awareness, and Cas could hear those too, but not as crystal and loud and three dimensional as Dean's words. Maybe nothing he heard ever would be.

"You have to choose, Castiel -- us or him." Him. Dean. His everything. Family by blood or family by free will. There is a saying that goes "Blood is thicker than water." Truly, it originated from a saying much more omnipotent: "The Blood of the covenant is thicker than the Water of the womb."

Family forged in love, not family forged in bones. All Castiel could see now was Dean. The kneeling, bloody man. Beautiful man.

"Cas." Cas felt the coldness in his hand slip away, the blade clattering to the floor with a metallic clang. The coldness in his grace clattered to the ground in that moment too, the connection of power and fear over him broken. If it hadn't been broken, Dean would be dead. His Dean. Dean dipped his head and groaned in pain. All for what? For this?

Cas reached down for the angel tablet, scooping it up. The second his hands wrapped around it, the Enochian writing began to glow. A brilliant golden light started to flow up into his arm, and Cas could feel it warm him, shut away any bit of ice, surrounding his entire being and filling up the room, encompassing the artifacts and the walls and his Dean.

Any bit of him that had been tethered to Heaven or Naomi vanished, and Cas was left to himself. All him, again. The light faded, and Cas stood looking at the tablet in his hands. The word of his people.

"Cas?" Dean's breathing was ragged, like his esophagus or lung had a tear in it. His entire face was broken. He looked like an absolute wreck. And it was all Cas's doing.

"Cas?" Dean asked again. Cas reached out his hand towards Dean, who shied away like an abused dog. The fear there in his eyes, in his body, that would live with Cas forever. Dean tried to protest, grabbing Cas's arm that was reaching for him. "No. Cas. Cas!"

Dean held on tightly, not trying to push Castiel's arm away, but reaching out for comfort in what he thought would be his final moments. How was it that even as Dean believed himself to be dying, he still held on to Cas? Even when Cas had beaten him and betrayed him and killed him a thousand times. Still, Dean grabbed on to him. It broke Cas's heart. And somehow saved him too.

He placed his hand on the side of Dean's head, and Dean drew in a gasp. Maybe of pain, or shock or relief, but it didn't matter now because Cas was sending every ounce of healing ability he had into Dean at that moment, personally going in and mending every broken bone, every drop of shed blood, every bruised patch of skin. Dean blinked up at him, wide eyed, fully healed and himself again.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Cas drew back his hand, knowing that no words would ever be enough. There was nothing Cas could say to tell Dean, to apologize, to show him how much Dean had just been the one to save him. Dean stared up at him, shock all over every part of his expression.

"What the hell just happened?" Cas stuck out a hand slowly, offering Dean a grip to stand. Dean took it, shakily getting his feet under himself. As soon as he was standing and not wobbling, Cas let go of Dean's hand. He had no right to hold it. Then he faced the expectant green eyes, and told him everything he could.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was silence in the car for a while as they left Meg's dead body and Castiel's lack of body in the rearview. Dean had given Sam a brief run-down of the events, leaving out a couple of details. Which apparently didn't settle with Sam, because he over analyzed everything, and so Dean got three minutes of blissful silence before Sam started asking questions again, filling in the holes of Dean's story.

"So... what happened? I mean, Cas touched the tablet, and it reset him to his factory settings or something?" Well, factory-settings was actually a bad thing for Cas, that meant he was acting all angelic. So no, not factory settings, right now Cas was just in his ditching-douchebag mode. Which was better than asshole angel, but still. Dean had kind of skipped from Cas-beating-me-up to Cas-being-normal in his story, so it made sense Sam was asking. There was always a chance he wouldn't have noticed, but it was a slim to none chance. So Dean just looked out at the road under Baby's wheels, sighing into the cold air.

"I don't know," Dean started. Well, he didn't know exactly, but he had a pretty good idea. He'd been standing in front of Cas, listening in awe to his story of getting out of Purgatory, Naomi programming him back into full angelic wrath mode. When Dean had asked him how, Cas had gotten all shifty eyed and said "torture," all quiet and reserved. Dean wanted to press for more, make Cas tell him the details so he could find this Naomi and make her pay in some twisted version of what she did to Cas, but Cas wouldn't meet his eyes so Dean didn't push it. He can't imagine what would've been bad enough to make Cas try to kill Dean, though.

Then the one question had come up, the one Dean hadn't been particularly looking forward to asking, but felt he probably should. He was fairly sure he knew the answer already, but the question stammered out of his mouth anyways.

"Well, w-what broke the connection?" Cas had met his eyes then, and Dean could swear he saw lightning flash again, except it was like a long, continuous strike that ripped into his soul and made him warm everywhere. Cas almost looked guilty, like he was afraid Dean might as that question too.

"I don't know." Cas had answered carefully. So it was just as Dean had thought. It had been that moment, when Dean had grabbed on to what was left of his angel and told him the truth for the first time Cas was listening.

I need you. Sam just suggested it was touching the tablet that fixed Cas, but Cas hadn't touched the tablet until after he dropped the blade. And Cas didn't have the ability to drop the blade until the connection was already broken. Cas had come back to himself, stopping bruising Dean, long before the tablet touched his hands.

So no, it was impossible for it to have been the tablet. It couldn't have been anything but Dean.

And then, then Cas had left him. Again. Not trusting Dean, again. Dean honestly wasn't sure he could take it. He'd opened up, given Cas his everything. And Cas had ditched him.

So Dean did the only thing he could do. He threw it to the darkest parts of his mind and threw up as many concrete walls between him and caring as possible. He didn't even care that Sam knew he didn't care. Because Dean was going to pretend he wasn't breaking in a million pieces. So he could scream he didn't care from the rooftops. Because he didn't.

"And I don't care. All I know is that he is off the reservation with a-a heavenly WMD. " Dean was quiet for a moment. He had an opening right now, and it may be low to use it, but it didn't feel like it. It felt like Sam would get how much Dean was hurting, it felt like maybe they could start listening to each other. God knows Dean already had an insane revelation today.

"Listen, man, I can't take any more lies -- from anyone." Dean looked over at Sam, at the guilt all over his brother's face. Sam must have been going through hell not telling him, but Dean was 900% sure his hell of not knowing what was wrong was worse. At least now he didn't have to angrily watch over Sam without getting yelled at. At least they'd confronted the problem. Although they hadn't had a chance to talk about it til now. And as much as Dean hated it, they needed to talk.

"Yeah. Um... I know. I'm sorry. I should have told you. I-I... just wanted to believe I was okay. I don't know." Sam sounded genuinely sorry. Dean understood that, he really did. He'd probably have done the same. But they were together now, in more ways then one, and they had to trust each other more. Tell the truth. That was part of being committed.

"Well, you heard what Cas said -- that that first trial hurt you in ways that even he can't heal. Sammy, I need you to be honest with me from here on out, man." Dean had never said it straight out like that, not that he could remember. But things were different now. Sam turned to him, looking cold and tired. But honest.

"You're right. And I will be." Dean nodded, turning back to the road. When they got back to the bunker, Dean was pulling Sam down onto the bed and kissing him until he couldn't tell the difference between the blood and the taste of Sam's tongue. They were going to kiss until they were both too tired to function and fell asleep with their lips still interweaved with each other's.

There was sill one thing Dean had to say first though, one thing Sam needed to know.

"Listen, I may not be able to carry the burden that comes along with these trials..." Dean looked at Sam cautiously. "But I can carry you."

Sam was silent for a beat or two and Dean was almost afraid he'd crossed over a line. He never said stuff that...sappy. And boyfriendy. But it was true. And Dean would stand by that statement for as long as he needed to. When Sam finally spoke, his words were hesitant at first.

"You... realize you kind of just quoted "Lord of the Rings," right?" His question came up at the end, a gentle tease. Dean looked over at Sam, unable to keep the little grin off his face.

"Come on, man. But it's the Rudy Hobbit, all right? Rudy Hobbit always gets a pass." Sam laughed lightly, turning his head back to the window. Dean had every right to tease right back to that endearing laugh. Dean rolled his eyes and reached for the radio knob. "Shut up."

Dean turned on the music, the words spilling out into the car instantly.

♪ ...is the undisputed truth ♪  
♪ but I have to have things my own way ♪  
♪ to keep me in my youth ♪

Sam glanced over at Dean, at the irony of this song. Dean just met his eyes back seriously. It was, Sammy. It was the undisputed truth.

♪ like a ship without an anchor, like a slave without a chain ♪  
♪ just the thought of those sweet ladies sends a shiver through my veins ♪  
♪ and I will go on shining, shining like brand-new ♪  
♪ I'll never look behind me ♪  
♪ my troubles will be few ♪

When they got home, Dean was going to run to Sam's side of the car and carry him out. To prove a point. And to see Sam laugh. Because Dean needed that right now, he needed the sweet smile that could hold him and keep him from losing his mind over his broken heart.

 

♪ goodbye, stranger, it's been nice ♪  
♪ hope you find your paradise ♪  
♪ tried to see your point of view ♪  
♪ hope your dreams will all come true ♪

Wherever Cas was right now, it wasn't with Dean. Cas was sitting lonely on a moving bus, the angel tablet in a zipped up bag. Thinking of Dean. How one had overruled 1189 others with three words. Of green eyes and pink lips and spiked hair. Calloused hands, reaching for his trenchcoat. Cas just hoped Dean was happy.

 

♪ goodbye, Mary, goodbye, Jane ♪  
♪ will we ever meet again? ♪  
♪ Feel no sorrow, feel no shame ♪  
♪ come tomorrow ♪

 

♪ Feel no pain. ♪


	7. Contemplated (Freaks and Geeks 08x18)

Dean pulled into a parking spot at the Sherrif's station, this one just the same as every other they'd been to. The rumble of the engine died as Dean shut off the car, pocketing the key in his familiar routine. Sam looked out the windshield, nothing to see but the same boring surroundings.

"So, what are we looking at again?" Dean had found this case, practically jumping on it this morning. It had been seven o'clock when they both woke up, still tangled up in each other with mouths centimeters away, breathing each other's air. Sam had been feeling fine until Dean rolled over and off the bed, pulling on his robe. Then Sam had been super super cold. So he'd bustled off to the shower room, stepping in vaguely hot water to warm up the chill in his bones. When he'd come out into the control room, dressed fully with still-damp hair, Dean had held out a newspaper in one hand and coffee in the other, happily announcing he'd found a case. Sam had just scanned it at the time, nodding tiredly in agreement and climbing in the car after Dean. Now two state lines over and a car ride later, they showed up at the Sherrif's station and Sam still had no idea what the case was about.

Dean reached into the back seat and pulled out the newspaper, patiently handing it over to Sam again. Determined not to forget it this time, Dean would surely worry, Sam said the headline out loud.

"Two young women found near the freeway with their throats ripped out." Yeah, that sounded like a case. The words blurred just a little but and Sam squinted a hopefully non-noticeable amount, bringing the letters back to clarity.

"Sounds vampy to me," Dean offered. It could be. Or it could be other things too. Sam swallowed the metallic taste in his throat, staring at the paper like it could give him the answers to the world. Or make his throat stop hurting.

"Yeah, maybe." Sam said dismissively, pretending to analyze the paper a bit further. Although honestly it probably was vamps. Sam had a beat or two of blissful silence, interrupted only by just the slightest pounding of his head that he'd come to ignore. That is, until Dean glanced over at him, his words snapping Sam back to reality.

"Listen, if you want to take a knee on this one if you're not feeling up to it..."

"What?" Sam jerked his head over to look at Dean. Really? Take a knee on a vamp case? What was Sam, three? Why in the world would Sam take a knee? He looked at Dean with that exact question on his face, offended and confused.

"You know, the trials, what Cas said that you got what he can't cure." Right. Because what Cas said was the gospel. Since when did Dean listen to anyone? Especially someone who had ditched him and fucked him over a hundred times? Besides, even if Cas was telling the truth, it was basically a riddle.

"Hmm, which means what, exactly?" So if Cas couldn't cure him, wouldn't be the first time. Cas couldn't bring back his soul, couldn't fix the wall Cas himself had broken. So Cas's little half-assed warning wasn't exactly scaring Sam. Dean got an annoyed look on his face, turning more in his seat to face Sam.

"Well, I don't know. You tell me. Are you okay?" Another direct question about how Sam was feeling, pinned to his seat with Dean's eyes like a dead butterfly's wings in a display case. Sam fought the urge to wriggle, just to see if he could move beneath the penetrating glare.

"I'm fine." Freaked out, Insecure, Neuortic, and Emotional. Which Dean would surely point out and question if Sam didn't elaborate. Or convince Dean. Which would both be nearly impossible, so it was Plan B time, the cheating way out. But it was still an out. Besides, Sam was genuinely concerned about Dean too. "Are you okay?"

Dean's expression flashed over with surprise. Like Sam had just asked the craziest question ever to be invented. Like Dean hadn't spewed off his "I don't care" speech and promptly ignored talking about what happened. Unless it was about Cas's almighty word declaring Sam helplessly sick. Even them, Dean cringed a little at the angel's name. Not obviously, but he twitched like it was almost painful to say.

"Me?" Dean said incredulously. Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes, pinning Dean in his own seat with them instead.

"Yeah. Um," how do you say "you're pining for Cas" without getting slugged? You don't. "Cas dinged you up pretty good."

"And?" Dean demanded. So he was admitting he'd taken a rough beating, at least. Which was better than nothing. Although the look on Dean's face was almost offended. Offended Sam was asking, or offended it had happened?

"And I just wanted to make sure you're okay." It was classic boyfriend wording, all about Sam caring about how Dean was feeling, and a few years ago Sam would have gotten a snarky comment and a sneer about "your not my girlfriend Sam." That was one of the best things about dating, that Sam could just say what he wanted to and Dean couldn't give him shit for it. Occasionally, Dean even cooperated and Sam got information he never dreamed of having access to before they were together.

"What like my feelings?" Dean's jaw was nearly on the floor and his words were practically shouting. Sam just kept his cool, shrugging lightly and making this not such a huge fucking deal. He'd turned the attention off himself so this conversation wouldn't be massive, but then there was Dean. So.

"If that's what you want to talk about, sure." Dean studied Sam for a moment, a funny expression on his face like he was eating something sour. When he spoke again, his voice was laced and dripping with sassy sarcasm.

"Okay. I'll tell you what. Why don't I go get some, uh, herbal tea..." Sam could pinpoint the exact moment Dean's barricade went up, huge concrete walls circling and layers of well-practiced masks painted on like makeup.

"Okay." Sam decidedly agreed to drop the topic. Fine. Dean could be that way. It wasn't like they were supposed to share things with each other, whatever.

"And you can find some cowboy junkies on the dial." Dean continued, his voice honey and sarcasm, bitter and sweet and squashing every bit of potential this conversation had. Sam just sighed, reaching for the door handle.

"Eat me, Dean." Sam opened the door, unfolding himself into the sunlight and thinking a mini thank you for his back not hurting right now. Dean was still talking at him, words thrown out of the open door.

"And you know what? We'll just talk it out." Dean paused a beat, his voice changing from sarcasmly sweet to decisively sassy. "And I just might take you up on that offer, Sammy."

Sam slammed the Impala door as an answer to Dean's sass and his stupid comment. Sam's "eat me" had not been a suggestion, or an offer, but Dean's brain was a twisting creature and Sam just snorted as he started off to the Sheriff station's doors.

He could hear Dean's door shut too, the scuffing of his boots as he hurried after Sam, the final shout that closed off this conversation from future reference. At least Sam wasn't bringing it up.

"Nay, great talk! Very healthy!" Sam just rolled his eyes. If Dean wasn't so adorable...

~*~*~

Sam kind of just stood in shock as the 5 and a half foot hurricane swirled around him, kids talking and eating and cleaning and grabbing things and only in the same spot for a second or two before they were halfway across the room, all the while shouting over each other or reaching over each other and smiling and laughing and out the door before Sam could get a word in. He stood in wide-eyed silence for a moment, looking after them, before he finally spoke into the now emptiness.

"Wow." There wasn't much else he could say to that. He made a face and looked at the empty table, snorting in surprise.

"Whirlwind, right?" Victor said smiling, like it was a good thing. Or like it was even the best thing. Freaking crazy.

"Yeah." Sam didn't even know how people could be that efficient, let alone a ton of in-a-rush teenagers. Victor looked fondly towards the door before he scooped up a few plates left behind on the table.

"It's always like that with kids. You got any?" Sam followed after Victor as he walked into the kitchen, plates in hand. Wait, did Sam have any kids?

"Me? Uh, no." Did Sam look like the father type? Sam was pretty sure he was not the father type. Sam had never taken care of a kid in his life. He could probably count the number of children he'd even talked to as an adult on one hand. And it wasn't like he had any good personal experiences with the whole childhood thing to base it off of. Victor didn't even skip a beat though, just setting down dishes in the sink and directing another question Sam's way.

"You want any?" Did Sam....what? Did Sam want kids? Sam had never even thought about it. It had honestly never crossed his mind. Like, once. He vaguely remembered something about kids when he was soulless, but he also remembered being curious as to what fucking a vampire would be like when he was soulless. So. Soulless thoughts didn't get any bit of voting rights in Sam's head. Like, at all.

But did he? Want kids? Even with Jess, or Amelia, he'd never thought that far ahead. But now that he was with Dean...wait. Did...did Dean want kids?? Technically, Dean already had two. Well, one biological that was dead per Sam's gun and half monster anyways, and then Ben, who was lost in the wind and didn't even know who Dean was. As well as not genetically even being Dean's kid. But Dean had always gotten along fabulously with kids, and. Well. Dean probably did want kids then. But if he was with Sam- how could... And that would make...

Sam's head was spinning at the thought. Him and Dean, dads. Raising a family together. Having kids. That were theirs. Sam was going to have to sit down. Because yeah, they were technically dating or whatever, but Sam had never thought past that. A family, together. Like, married? Married together?

Now that that image was in his head, Sam was pretty sure it would never leave. Dean, twisting a ring to match his own onto Sam's hand, both of them in tuxes with those two words on their lips. Marrying Dean...they were fucking brothers for fuck's sake. It wasn't like they even could get married, even if they wanted to. Which they didn't. Right? Dean didn't?

Besides, how could they have a kid and hunt too? Sam still could hear Dean's words from earlier ringing in his head.

"Kids aren't supposed to hunt, Sam."

"We did."

"Yeah, and look what that did for us."

"Well, maybe they're doing it right. Maybe they can hunt and have a real life."

"You know that's not true."

"Why, 'cause it didn't work for us?"

"Because it doesn't work for anybody."

So maybe Dean didn't want kids either. Or maybe he did. Maybe he wanted kids who weren't hunters, like Dean said Mom had wanted. And maybe Sam was going to get dragged in too, but maybe Sam was the one who wanted them, after all he was the one freaking out right now...

"Uh, I don't know," Sam spilled out before his head could get even more swirled up and crazy. He didn't know. Did he want kids? With Dean? Did Dean want kids? Those three questions were going to pester him for all of eternity now. Or at least til Sam could force them out of his thought process. Because they'd eat him alive. He wasn't even going to think about the whole marriage thing because that was just. Really out there crazy.

"Trust me, the answer's yes." Victor pulled a leather square from his pocket, flipping it open and smiling at it fondly before turning the wallet towards Sam. There was a picture of a woman and children inside, smiling happily. They all looked perfectly content, as though they had the most comfortable life and positively no qualms at all. Sam didn't even know people could look that carefree.

"These yours?" Sam could picture it, ten years down the road, holding up his wallet to some stranger, a photo of a smiling Dean and laughing kids inside. The stranger might ask the same question Sam just did, and Sam would be able to look at the picture and say proudly, "Yes, these are mine."

Victor brought the wallet back to his gaze, looking at it wistfully. Like that little scrap of shiny paper held his entire world. Maybe it did.

"Yeah." Victor cleared his throat, his gaze still dropped. "Well, until we went camping and a Wendigo ripped them to shreds."

Sam felt that familiar pain of guilty regret he did for all victims of the truly awful in this world. All those smiling little kids, they didn't deserve to go like that. And knowing Sam's luck, that's exactly what would happen to him and Dean too.

"Sorry." But at least it was an opening to turn the conversation off of himself. Actually, it was a great opportunity to figure out more about what Victor's actual agenda was. "Is that why you're doing this, taking all these kids in?"

Victor smiled at Sam and nodded. So yeah, he'd lost his family, and he'd managed to move on and make himself a new one, save people who had lost theirs too. Briefly, for just a moment, Sam contemplated whether he'd ever have it in him to do the same. If Sam lost Dean again, could he go throw himself into a new family? Not just date a girl, but actually do the entire domestic-settled down thing. Sam honestly didn't think he could. If he lost Dean again, that would be the end of it.

"But you know what I realized, Sam, is that these kids, they don't have to live it the way we have. You know, crappy hotel rooms, always moving, no family, no life. It's not the only way."

If that were actually true...if Sam and Dean got to have a life outside of hunting? A life that wasn't running, and bad food, and no sleep, obsessing over monsters so much there was never time for anything else. What could they have that they'd always been missing? What else was out there? Sam didn't even know where to begin.

He got a mini preview later, although it was at a much too inconvienent time to do much with. He was sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair, getting the lecture of a century from the deranged lunatic who finally had shown himself beneath Victor's ugly sweater.

Victor was spewing off his speech about how Sam was clueless and didn't understand, didn't know what it was like to hear the cries it his children dying. Sam may not know the torture of that sound, but he'd gotten to live Dean, his entire world, dying in front of his eyes over a hundred times, all combined. And then managed to relive it in a thousand different vividly twisted ways when he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. Which didn't happen often, although it did happen pretty recently. Like, within the past month. So Sam wasn't entirely clueless.

Then the front door swung open, and Victor whipped out his gun, pointing to the door. Sam's "self-righteous ass of a brother" was standing just inside the doorway, a cluster of kids around him.

"Hey, we're home." Dean said, sounding like a 50s housewife. (Before seeing the gun and Sam tied up and making a "really?" face at Sam that Sam returned with an "I know, right" look.) Although Sam was definitely saving that image of Dean walking in for later, when he wasn't tied up and Dean's life wasn't in danger. Then he could replay that scene, what it'd be like to be reading or something in a living room when Dean strolled in the door, kids in tow around his feet.

It was later still before Sam got the chance to actually think about it. Everything that had happened over the past few days. Kids. With Dean. He was standing outside, waiting for Dean to finish his talk with Krissy, kicking aimlessly at a pebble on Victor's walkway. Which gave him plenty of time to mull things over.

Well, Victor had clearly scored a big negative one on the side of "hunting and having a life" because he'd basically fabricated this whole thing. And Sam was pretty sure Dean would hold on to that. But it could still be possible maybe. One day.

Even if they both decided and agreed to wanting to raise children, what would they do? Adopt? Or if they had a friend who would be willing to carry the kid...that whole, we both have sex with someone so the biological father remains anonymous thing. Although they shared the same DNA, so it wasn't like it would matter anyways. Sam's kid could still end up with pretty green eyes and high cheekbones and pouty pink lips. Because all of Dean's traits were in his genes.

But they didn't exactly have any chick friends, let alone ones who would want to carry a kid for incestuous brothers. There was Charlie, but she didn't like men and she'd probably die before carrying a kid. There had been Jo at one point, but she was dead. Even if she wasn't, Sam didn't want her having the satisfaction of carrying their child. It would give her an excuse to visit, aka hit on Sam's boyfriend. Or well, at the time, probably husband.

Dean, his husband. Sam shook his head, toeing at the pebble a little too hard and sending it off into the grass. Speaking of which, the door creaked open behind him, and Sam heaved out a sign, pushing aside the thoughts for now. He'd bring them up in the car, but not until this place was in the rearview.

~*~*~*~

"Look, I hate how we were put together, but...I can't deny that it feels right. And why should I let Victor ruin that, too?" Krissy put on her best adult-face, her shoulders square and mouth in a straight line. She was a tough kid, yeah, but she had a weakness or two. Like the fact that her eyes were all melty, soft and darting over to the side too often to be coincidental. Dean just grinned, way too familiar with that expression to let it slip.

"So, what you're saying is that you like that boy over there and you want to stay?" Dean totally saw it, he wasn't blind. The way she looked at him...that kid didn't have a chance. Krissy looked super taken aback though, or at least played into it pretty well.

"What? Aiden? No. I mean... He's like my brother. It's nothing like that." It took everything Dean had not to laugh. He wasn't touching that one with a ten inch pole. Although, really, how many times had Dean said that in his life? How many times, especially before he'd gotten together with Sam, had he used that as his excuse? We're brothers. It's nothing like that. How many motel clerks rolled their eyes, fixing Dean with a look that said it was obvious as hell they were together.

Funny, the irony of it. How Krissy said she liked the boy like a brother, even though it was super obvious they had a thing. That was a parallel Dean just couldn't ignore, no matter what angle you looked at it from.

She was still glaring at him and Dean was still trying not to laugh when she added another snide comment in there, her mouth twitching up a bit in a smile.

"And that doesn't mean we're like you and Sam, who are stupid enough to think people will buy the brother story." Krissy pointed an accusatory finger at Dean, but he just shrugged and grinned. What Krissy didn't know wouldn't kill her.

Then her face softened a bit and she smiled, looking towards the door for a moment before turning back to Dean. She looked so young, goodness. Not even her smallness, and especially not her demeanor. But her expression was just like any other teenage girl for a moment, shining brightly and pouring sass out if her adolescent mouth.

"I'm glad you two finally got together though, it was about time. Last time I saw you, I could have cut the tension between you guys with a machete."

"Speaking of which, what else are you planning on cutting with a machete? If you guys are sticking together, what's the plan for hunting?"

"We won't go looking for it. But if any monsters show up around here, they better look out."

That was probably the most satisfying answer Dean could hope to get out of the girl. After all, she could totally fend for herself. Krissy, he wasn't worried about. Hell, he was more worried about the tall, muscular man waiting for him outside.

Sam was a mess, and Dean was pretty sure you'd have to be blind to not see it. Although, Dean probably would be able to tell even then. He and Krissy said their goodbyes (even though Dean wasn't actually that old, god) and he was pretty sure that Aiden kid wasn't going to be stepping out of line anytime soon after their talk.

Sam was standing on the walkway when Dean stepped out, looking off in the distance until he heard the door click closed. Then Sam was turning to face him, catching up alongstride. They fell into place, walking to the car together in the same comfortable rhythm they shared.

"This is good,"Sam finally said. Dean snorted. Right, because a ton of kids getting their families brutally murdered for some sicko's plan was good. Now that they knew the life, and eat was really hiding in closets?

"Is it?" Dean asked, eyes settling on the comfort of the sleek black lines at the end of the walkway.

"Could have been a lot worse," Sam offered. That was true, they'd only lost their entire families. There could have been even more collateral damage, if it hadn't had been just a couple of innocent people turned vamp. Only thing is, kids like that? Damage is just gonna follow them around, everywhere they go. Fir the rest of their lives. Eventually something was gonna catch up.

"Will be if we don't shut those Gates of Hell soon."

"What do they have to do with any of that?" Sam was giving him a look like Dean was accusing Sam of not having closed the gates already. Dean wasn't, he knew they didn't even know the next trial, he was just still worried about this whole thing with the trials anyways. This wasn't supposed to be Sam's burden, and if something happened to him because of it? Dean couldn't live with that. All because of his stupid fear of hellhounds, he managed to fumble on the one yard line and let his baby brother take this crap instead. It still hurt Dean, even if Sam didn't get that. And those kids in there would pay too, if the two of them couldn't do this locking hell thing.

"They're hunters now. You don't just walk away from that. There's only one way out of that,and you and I both know it ain't pretty." People in this life die, brutal and bloody, knives in backs and claws to the chest, shotguns of other hunters, stupid hell pits and purgatory doors. And that was just between the two of them, not counting the millions of people who die by Crowley or some other demon or monster's hand.

"Maybe they'll be different." Yeah, Dean was pretty sure if anybody got special treatment, it'd be the Winchesters. And they still died.

"Or maybe if we shut that hell hole once and for and all, those three can have a real life." Dean swung open his car door, the familiar smell of leather and tires greeting him. Nothing chilled the nerves like his Baby. It was familiar, warm, just as much a part of Dean as his favourite gun was. Even more.

As he slid into his seat, Sam mumbled something to himself, to the air over the top of the car. Dean was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear it, but with his hunting training, there was no way he couldn't.

"Maybe they won't be the only ones."

Dean didn't comment, since he wasn't supposed to hear it anyways. Not like he knew what the hell it meant anyways. This life didn't count for those kids, yeah, but Dean didn't think Sam was still strung up on getting out. He thought they'd crossed that bridge when Sam didn't go back to Amelia. Apparently though, the air above the car was worthy of knowing something different.

He started the car and just drove, silence falling between him and the man in the passenger seat. He really did try not to worry, but Sam's words kept replaying in his head. In a thousand different scenarios, what they could have meant. So maybe Sam wanted out, or maybe he wanted away from Dean. Or out with Dean? Or maybe he was actually foolish enough to believe they could live like those kids had tried to. Because in case Sam didn't notice, that had blown up in their faces.

Maybe with the bunker, though, they could at least have something close. Dean making dinner for Sam, going on hunts as close to home as possible, so they didn't have to stay in crappy motels. Except for every couple of months or so. Having a home for once had a lot of potential for them, if that's what Sam wanted. But didn't they kind of have a start to that now? So why would Sam say he might be able to have a real life after they close the gates of hell?

Dean was still fretting when it started getting dark. They were about 50 miles from Kansas, and the silence had remained. It was a comfortable one though, so Dean wasn't worried about that. Just by whatever the hell Sam meant. He was almost relieved when Sam reached over and turned down the knob on Nothing Else Matters, quieting Metallica back down to background music. Sam snatched his hand back fast, like he was afraid Dean might swat at it and comment. Dean normally would have, but he was hoping for a bit of elaboration on the eavesdropped words.

"So you like Krissy fine, right?" Okay, so apparently not. If Sam was having qualms about the case, Dean could talk those. He pushed his worries to the back of his head, pretending they'd never been there at all. If Sam wasn't going to talk about it, Dean wasn't going to worry. Or try not to anyways.

"Well yeah. For a kid, she's not half bad." Dean wasn't sure exactly what the question meant, but Sam nodded like that was a sufficient enough answer for him. Okay, weird. There was no way to tell where this conversation was going, but based on glancing over at Sam, somewhere vaguely important. Because Sam almost looked, like...nervous. What in the world would he be nervous to talk to Dean about? The last time Sam had been nervous talking to him, Sam had been like a teenager with a thousand questions and no way to ask them without an awkward flitting around of his eyes.

Sam cleared his throat, looking out the window for a few seconds. Then he turned to Dean, chewing at his lip for a second before facing the road again, his eyes reflecting in the streetlights. The gold pattern flashed across Sam's face, and he seemed to take comfort in it, in them and the highway and the car. Finally, he spoke up again, carefully keeping his eyes forward and his voice so casual it was obvious he was trying too hard.

"Dean did you- I mean, I know with Ben, but uh. Did you ever want kids?"

"What?" Where in the world did that come from? Well obviously from the case but...why would Sam care if- oh. OH. Okay yeah, uh Dean had no idea they were having this conversation anytime soon. Or ever. Let alone right now. Dean bit his lip, debating whether he wanted to laugh or cringe from the palpable awkwardness in this conversation. Did he want to have kids, with Sam. Okay, even if he did, this needed some serious thought because yeah they were dating and all but having kids means a lot more than holding someone's hand or sleeping with them, that's that whole forever conversation and yeah Dean can't address that right now. He'd have to answer in a different way...like just kids in general. Not particularly with Sam, or anyone, just small people what did Dean want with small people?

"...Kids. Nah, man. I mean, it's just. This life, I wouldn't wanna push that on some innocent kid, you know?" Maybe that wasn't what Sam was looking for but it was the best Dean could give. Because he just couldn't have that other conversation right now. Besides, it was the truth. Dean had already raised one kid into this life, and the jury was still out on whether Dean had failed or if he should be really really goddamn proud.

"Yeah, yeah. That makes sense." Sam said too quickly, apparently just as eager to end the conversation there as Dean was. Even though Sam totally was the one who brought it up.

Silence fell back on them again, just another hundred dashed yellow lines disappearing beside the car. Dean was aware his eyebrows were scrunched together in thought, but Sam had been that way all day so Dean could have a couple of minutes of pondering. God, kids. With Sam. Nothing would solidify a relationship like that. But what Dean had rambled out earlier about kids not being in this life was extremely true. And Dean wasn't sure he could live with the guilt of dropping off the radar. Besides, they were the Winchesters, everyone in Heaven and Hell alike knew who they were. Dropping off the grid from that would be nearly impossible.

But Sam had to have at least been thinking about it. After all, that would explain why he'd been acting strange. Well, that and the trials crap that was eating away at him. Which he wasn't fessing up to, no surprise. But if Sam had been thinking about it...did he want kids then? Dean let a few more mile markers pass before he finally cleared his throat and broke the silence again.

"Uh, Sam, what about you?" Dean glanced over, eyes off the road just for the duration if his next question. Sam's eyes flicked to him, more than a little surprise showing in the dilation of his cornea. "Any pink and blue cradles in Sammy's future?"

Sam snorted at the terminology, then looked back out the window for a moment. Dean turned back to the road, riding that fne balance between watching Sam and not crashing the car. Baby kind of moved on her own anyways, though.

"No, I don't think so. I'm not exactly...father material I guess." Dean looked over at Sam with a grin.

"Aww Sam, you'd make a great dad!" Sam didn't quite pick up on the exaggerated coo in Dean's voice, instead raising his eyebrows a bit and twitching his mouth into a smile.

"You think so? I mean, I've never cared for kids before and I don't really know what I'd be doing..."

"Oh c'mon, you'd let all your kids grow their hair out and teach em to eat rabbit food and be total geeks and get their asses royally handed to them, it'd be great." Dean grinned over at Sam, who was glaring at him playfully. Then the expected fist came out and knocked into Dean's arm. Dean cringed away to his side of the car, twisting his shoulder and squeezing up again the window, getting as far away from Sam's wrath as possible.

"Shaddup, jerk." Dean laughed, scooting away enough to avoid Sam's next half-assed swing before he stopped attempting to hit Dean and just glared instead.

"It's true! And we can give them all girly nicknames, inspired by Samantha, like Daisy and Apricot-"

"Eat me." Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting, turning his gaze stubbornly to the window. At least Sam hadn't noticed the "we" that Dean had slipped (again) which could gave possibly turned this conversation down a much more intense path. Besides, it was the second time in 24 hours Sam had said that and Dean couldn't ignore that offer.

"Yeah yeah. About that..."

As soon as they got home, Dean was pushing the clothes off of Sam's shoulders, attacking his mouth with a string of hot kisses. Sam stumbled backwards a bit, but he caught his balance as Dean backed him into the table with the map on it. Sam put up a pretty good fight against Dean, trying to turn the tables and be the one backing Dean up, but Dean's grip was firm and Sam didn't have the strength. Wait. Sam didn't have the strength to wrestle Dean? This was worse than Dean thought.

Dean broke his mouth away, causing a disgruntled noise from Sam, who clamped his hands tighter on Dean's ass in response. Dean bit his lip to muffle the moan as Sam squeezed him, but Sammy was hurting and they had to slow this down.

"Sammy, man, you gotta let me know when your not feeling oh-okay." Dean's voice broke as his breath hitched, Sam using his tight grip on Dean's ass to mash their clothed erections together.

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam growled, bucking his hips forward and chasing Dean's mouth. Dean easily avoided Sam's sluggish movements, catching his mouth on Sam's jawline instead. He didn't answer Sam, it was damn obvious Sam wasn't, he just mouthed down to the base of Sam's neck instead. Sam closed his eyes and tossed his head to the side, one hand coming up to grip Dean's shoulder for support. The other stayed on Dean's ass, fingers splayed possessively across the roundness bunched between his palm.

Now that he was lower on Gigantore's body, Dean ran his hands up Sam's thighs, the denim rough in places and worn smooth in others from the thousand times they'd been washed. Sam made a low noise as Dean bit down on the bruise he'd been sucking into Sam's skin. Now that they'd thrown a few kinks out there, Dean didn't worry too much about taking it too rough with Sam. Although he was still being wary of Sam's pain (which he was ignoring apparently) in a way that Sam hopefully wouldn't bitch about. If Dean coddled him entirely, Sam would kill him.

"Up," Dean ordered, breaking his mouth away from Sam's skin with a wet pop, his hands scooping up under Sam's ass to aide him. Sam got the message and hopped up onto the table, his ass landing with a thud and nearly squishing Dean's hands, which had moved out to the side and were now circling around to the front of Sam's pants. The map table Sam was propped up on was high enough up that Sam was still taller than Dean, even though he was sitting. Which was fine, Dean could reach everything he needed to from right here.

He flicked open the button on Sam's jeans, tugging down the zipper and swiftly yanking them out from under Sam. Dean pushed his hand down firmly against the tenting in Sam's boxers, rolling the head of Sam's dick with his palm.

"Mm, Dean, c'mon," Sam complained, his hands leaving their grip on the table to pull up the hem of Dean's tshirt. Dean lifted his arms and let Sam take it off, shaking his head to unrumple his hair. Sam ran his hands over Dean's bare chest appreciatively, palms shaping over his pectorals and tracing the faint lines of his non-toned abs. Dean's chest was nowhere near the buffness of Sam's, but Sam had a fascination for it anyways.

Feeling slightly awkward under the scrutiny, Dean leaned forward and lip locked with Sam again. It felt strangely childish, Sam sitting on the edge of the table with his feet dangling a few inches from the floor, Dean snug between him parted legs to kiss him. Sam looked young like this, his hair floppy and his body moving slower than normal. It was strange to think Sam was just as old as Dean was when Dean first went to hell. Sam seemed so much older than that. Then again, a ton of shit had happened to the kid that made him age older than he should've, faster than he should've. Sam had been to hell for decades, and you could see it in his eyes. You could see Dean's year in Purgatory in Sam's mouth, the corners firm and protected like how he'd had to be in his year alone.

It was all there, every battle and scar and teardrop written on Sam's body like a book. When Dean had been nearing thirty, he'd had a few nights of a dead Sam and John and Mary's deaths on his shoulders, but that was nothing to how aged Sam looked normally. Now, though, he looked somewhere between 28 and 30 and the pit of guilt in Dean's stomach grew at that. Sam should look that way all the time, and ur was Dean's fault he didn't. Dean's.

"Hello, Earth to Dean." Dean started, blinking a few times and realizing he was staring at Sam, no longer kissing him. His hands were digging into the meat of Sam's thighs, fingers curled into the white skin and probably leaving behind purple marks. Dean swallowed, clearing his head and shaking off the concerned look Sam was giving him.

"On your knees," Dean demanded instead. Sam raised his eyebrows but went along with it, lifting his legs onto the table and scooting around, ass in the air for Dean. Dean slipped off Sam's boxers, letting them pool against the table so Sam didn't have to kneel on the cold surface of the table. Dean was pretty sure when the Men of Letters built the control room, they weren't picturing it getting used for these purposes.

Dean ran his palm down the curve of Sam's ass, smacking it once to leave a momentary pink handprint of Sam's skin. Sam let out a noise of frustration, but Dean just got closer, his breath ghosting over the pink spot before he pressed a chaste kiss to Sam's ass. Dean could practically hear Sam roll his eyes, but whatever. Sam was girly 24/7, Dean could have three seconds of fondness without Sam's sass.

Then he was moving his mouth to breathe out warm air against the crease in between Sam's cheeks, getting his mouth dangerously close to Sam as he spoke.

"This'll teach you to watch what you say, Sammy." Before Sam could retort, Dean grabbed ahold of Sam's hips and reached his lips forward, sealing over Sam's hole. Sam let out a high-pitched choked sound, pushing his ass back against Dean's face. Dean slipped his tongue out, circling around the outside rim of Sam's entrance. Sam let out a girly moan and Dean could hear the faint scratch of Sam's blunt nails dragging across the table. Hey, Sam had said Eat Me twice today, he had this coming.

"Oh, fuck, Dean," Sam panted as Dean dug the tip of his tongue into Sam's entrance. The muscles in Sam ass were tight and clingy, the slippery wet of Dean's tongue not doing much to open him up. They hadn't had sex in forever, amd Sam hadn't bottomed in forever and a half, so it was gonna be quite some prep before Dean could make him loose enough to fit on Dean's cock.

Dean curled the tip of his tongue, swirling around the inner rim of muscles and groaning at the faint musky taste. Sam was canting his hips back like a five dollar whore, but Dean was more than happy to oblige with Sam's begging requests. He stiffened up his tongue and plunged it in as deep as it could go, fucking in and out of Sam's ass with a drag slow enough to make Sam writher beneath him. The most desperate of sounds were tumbling past Sam's lips, which actually made Dean a little proud because his normally over-articulate brother seemed to be reduced to a very limited vocabulary consisting of only curse words and Dean's name. If Dean could succumb college boy to forget all his fancy learning, he was clearly doing something right.

Then Sam's hands flew off the table, suddenly grabbing behind him at Dean, huge hands latching onto Dean's ass and back sloppily, taking whatever he could and pulling Dean in closer. Dean puckered his lips and sucked at Sam's entrance in response, causing a muffled shout from the younger man. Dean grinned triumphantly and twisted his tongue deeper inside, flicking around with what little movement he had against the tight walls. Sam was whimpering by now, his words coming out in between gasps and pleas.

"God, Dean... Yes, fuck, please." Dean licked his way slowly out of Sam, drawing his tongue out a centimeter at a time and swirling it in circles until just the very tip was circling Sam's outer rim. Then Dean straightened up, lifting his head and smirking as Sam tightened his grip on Dean's skin and lifted his head at the sudden lack of contact.

"So nice and pretty when you beg for it, Sammy." Sam groaned in annoyance and dropped his forehead back down to the table, muttering a soft ow at the force of it. Dean ran a palm across the curve of Sam's ass, tracing it down and brushing his fingers against the damp hole. Sam's breathing hitched and he pushed back against Dean's hand, begging for more. Dean slipped just the tip of his pinky in, easily sliding without a bit of restriction. Sam let out another huff of annoyed sound, and he was going to start verbally complaining soon, Dean could totally tell. So he finally stopped teasing and plunged his ring finger in alongside the pinky, burying them down in a swift motion.

It was tight again, but Dean pushed in a bit deeper. Sam suddenly let out a pained gasp, snapping his hips forward and away from Dean. The force of it was sudden and surprising, freeing half of Dean's fingers just with the sharp movement. Dean drew them the rest of the way out immediately, left hand flying to Sam's lower back and bracing him. God, if he hurt Sam, and now, when Sam was already hurting--

"Sammy? Are you okay? Sam?" Dean was trying not to panic but he was kind of maybe freaking out. Sam was breathing heavy, his cheeks flushed red from what Dean could see, leaning over Sam's side to try to catch his eyes or see his face. Sam took in another breath, then lifted his head, turning it to the side to glance at Dean. He looked kind of surprised and mostly flushed with embarrassment. Okay, so not what Dean was expecting.

"Yeah, I uh. Your ring, it's freezing. And it. Just. You surprised me, is all." (Because there was no way in hell Sam was telling Dean that yeah, while the ring was cold as fucking Antartica, it was the idea of the ring that had hit him just as hard. For three seconds, Sam had thought it was a wedding ring, had transformed his mind to some place where it was Dean's left hand fingering him open instead of his right. And the thought of that, that wedding ring, had come so suddenly and full of power it had shaken Sam to the core. Marrying, Dean. Which was really freaking crazy. Not to mention Dean was looking at him like he was a psycho right now anyways.)

"Okay then, didn't know a piece of metal was enough to unhinge you Sammy." Before Sam could protest or fight back against Dean's words, Dean was carefully pushing his first finger into Sam. He could avoid the ring, that wasn't a problem. It was just, the look on Sam's face said it wasn't just the cold bothering him. Or maybe his body was more sensitive to temperature changes now, maybe the cold was worse for Sam now than it would be a month ago.

Whatever it was, Dean was a lot more careful as he worked Sam open. Enough to the point Sam started complaining again, but Dean wasn't taking any chances with hurting Sam. The kid was coughing up blood on his own anyways.

"On your back," Dean said gruffly, twisting his three fingers back out of Sam. Then Dean was walking the few feet back to his duffel, rummaging through it for lube. A muffled "ow" caught his ears and Dean snapped back up, looking over at Sam. Sam was rubbing the back of his head like he'd hit it on the table. Damn, Sam was uncoordinated tonight.

"You alright?" Dean walked back over, unbuttoning his jeans in the process. Sam's eyes were on Dean's hands, but he glanced at Dean's eyes for a moment. Then he was rolling his eyes in classic Sam bitchface number four, because apparently that was a ridiculous question to ask.

"I'm fine." Dean slid his jeans down and kicked his way out once they pooled around his ankles. Right, Sam was totally fine, it wasn't like he'd freaked when he touched something a little chilly, or managed to somehow hit his head in the mundane task of laying down. Why would Dean ask that ridiculous question in the first place?

"You know what fine means? Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional." Dean slipped out of his boxers too, uncapping the lube and tipping a bit into his palm. He let his eyes fall shut with a soft moan as he wrapped a hand around his already hard cock, coating himself with the lube in his palm and bucking slightly into the sensation.

"I'm only emotional because you won't fuck me already." Sam was glaring at Dean touching himself, leaving Sam cold and empty a few feet away on the table.

Well, Dean didn't need anymore of an invitation than that. He got back in between Sam's legs, lifting up each one at the knee. Sam had a hand slowly pumping up and down on his dick, apparently too impatient to wait for Dean. Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and stilled him, and Sam let out another impatient sound.

"This is why you always bottom. You take way too long to top."

"Shut up. You know you love it." Dean looked at Sam for a moment, who just had his eyebrows raised in fake disagreement. Okay, that's it. Dean picked up Sam's ankle, throwing it over his shoulder. He brought up the other one too, then pulled Sam in closer, so that the back of his thighs were almost pressed to Dean's chest. Sam propped up on his elbows and pressed his palms down onto the table to brace himself. Dean grabbed Sam's hip with one hand and guided his cock with the other, until his head was pressed up against Sam's hole.

Sam threw his head back and pushed forward, slipping just the tip of Dean inside him. Dean bit his lip and breathed out slowly. God, it had been a long time since he'd done this. Sam was as tight as a vice around him as he slowly thrust forward. By the time the head was fully inside, there were a few beads of sweat on the back of his neck. As he bottomed out inside Sam, the back of Sam's thighs pressed hot against Dean's chest.

This angle was insanely deep, and Dean felt a little bit like he was drowning. He moved his hands to grip Sam's thighs, using the hold to pull out and shove back in, carrying the rhythm with the momentum from this position. Sam looked so good like this, spread out and needy beneath Dean's gaze. And god, the way he felt, wrapped around Dean. It was like from here, when they were like this, Sam was Dean's. Dean could take care of him, keep him safe, be a part of Sam that was temporarily so important, to be so close and connected. It was almost overwhelming, having Sam this way. Having Sam at all.

But if he let himself think like that he was gonna go crazy, and so he pushed all the deep thoughts aside, focusing in on the wet slide between their bodies instead. He could get lost like this, driving back and forth inside of Sam, leaving red handprints on his legs where Dean was holding on. Sam's head was tilted back, exposing that beautiful length of neck that Dean fully intended to mark up before the night was over. He couldn't reach any part of Sam right now except his legs, and where he was thrusting into Sam over and over. It was kind of exhilarating, putting so much focus on just one part of Sam, just the rhythmic clashing of their hips.

"Sammy," Dean breathed, moving in deep, his head spinning at how much access he had like this. Sam shuddered and called back Dean's name softly in answer. Dean was never going to get enough of this. The warmth of Sam's body was beautifully suffocating, and Dean wasn't sure what he'd ever do without it. If he lost Sam again because of these trials...

Dean shook his head swiftly, forcing the thoughts away again. Just their bodies, in out in out. They must've looked like quite a scene, Sam laid out on the table, legs thrown up over Dean's shoulders as Dean fucked into him with long, thorough thrusts. Sammy was so beautiful like this, skin shining with sweat and that tight ass hot around Dean's cock. Although he might not ever admit it aloud, Sam was tighter, hotter, silkier than any girl Dean had been with. Prettier too.

Dean groaned at that thought and picked up the rhythm a bit, sliding into Sam faster, while still fitting into him as deeply as possible, their bodies flush for the moments Dean was buried deep in Sam. The muscle of Sam's thighs against his chest was a sensation Dean wasn't quite used to, but it still sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. The kid was all muscle, basically everywhere, and sometimes it made him feel inadequate. Mostly it just turned him on though.

Sam curled the tips of his fingers against the table underneath him, wishing he had something to hold onto. Like Dean, preferably. Pushing Dean around in bed, taking control and taking care of his older brother, was something Sam enjoyed more than basically anything. But when Dean got all growly and dominant, Sam couldn't help but succumb, giving up everything he had. It didn't happen often enough for Sam to be used to it, so it felt like the first time every time. Which was super duper cheesy and something that totally did not cross Sam's mind as Dean's cock was stuffed in his ass.

Fuck, Dean was huge, and the way he rocked into Sam showed no mercy for it. He'd drive in quickly, filling Sam up so deeply Sam's vision was spinning. It honestly felt like Dean was fucking him all the way up to Sam's brain, he was so far into Sam's body. Sam had his head thrown back against the table, the power of Dean's body was so strong. Then Dean was pulling out just as suddenly, the friction feeling something like Heaven, until just the head of Dean's cock was nestled against the inner rim of muscles, sending sparks of the sensation throughout Sam's entire body.

Dean's grip on his thighs was starting to form purple bruises, he was digging his hands into Sam's flesh so tightly. Sam couldn't even feel the pain that should have been there, he was so full on Dean inside him. As of late, a chill had started in on Sam's bones, but when Dean was hilt-deep inside his body, the cold left him alone. So did the ever-present pressure on his chest that made him want to cough all the time; it was overrided by the pleasure rippling through his body.

When Dean's name slipped past Sam's lips again in a throaty moan, Dean tightened his hands on Sam's legs, using the grip he had to spread Sam's legs a little further apart. This time when Dean drilled into Sam's ass, the smooth head of Dean's cock brushed against the star-vision inducing spot in Sam. He cried out as Dean slid across his prostate, a violent tug in his stomach making his hips buck against the friction.

"Ah, ah, Dean!" Sam cried out, his body on the edge of falling apart. Dean seemed to catch exactly what Sam meant, speeding his hips up and making Sam threaten to slide on the table, between the sweat on his back and the smooth surface beneath him. If it wasn't for Dean's tight hold on Sam, he'd have slid long before now.

Sam summoned the last of his energy to lift his head, his eyes on what he could see of Dean's body. God, he was so perfect. The muscles in his arms stood out with the effort of holding Sam in place, the curve of his bicep prominent and dotted with glistening sweat. His eyes were dark with lust and sweeping across Sam's body, branding him with a gaze that felt like Sam was being claimed in every way possible. Dean's lips were parted, his mouth slightly open and panting, his bottom lip half swollen with little bite marks on one side.

A glint of light caught Sam's eye and his head turned a bit to follow it. Dean's ring, ever present on his right hand, was leaving an imprint in Sam's thigh. The silver caught the refractions in the room, reflecting back the light in flashes. Sam's mind went ahead without his permission and lept off into the dangerous path of thought from earlier: a wedding ring. Dean, Sam's groom, his husband. An eternal bond, commitment of forever. For the whole world to see on their hands.

Sam's body convulsed and his orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the steady stream of bliss rocketing through his being. The world went white, and Sam's ears registered a distant sound that was probably being wrenched from his mouth. His eyes twisted shut and his back arched, arms trembling and muscles closing in around Dean as his cock twitched and spilled onto his chest. Dean shuddered and stilled in him, a flood of warmth filling him even deeper, and a second wave of pleasure hit Sam, whiteing everything out again.

By the time Sam opened his eyes, the room slowly coming into focus again, Dean wasn't inside him anymore. Sam lifted his head quickly, which sent a rush of blood to his brain that would've knocked him over if he wasn't laying down. As it was, it hurt like hell and Sam groaned, laying his head back down on the table and shutting his eyes against the discomfort. A hand suddenly landed on his cheek and Sam flinched at the unexpected touch, his eyes shooting open again.

Dean was propped up on the table next to Sam, looking at him worriedly. Sam flicked his eyes away from the scrutiny, instead glancing down Dean's body. His abs stood out like this, since he was half sitting and twisted to the side. Sam reached out a hand to touch, because it felt like forever since Sam had had Dean's skin under his fingertips. Dean's head dipped down to watch Sam fondly trace the outlines of his stomach muscles. Sam didn't miss the quick grin on Dean's face at the touch, which Sam couldn't help but smile in response to.

"You know, you're gonna break the table one of these days." Sam's voice was teasing, but came out a lot more tired-sounding than he was. Well, Sam was worn out, but his words made him sound like he was about to collapse in bed. Which didn't sound like too bad of an idea...although Sam wasn't sleepy. It was barely nine, there was no way Sam was tired right now. That didn't make any sense. He stifled a yawn in his throat before Dean would notice, although he'd shot Sam another vaguely worried glance at his sleepy words.

"Well, that's another reason not to have kids, Sammy. Can't have sex all over the house." Dean grinned cheekily and slid off the table, padding his way over to the kitchen. Sam's eyes followed Dean's ass until he was out of sight, smiling to himself at the view. Then he rolled his head to look up at the ceiling, sighing. There was come cooling on his chest and a wet sensation in his ass too. And now that Dean was gone, the chill was straying back in, making him shiver just a bit against the hardness of the table.

He shoved the recognition of the recurring pains aside, focusing in on Dean's last words in place of the pressure on his chest. Sam blew off the house comment, he didn't know if Dean was referring to a house in the future or if he was calling the bunker a house, although Sam just thought of it as a work place. A really freaking accessible source of knowledge.

As for the kids comment, Sam just kinda smiled. Apparently, Dean had been thinking about it a bit since Sam brought it up in the car. Not that that meant anything though, because Sam was still all hung up on this whole marriage thing. He had no idea why, it wasn't like he was secretly harboring this desire to marry Dean. He'd never considered or thought about it before their last case. So maybe that was why Sam kept thinking about it. Because it was a new idea he hadn't analyzed and that he'd been trying to push aside since the first time it crossed his mind. That had to be why it was pestering Sam, because it was such a sudden thing that came out of nowhere. So it didn't mean anything, and Sam seriously needed to stop dwelling on it. Or worrying. What did he have to worry about?

Dean came back into the control room, humming softly with a washcloth in hand. Sam extended a hand with a silent thank you on his face, but Dean just strolled past Sam's outstretched arm. He stopped back in the place he'd been standing earlier, gently nudging Sam's raised knees to the side. Sam huffed out a breath of annoyance, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Because the whole caretaker treatment thing was getting a little old. Dean was motherhenning him during sex and Sam was entirely not cool with that.

"Dean, I know how to clean myself up, thank you." It was a little sassy, but Dean didn't meet his eyes, he just kept humming and slightly nudging Sam's knees. Sam didn't move though, so Dean's hands just wrapped around his ankles and lifted his legs up, spreading them out manually. Sam squawked at the indignant treatment. "Hey!"

The cold washcloth brushed over sensitive skin and Sam drew in a breath. The temperature of his whole body felt like it was dropping ten degrees, sucking in the cold and distributing it everywhere. Sam shivered once, but he could write that off as over sensitization, so he wasn't worried. Even though Dean was being really careful, so it wouldn't be a believable lie if Dean didn't assume everything was his fault anyways. Dean paused at the shiver, a warm palm settling on the inside of Sam's thigh. Then he was cleaning Sam even more carefully, which Sam didn't think was even possible. He zoned in on the heat radiating from Dean's hand, trying to battle the cold of his absence everywhere else with that one point of contact.

Once Dean started in on swiping across Sam's chest, Sam struggled into an upright sitting position. Dean didn't stop him, although he shot Sam a look. Sam just ignored it, listening to Dean's humming instead. It was one of the only ten songs Dean ever hummed, so it wasn't like it was hard to identify.

"Whole Lotta Love?" Sam smirked, hand closing around Dean's wrist and pulling Dean and the washcloth of off Sam's chest. Sam was clean enough, goodness. Dean shot him a glare but retreated anyways, washing the cloth out in the sink on the wall.

"Yeah. What can I say, you inspired me." Dean draped the clean cloth over the side of the sink to dry, turning to Sam with a grin. Suddenly the urge to yawn finally won and Sam stretched his mouth wide, a hand coming up to cover over the sleepy sound. Sam cut himself off as quickly as possible, the first few words catching the end of the yawn.

"I inspired you to sing about sex after we had sex. Wow I'm honored." Dean shrugged, walking up to where Sam was still sitting on the edge of the table. Both of Dean's hands landed on the tops of Sam's thighs, narrowly avoiding the kind of hand shaped bruises Dean had left there earlier. The clear eyes were close, looking directly at Sam's with a softness that reminded Sam of a scene straight out of a chick-flick.

"What do you say we go to bed, sleepy?" Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's over tenderness and the childish words.

"Hell, I was ready to go at it again, old man." He quickly crushed his mouth on Dean's before Dean could protest more. Dean opened up his mouth and let Sam's tongue slip inside, pressing back hard against the kiss. Sam ran the tip of his tongue over the ridges in the roof of Dean's mouth, eliciting a groan. Dean's fingertips dug into the meat of his legs again. Great, Sam was going to have four handprint bruises, it was going to look like he had sex with Shiva.

Sam nipped at the corner of Dean's lips and sucked in Dean's tongue to his mouth, swirling around it like Dean's tongue was his cock. Dean made a soft cry into Sam's mouth, his hips bucking up against the table and shaking them both. Sam sucked harder and danced the tip of his tongue down the side of Dean's, stroking and circling.

Dean's hands came up to Sam's sides, grabbing at him desperately. Sam slid his hands slowly down Dean's shoulders, trailing down each vertebrae of his spine until he reached the slope above the roundness. Sam ended the slow teasing descent with a rough grab of two handfuls of Dean's ass, pulling him as close as Sam could wedge him between his legs without falling off the table. Dean whimpered and squirmed, his body warm underneath Sam's hands and mouth and getting warmer.

Sam finally broke off his mouth from sucking on Dean's tongue, turning his head to the side to avoid Dean automatically chasing his mouth. Dean's head dropped to Sam's shoulder, his body heaving up and down with the effort to breathe. Sam was gasping in air himself, his vision a little topsy turvy. The room tilted a bit and one of Sam's hands flew to grip the back of Dean's neck to steady himself. Dean just kept puffing warm air onto Sam's clavicle bone, not questioning Sam's sudden death grip for once.

"Why do people keep saying that? I'm like 33." Sam blinked in confusion, taking a few seconds to figure out what the hell Dean was talking about. Oh yeah, Sam had called Dean old earlier. Okay so Dean wasn't old, but Sam was still younger so he got to tease Dean about it all he liked. After all, Dean had teased Sam about being young for the first 25 years of his life, Sam had a right to return the favour.

"Well you're older than me." Which sounded a lot lamer out loud. Dean thought so too apparently, because he snorted at Sam. Then he lifted his head, meeting Sam's eyes with a playful smile. Sam reluctantly slid the hand gripping onto Dean's neck to his upper back, still needing support, thanks to the edges of his world still threatening to tip.

"Yeah, and awesomer." Dean leaned in and pointedly pecked his lips to Sam's, drawing back after only a moment of touching. The sound it made was exaggerated, like a little kid, and it was over before it even started. Sam didn't even have time to close his eyes.

"Which is totally a word," Sam said under his breath. Then one side of his mouth curled up in a smile. His voice was full volume and teasing this time. "And shorter."

Dean opened his mouth with a huff of offended sound, about to call Sam rude or complain or make some comment about how Sam was freakishly tall. Sam leaned forward and sealed his mouth over Dean's before he could make another sound. This kiss lasted a few seconds longer than the last one, and it was open mouthed instead of just a peck, since Dean's mouth was open anyways.

When Sam drew back, Dean wasn't even bothering to pretend-glare anymore, his face just bright and happy. His mouth quirked up in a grin to match Sam's from earlier.

"And stronger." Their lips connected again, sliding wetly across each other, both reluctant to pull away but doing it anyways, spiking all sorts of tension in Sam's gut. This time, Dean didn't straighten all the way back up, his face hovering six inches from Sam's instead.

"Curvier," Sam teased. Sam swept his tongue over Dean's bottom lip this time as their mouths interlocked, heads tilting and pressing closer together. Dean moved his mouth against Sam's, the plumpness of his lips caught in between Sam's own. Sam angled his head better and pressed hard before sliding back to the point where their lips almost slipped off each other, then opened his mouth and dived back in for more. They both seemed to get lost and forget their game this time, the kiss long and getting more heated before Sam finally broke apart for air. He managed not to gasp like a marathon runner, but he was at least panting for a moment or two.

"Sexier," Dean breathed, his lips ghosting over Sam's with the word. Sam's breathing hitched, his head spinning with arousal and the proximity of Dean's mouth to his. When Dean moved in to close the centimeter between them, Sam scooted his head back a centimeter more, not giving Dean the satisfaction just yet.

"Prove it," Sam whispered. There was a single moment of stillness in the air, then they met with a clash, mouths hungry on each other and hands wild, exploring, touching everywhere. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's torso and swung him off the table onto his feet. Sam stumbled a bit but managed to catch himself enough to let Dean walk him to the bedroom, their mouths hot on each other all the way there.

The dizziness in Sam's head made him trip a few times, but their bodies were plastered so close together Dean just planted his feet and managed to keep them both from toppling over. Sam could probably write off the tripping as disorientation from being fucked into a table and then having to kiss Dean while walking backwards to a bedroom down hallways he didn't have memorized. Even though it was because his head was still doing that strange turning thing.

Dean kind of gentle-wrestled Sam onto the bed, rolling them over each other softly to break the two or three foot fall onto the mattress. Sam wanted to protest and tell Dean he wasn't going to break, but his vision was still a little blurry and his arms and legs felt weak, like he'd been working out all day. Now that he was laying down though, and Dean was on top of him, he didn't have to worry about his legs giving out.

Turns out Sam was still open and slick from the last round, so Dean was sliding into him without hesitation, bottoming out in one long stroke and making them both groan. Dean's hands found Sam's, and their fingers entwined together. They held hands as Dean rocked in and out of him, shallower thrusts then last time, but making Sam just as crazy. He didn't close his eyes this time though, he was afraid the darkness would take over and his body would succumb to the yawning and the blinking tired eyes. And Sam couldn't miss a second of this.

The expressions that played across Dean's face were beautiful in the most sexual sort of way. He had the same deep set to his shoulders that he had when he worked on his car, tightened in concentration and care. His eyes were practically glowing, catching every bit of dim light sifting into the room and reflecting it back towards Sam.

Then there was that mouth, that dipped in to brush over Sam's occasionally, biting at his lip other times or just parted in bliss. Sam's fingers tightened in between Dean's as the coil in his stomach built, the rhythm of Dean inside him quick and pounding, but somehow still precisely careful. Even if Sam wasn't already tired, the way Dean was working him was sure to knock him out.

If Dean even remembered their conversation from fifteen minutes ago right now, he had definitely won. Sam had said prove it, and here Dean was, arching over Sam and tilting into him with all of that beauty and grace Dean didn't show in any other part of his life. Well, the beauty was all the time, but the dance of his gentle hips was a side to him that only his lovers got to see.

When Sam came, the orgasm hit him just as he was expecting it to, hard and powerful and everything beautiful Dean was. He lost his connection to reality in a moment, the room and the bunker and everything disappearing into the haze that consumed him. A small part of Sam that eventually had a thought process was left wondering if it was possible to go so high on a cloud of pleasure that you never had to come down.

It took a lot of effort and willpower to force his eyes into eventually blinking open, but the sight of the sated Dean would surely be worth it. There was a sliver of light pooling into the room from the door, just enough so Sam could see the outlines of Dean and his face. Dean was lying next to Sam on his stomach, head propped up on a pillow as he watch Sam blink into consciousness.

"Hey you," Dean said softly, reaching out a hand to tuck a strand of Sam's hair behind his ear. Sam leaned in a bit to the touch, his eyes drifting closed with comfort. It took another few seconds to struggle them open, blinking at Dean to try to get him to come into focus.

"Mmm," Sam responded to the look on Dean's face. Dean laughed a little light and quiet laugh, stroking his hand down Sam's face to smooth his thumb over Sam's bottom lip. Sam's eyes blinked closed of their own accord again, his face going lax against Dean's hand. He should really open his eyes and at least kiss Dean goodnight, but then there was a warm palm over his heart and Sam was helpless.

The heat from Dean's touch radiated throughout his spent muscles, fought away the chill resting in his bones. Sam managed to curl his fingers around Dean's wrist, trying to keep him there. Dean tapped his chest with two fingers -- the rock and roll fingers, index and pinky -- like a promise that he wasn't going anywhere.

Not needing any more reassurance than that, Sam finally gave up fighting the blackness that pulled at his body, finally let himself drift off into sleep. Deep, heavy sleep that tugged him down into a place where a freight train wouldn't get him up now. It was dangerous for a hunter to let himself go like that, but Sam had Dean here to protect him.

Sam would always have Dean here to protect him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> romantically_apocalyptic:
> 
> "This was awesome! I never really thought of marriage before...but it would be the next step and then having kids. Even so, I wouldn't see it happening with these two anytime soon. Especially with what comes up in s9. Maybe after everything...then they can think about it.
> 
> Dean being the top this time...perfection. Loved Sam's reaction to it all, like when he was thinking of Deans ring. Also, Dean being careful with Sam just made me happy. He cares so much for him =)"
> 
>  
> 
> FlyByNightGirl:
> 
> "Thank you so much dear! I think you're going to be a bit surprised in the beginning of season nine, but don't worry. I actually entirely agree with your comment here, so the surprise will be...temporary :) Thank you for reading! xx"


	8. Pulchritudinous (Taxi Driver 08x19)

The first thing Sam registered was the shrill ringing of a telephone. He blinked his eyes open, taking in the light filtering into the room. Based on the ratio of shadows to bright spots, it was probably around 7am. The phone rang again. What was someone doing calling at 7 in the morning?

He shifted up on his side and reached an arm out anyways, stretching over Dean's sleeping body and scooting the phone with his fingertips for a moment before wrapping his hand around it. He pulled it off the nightstand, pressing answer and holding it to his ear.

"Hello?" Sam cleared his throat, trying to get some of the sleepy croak to go away. He brought his other hand to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and squeezing his thumb and forefinger together, attempting to still the slight head rush of moving too quickly too early.

"Sam? It's Kevin. You need to come quick. It's really urgent, okay, you need to be here. Now."

"Woah woah woah, Kevin, calm down. What's going on?"

"I can't talk over the phone, okay? Just get here." The phone call ended with a beep, and Sam pulled the phone back away from his ear, sighing. He reached to put the phone back on the nightstand, his body turned towards Dean.

Dean was laying on his chest, his top half bare, and bottom half covered by thin gray boxer briefs. His head was an inch away from where Sam's shoulder had been and Sam could feel the heat radiating off him from this close. His face was mostly covered by the pillow, but from what Sam could see Dean looked peaceful. Sam hated to spoil that.

"Dean." Sam stroked a hand down Dean's spine, the skin on Dean's back sleep-warm and smooth. Dean didn't even budge. "Dean, hey. We gotta get up. It's Kevin, he's in trouble."

Dean stirred this time, his hips shifting against the mattress and his head turning a bit more out of the pillow. Sam curved the path of his hand, stroking from Dean's neck down to a few inches above the waistband of his boxers, then sliding his hand to the side to curl over Dean's waist. Dean lifted his head, his gaze unfocused and blinking.

"Hmm?" His throat sounded just as scratchy as Sam's had. Sam leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Dean's cheek. Dean's face was a little scratchy under Sam's lips, his basically invisible scruff perceptible by feel sometimes in the mornings. Dean blinked a few more times, then slid his left arm out from under Sam's pillow, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Kevin called, he said it's urgent. We gotta go visit him." Dean nodded and sighed, turning onto his side. Sam's hand on his waist slipped off, landing softly on the mattress between them. Dean sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the back of a hand. His voice was still a bit groggy, but more awake now than before.

"Just give me ten, then we're on the road." Dean held his hand over his eyes for a moment longer before he turned his head back to Sam. Sam propped himself up into sitting too, using his hands to support his weight. Dean was looking a him with a content, sated expression. "How'd you sleep?"

Sam hadn't had too bad of a night. Actually, he was asleep before ten, and had only woken up restless a few times between then and when Kevin called. He'd probably gotten 5 and a half or six hours of sleep.

"Pretty decent. You?" Sam yawned and stretched out his arms. As his lips were stretched open in a yawn, Dean leaned over and kissed the side of his mouth.

"Fine, thanks." Then they were both climbing off the bed, making their way to their respective duffels. Which meant the foyer for Sam. Once his feet were on the floor, he shoved away the rest of his tiredness and hurried down the cold hallway. Sam was still careful, because there was a fine line between rushing and massive headaches in the morning. If they darted out of bed and gave their bodies no time to adjust to being awake, it'd take longer to adjust later, and they needed to get to Kevin ASAP.

This way, waking up a little slowly, meant the second they were on their feet, they were on fire. Sam had been having a few head rushes lately whenever he stood or woke up, and he couldn't afford that on a morning they were driving and on guard.

The road to Garth's houseboat wasn't too terribly long, although it definitely could have been shorter. Either way, Dean was going to need coffee for the drive. Sam would make it, except he didn't know where anything was in the kitchen, and he also kind of sucked at making it. Dean had always been the one cooking and preparing food, since the beginning of Sam's memory, so he'd unfortunately sucked in that department his whole life. Which meant they had to stop for coffee, which was another ten minutes added to the drive. Sam really hoped Kevin would make it that long.

Maybe after they got back from Kevin's, Dean could teach him a few things about cooking. That'd be super fun. It'd probably end a lot less productive than it should, but there was still a possibility Sam could learn a thing or two before it got...heated. Dean cooking held a soft spot in Sam's heart, and it totally wouldn't be his fault if things went sideways. Or horizontal.

After they got back from visiting Kevin, it was definitely happening. Well, if Sam didn't get any worse. He was managing the pain now, but he wasn't sure how much more he could manage before it started to show. He just needed some time off with Dean right now, a day with just the two of them. And then they were going back to bed, and waking up proper next time.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The forest was dense, but in the sort of way that the air was thick and the trees were just scarce enough to give the illusion you could see clearly and just plentiful enough to hide a monster until it was only a foot away from you. As much as he got teased for being a nature loving freak, there was nothing about this forest that Sam was enjoying. It was beautiful, sure, but in the same eery way a wolf pack hunting down a gazelle was gorgeous. There was a flow and a grace to it, and it was scenerically composed in a careful, pulchritudinous precision that just so happened to be dotted with blood and stained with raw wild fear.

Neither the forest nor its occupants were scariest, it was suspenseful eternity of it all that shook Sam to the core. The pattern of grey wood and grey skies and hard ground and trickling brooks all splattered with vivid, unnatural red was strangely hypnotic. It was as though the forest and the monsters went forever, and infinitive loop of murder or be killed, an eternal bloodbath in a place of treacherous serenity.

Sam had absolutely no idea how Dean survived a year in here.

Pure, Dean had said once. It was pure, he mumbled in his dreams. It was the best way to describe this hell-adjacent. The word covered everything from the graceful composition to the treacherous leaves and the gory splatter as yet another monster was smoothly beheaded beneath an absent sun. To kill or to be killed, like some twisted Shakespeare poem.

He was trying not to panic, trying not to succumb to the hypnotic rush of the water that seemed to trickle in time with the beat of his heart. He was alert, aware, remembering the fearful uncertainty and strange epic control Dean had after escaping this place. Dean lunged at the tiniest sound, blood spilt at the snap of a twig underfoot. If Dean could do this for a year, Sam could cross the distance to hell.

Sam would follow Dean anywhere, even to the monstrous woods of a thousands shades of gray and red. It was Dean Sam held in his mind as he took each step, tracing the ground with footsteps an inch bigger than his brother's, imagining the path Dean may have trod on this exact ground. Sam passed rocks and wondered if the blood splattered there had been Dean's doing, or maybe if it was Dean's own.

It was only his hyper awareness to the echoed ghost of his brother's lingering presence that made Sam hear the branch snap. Well, he'd heard it anyways, and been on guard even perhaps, but it was the memory of the swift way Dean tackled him it the floor, fucking him raw and bloody into the floor that made Sam react so quickly. He tapped into that energy Dean had exerted that night, and spun around just in time to meet his attacker. If he'd been a millisecond later, his head may be rolling down the slope into the stream right now.

As it was, Sam and his attacker managed to wrestle each other to the ground. And suddenly it was Dean, or maybe Sam was Dean, but either way the sickness in his bones and the ache in his chest abandoned him for long enough to swing around and shove the monster off of him. He swooped over and scooped up the monster's weapon, the Purgatory that matched the one hanging carefully from Dean's wall. Sam brought it down as quickly and forcefully as possible, slicing through the monster's neck with a clean cut, successfully beheading it.

Sam had no time to reflect or celebrate, picking up the demon-killing knife and continuing on. He carried the signature Purgatory weapon with him as he moved along. He had been following the brook for some time now, surely it had to be here somewhere...there.

The trees wound and spun and curled towards the sky like cinnamon sticks. There were three, woven together and tangled up in each other, a pile of rocks at their base. The mound was dark and jagged, no blood splattering these. He wrapped his fingers around the edge of one, because it was large and felt important. Sam heaved and pulled it away.

He nearly flew backwards with the blast of air soaring out of the gaping space. It was a tunnel, and the air pummeling out of it was hot and humid, like the sudden feeling of stepping out of an air-conditioned convenient store into the heavy and hot air in Texas in the middle of the summer. The tunnel wasn't very tall, and certainly wouldn't be enjoyable, but Sam wasn't expecting anything different.

"It's a rabbit hole. This is nuts." Sam's voice sounded foreign to his ears, but humans needed a constant reminder of speech when they were alone in silence, otherwise they'd lose their minds. He picked up the Purgatory weapon from the ground and took a step towards the tunnel. The air reversed, or maybe it had been pulling in all along. Either way, Sam was sucked into the tunnel with a violent force.

Sam could smell it before he even got there. He was in a dark corridor, carefully pulling himself out of the opening he'd come through, grimacing at the tightening in his chest again and the horrible rank in the air. It smelled like burning flesh and rotten bodies, confused souls and blackened fear. Sounds echoed in the distance, screams and clanging and whips and god knows whatever else. Actually, Sam wasn't sure if God even did know what went down in here.

He took off his watch, placing it on a high ledge next to where he'd stumbled out of. Sam wasn't going to come this far and get lost on the way back home. The Purgatory weapon at the ready, he slowly edged his way down the corridor. This wasn't very similar to his own time in hell, the century plus he'd spent in Lucifer's cage. There were no hallways in the cage, no rooms. No organization. The only thing that was the same were the smells, and the way everything was tinged in red. A bloody light cast over faces and walls and ceiling, fogging the vision with so much colour it bled through your eyelids when you closed them. Red, an eternal sea.

The corridor was arched, scattered with bodies chained to the walls. Sam felt a sick desire to unchain them all, save everyone from this god awful place. But Sam didn't know what these people had done, why they deserved this eternal damnation. Sam wasn't sure he could think of many things that deserved this treatment. A few, sure, but not nearly as many as the body count in here was. All those souls, trapped forever. And all hope would be gone for them too, once they slammed the gates. Any second coming of hope they had for salvation would be snapped at the neck, Sam locking innocents and sickos away in one swift slice. Souls cried, moaned, screamed around him.

Would it sound the same when the gates were shut? Or would the cries be wetter, the screams louder, moans more desperate? How many undeserving souls was Sam damning in doing this?

He pushed the thought aside, fighting down the hallways in search of his mission. He had to find Bobby and get out of here before he did something entirely stupid.

~*~*~*~

So Dean was worried as hell, and vaguely lonely, so he figured he might as well be of some use while Sam was gone. It was killing him for Sam to be doing this alone, but they had no other choice. His baby brother, his lifeline, was in hell right now. What the hell was Dean supposed to do? So he turned to the only other person he knew who was as lonely as he was.

Of course, he hadn't counted on Kevin being a little shit the entire time. Dean had even gone so far as to make the kid lunch, frying his best combination of expensive bacon and farm fresh organic eggs, doing anything he could to draw the kid out of his room. Then Kevin came in from outside, apparently having snuck past Dean and decided to go GET RID OF THE DAMN TABLET they'd given so much for. Hell, Cas had left them because of that damn tablet, then left again because of the other damn tablet and Kevin just freaking HID IT AND SASSED DEAN ABOUT IT AND RAN TO HIS ROOM.

"Kevin!" Dean shouted to the closed door. Why did he even bother?

"Kids. So cute when they're little." Dean spun around at the unexpected voice. He glared a her, on guard, but he was weaponless as far as creatures-that-can-sneak-up-on-you are concerned. His favourite gun tucked into his jeans was going to do squat with whoever this chick was. Her voice made it sound like she was talking to a child.

"Then they turn into teenagers, and the party's over. We haven't been formally introduced, Dean. My name is Naomi." The uptight redhead stuck out her hand for Dean to shake, and then he realized what she just said. Naomi. As in the bitch that had screwed with Cas's head and made him skip town, and try to kill Dean. And then skip town again. He backed away from her obviously, finding little victory in the offended expression that drew out of her.

"Oh, I know who you are. And I know what you did to Cas after he got out of Purgatory." Dean's voice was raw venom, and he was sure she could see how much he hated her. He really really wished he had an angel blade on him right now, because then they'd be short one more controlling bitch who had tried to delve in the middle of his and Cas's relationship.

"After I rescued him from Purgatory, you mean, at the cost of many angels' lives." Hey, that wasn't Dean's problem. And if you rescue someone then proceed to fuck with their minds, you definitely don't win the massive thank you prize.

"You screwed with his head and had him spy on us." She shifted her feet, looking at Dean the same way social workers and school counselors used to. That "oh poor you, you don't understand! Let me try to explain this to you, sugar" face.

"Well, it is true that I have spoken with Castiel many times, trying to reach out to him, trying to help him. Dean, you must have noticed how Purgatory changed him. I mean, he's been unstable in the past, but I was shocked at how damaged he is now."

"Stop, okay? Don't -- don't try to spin this." Dean had to admit she was good, better than all those counselors and social workers of the past. But Dean was prepared for the lies, he already knew they'd be coming. Yeah, Cas had been messed up in Purgatory. And obviously Dean had noticed. But he also knew everything this bitch had done too. "You think I don't know that you told him to try and kill me?"

"Hmm. Yeah, I suppose that is how he would hear it. When I learned of the Angel tablet, I did tell Castiel to get it at any cost. That's my job -- to protect heaven. I'm a warrior, just as you are. What would you expect? And now Castiel is in the wind with a hydrogen bomb in his pocket, and I -- I'm scared, for all of us." Dean was pretty sure he'd never hated someone more. This bitch, twisting everything to her side, comparing herself to Dean. Maybe it worked for everyone else on the planet, but it would take a lot more than a pack of lies for her to get whatever she wanted from Dean.

"Save it. See, I don't trust Angels, which means I don't trust you." Dean was royally against species discrimination, but Dean happened to not only distrust angels, but basically every species there was. Including humans. Angels just took the cake for deceiving bastards, right up there with the demons.

"And yet you haven't warded this place against us." Dean drew back his head. Yeah, okay, so he hadn't. It...it was complicated. This Naomi bitch wasn't going to understand. She gave him a look though, that said she totally did.

"I know. You're hoping Castiel will return to you. I admire your loyalty. I only wish he felt the same way." Did she just-- hearing it out made all of Dean's thoughts just shoved out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. He could hear the cracking in his chest, the empty place in him that was Castiel-shaped. Yeah, his heart was torn up right now. But he...he hadn't let himself think of what Naomi had just rolled off her tongue. I only wish he felt the same way. Dean had told Cas he needed him, something he never said to anyone. And Cas had left. Cas didn't feel the same way. Cas didn't feel the same way.

"I know you don't want to believe it, Dean, but we're on the same side -- shutting the Gates of Hell, bringing Castiel in from the cold. Take a moment. Think about what I've said." That was the problem. Dean didn't want to think about what she said. Because if she was right, Dean would have to live with that too. He may not have fallen for the social worker speech, but once she brought up the inevitable thing between him and Cas? Now she was on the winning side and Dean was getting trampled.

"Oh. I know you've been doing business with Ajay. He did mention, didn't he, that his way into Hell is through Purgatory?" Just when Dean thought it couldn't get any worse, the world came crashing in. Sammy.

"I knew you'd want to know. You see, we can be of help to each other." Then she was gone with a flutter of wings and Dean was doing everything he could not to let his knees give out. Sammy in Purgatory. Sam, having to slash his way through that mess. He couldn't make it through that, Sam was good, but not that good. Not to mention he was sick right now, as much as he pretended not to be. Dean had to get him out. He had to, right now.

~*~*~*~

"If you want nothing to do with this, I completely understand." Benny just took it all in for a moment. He was past being surprised, there wasn't much that came outta Dean's mouth that Benny didn't know was comin anyways. It was just the gravity of it all that was still takin a bit a time to sink in.

"Wow. When Dean Winchester asks for a favor, he's not screwing around." When Benny'd first picked up the phone, he had been so damn happy Dean was callin. "So good to hear your voice, Dean. I mean that." Dean sounded guilty as hell then, but it was nothin compared to the look on his face now.

"Benny, sending you back there is the last thing I ever wanted to do." The man looked so desperate, so damn sorry, Benny woulda believed him even if he didn't already know that.

"I know. I know." Maybe Dean had intended for this to be some kind of comfort to Benny, but it was clear Dean was more shaken up about this than he was. That was just like Dean though, always takin the blame for things that were outta his hands.

Benny certainly wasn't asking for this, and he wasn't excited about it either. Purgatory had been decent to them when they fought together, but it hadn't been nearly as fun when Benny had been flyin solo before Dean came along. It was that camaraderie that had been so nice, someone to have your back in fights, someone who heard your whistles too. And not just anyone someone, but Dean Winchester. Benny hadn't had any siblings besides his nest, which had turned on him anyways, before he met Dean. Now he had a brother, and it was just the irony of it all that Dean was the one ta send him back there.

"But my little brother is stuck down there." If Benny hadn't been hesitantly agreein to do this before, the way Dean said little brother was probably enough to convince him. The way Dean felt about Sam, it was enough to rip anyone's heart out. Benny didn't care for Sam much, but he cared for Dean enough to compensate his dislike for the tall man who wanted him dead.

"This would be the little brother who wants to kill me, right?" Benny knew a lot of Sam's hate for him was rooted in his love for Dean. Which was just the opposite of Benny, cause he had tolerated Sam cause of Benny's love for Dean. Benny didn't love Dean romantically or nothin, but a brother was someone who had a place in your soul. Even if Benny technically didn't have one anymore. He and Sam just loved Dean different.

"You got access to the place." Dean's eyes were answer enough for Benny's question, so it was fine he didn't say it with words. Dean's plea struck him as funny, though. Access was a fancy word that made it sound like Benny had some special password or secret doorway into nasty hell-adjacent. When in fact it was a lot less exciting and a lot more bloody way in than that.

"By "access," you mean "getting beheaded"?" Benny was jokin, kinda, but Dean just crumbled. His face fell and his eyes streaked with pain. Benny could practically hear the shattering of Dean's heart from over here.

"Yeah, you're right -- it's too much. It's not like I've exactly been there for you lately." His Brother's voice was shaking and the tears were comin. Benny couldn't handle that, he couldn't watch Dean lose it now. Not when all this time, Dean had been the strong one. Now, he was tremblin before Benny like a child. For a moment, Benny remembered just how young Dean was. He was only thirty three, still just a kid. You'd never know it by lookin at him, all the pain and troubles he'd gone through.

Benny knew about hell, and he knew bits n pieces of Dean's rocky relationship with Sam. He knew a vague bit about John, and he probably coulda spotted Dean's car before he ever even knew what an Impala looked like. And most of all, Benny knew Dean'd never forgive himself for sendin him back to Purgatory. And Benny couldn't have that.

"What? Oh, come on, Dean. You know I love a challenge." Dean looked up at him, so much disbelief and hope in his eyes. He'd been broken, let down so many times, he couldn't even believe a good thing when he saw one.

"You're serious?" If he hadn't been before, he sure as hell was now.

"Hey, he's your brother. I say let's do this." There wasn't much Benny wouldn't do for Dean. Just like how there wasn't much Dean wouldn't do for Sam. Including sacrifice one brother for the same of another. Benny just drew the short straw this time.

"I owe you." Dean had killed the love of his life, and now Benny was dyin for the love of Dean's. There was somethin beautiful about that and maybe Dean would see that one day.

"Oh, you don't owe me nothing." Benny took a pause, a little hesitant to tell Dean, but he deserved to know. He hated to be tearin up a bit too, but times were rough and cryin didn't make you any less of a man. "Truth is, uh... I could use a break from all this."

"It really been that tough?" Dean would never really know just how tough. He had enough on his plate anyways. Benny wasn't gonna be a burden, not in his last moments, not when he'd been so good about not pickin up the phone and callin Dean all this time.

"I'm not a good fit, Dean. Not with vampires and, for sure, not with the humans. I don't belong. And after a while... that starts to wear on you. Right? Cry me a river. Like you need to listen to this."

"Well, when you get back up here, we're gonna fix all that, okay?" Benny furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. What was Dean talkin about?

"When I get back?"

"Yeah, you find the portal, and you ride out of Purgatory with Sam just like you did with me, okay? As soon as I send you back, I'm gonna haul my ass up to Maine, and I'm gonna be waiting there for you when you get topside." It was just like the old days for a moment and Benny couldn't help but smile. Dean, givin orders and directions, runnin everythin like the general he was born to be. Benny was gonna miss that.

"Yeah. That sounds like a plan, chief." Benny said the nickname one last time, and he could see the twitch of a smile it brought to Dean's face. That right there, that was worth all of this, even if it was the last time he'd get to see Dean. Because as much as he always had in Purgatory, and even topside, this was one plan, one order Benny wasn't gonna follow through with. "Let's get on with it."

"You sure about this?" Hell of a lot more sure than Dean was. This time, in the end, it was Benny weavin stories to make the nights seem less dark, Benny listening to Dean whistle Hall of the Mountain King, and Dean who needed the final push of reassurance everything was gonna be okay.

"Not my first rodeo, man." Dean turned then, reachin into that shiny car of his and pulling a machete out of its case. The sound sent chills up his spine and the sight gave him goosebumps. The blade was sharp, sparkling, freshly made deadlier, thinner. Benny wasn't surprised Dean had taken the time to sharpen the blade, no matter how much that musta hurt him at the time. But that was Dean, making this as painless for Benny as it could be, no matter how much more painful it would make it for Dean.

Dean extended out his right hand, a final act of what they were, the friendship that they had. Benny took it, both of them tugging each other in for a hug. Benny held on to this, to the last piece of family he had. The last time he'd get this, a moment with Dean.

"Thank you." Dean said over his shoulder. Benny smiled. He should be the one sayin thank you, with the tally of everything between them over the past year. Dean deserved this, he deserved to have his brother at his side. Benny'd give his life for that, for his best friend's happiness. Just so long as Dean was happy cause of it.

They pulled apart and there were tears, still so many unspoken things between them. So many things they'd never need to say, things they both knew. And it was Benny's job to help Dean through this. He knew Dean would take care of him, make it swift and clean and pure, just like all those perfect kills in Purgatory.

"Well, come on. You a wimp?" It was what Dean needed, the final playful banter. The final I love you brother. Then Dean was raising the machete, a look of pain and apology and determination and love on his face.

What a beautiful final thing to see.

Then everything was black.

~*~*~*~*~

The moment Sam was out of Purgatory, Dean was scooping him into a hug. He held his brother, the one he'd almost lost. His Sammy, who had nearly been taken from him by the place that messed Dean up so much over the past year and a half. Sometimes just hugging Sam meant so much more than kissing him, and this was one of those moments. He needed to feel that Sam's body was safe, tucked in Dean's arms and protected and okay and here.

And now, now Sammy was falling to the ground, in a flash of light and a frenzy of hurt Dean had to claw through to get to him. Sam was on his knees in agony, grabbing his right hand in pain. There was a ugly light burning inside of Sam's skin, inside his body, and Dean had the wild urge to scrub it out.

"Sam? What? What?! Talk to me! What?!" Dean was hyperventilating and Sam wasn't answering him, just kneeling on the ground and hurting and Dean didn't know how to help, what to stop. He grabbed onto Sam's shoulder, panicking and not sure what else he could do.

Sam clenched his fist and the burning light faded, replaced with skin, with just Sam. And plenty of filth from Purgatory, but no light. Had that happened last time too? When Sam fell to the ground, facing away from Dean, had that same light crept under Sam's skin and made him scream?

"It's okay! It's okay!" Dean's thumb was digging into Sam's shoulder, but he still needed to touch him for a moment, he still needed to know, still needed Sam to be okay. "It's okay. I'm fine. It's done. It's done."

Dean could barely breathe. He managed to suck in enough oxygen to not collapse like Sam, but everything was still spinning. He could feel it radiating through Sam's shoulder. He could feel the burn, the searing pain. And he had a feeling it was just an aftershock wave he caught, not the real thing. If the real thing was worse than that, how was Sam even alive right now?

He helped Sam to his feet, initially wrapping an arm around Sam's waist to try to hoist him up, but his hand had gotten swatted at and Sam had just reached his palms upward instead. Dean had sighed but obliged, stepping in front of Sam and taking both hands in his own, helping Sam hoist himself up to his feet.

Once Sam started walking, Dean wrapped the arm around Sam's waist again. Sam tried shoving him off, but Dean just grabbed Sam's arm and stilled them both, turning to Sam with a plea in his eyes.

"Just let me. Please. Just let me." Sam relented then, sighing and trudging along with Dean's arm around his waist. He seemed to understand that Dean needed to help him, just for right now, Dean needed to be something other than the man that murdered his best friend and brother to save his brother and lover, then proceeded to let Sam shrivel on the ground in pain, useless, helpless to save either of them.

Turns out, Sam saw something in Benny after all. Dean would never know what happened between the two of them in Purgatory, unless Sam ever decided to share that with him. Although, based on the way Sam thought, Dean was pretty sure he knew what changed Sam's mind, why he was okay with Dean not burning Benny's bones.

Benny had sacrificed his life at Dean's request. Benny had given his everything, just because Dean asked him to. And Sam had a strange respect for people who loved Dean, something Dean had always known but never quite understood.

He'd asked Sam once, why he didn't hate Cas anymore. Especially since at the time, Cas liked Dean. A lot. Sam had just shrugged his signature "it's obvious" look. Dean had raised his eyebrows, not seeing the obvious reason at all.

"I get why, that's all. I understand all the reasons he's in love with you. I can't blame him for thinking the exact way I do, because then I'd have to blame myself too. It's only natural for people to love you, Dean. That's not your fault." Dean had snorted at the time, mostly just thinking Sam was crazy. But now he kind of got it. And he was pretty sure he knew Sam would say that same thing about Benny, except replacing "he's in love with you" with "why he would sacrifice himself for you."

So maybe that's what Sam saw in Benny. Or maybe it was the way Benny fought, so selfless and protecting. Maybe Sam saw the bit of Dean in Benny that Dean saw too. Maybe it was both. Either way, Dean was glad those two were finally okay with each other. Although, of course, after it was a day too late.

 

When they got to the bunker, the first thing Dean did was herd Sam off to the bath. Sam had been protesting, saying he was fine, he could just jump in a shower and Dean could go make dinner or something. But Dean insisted again, telling Sam that the filthy remnants of Purgatory called for a lot more than just a shower.

Sam sighed and let Dean take his hand, leading Sam to the big bathroom that had the white marble tub in it. They only ever used the shower room to bathe themselves, but Dean had found a door in the back of the shower room that opened up to this, the big, tiled, marble bathroom that had a line of mirrors and sinks over cabinets on one side and a gorgeous bath on the other, an expanse of pearly tile in between them. There was another door at the end of this room too, and it led into the closet that Dean had found his bathrobe in. There was another robe or two in there, as well as a thousand towels.

Dean left Sam to look at everything in awe as he crouched down in front of the second sink, swinging open the cabinet door. He'd done a pretty thorough investigation of this room, it was basically the only one he really had, and he knew there were coffee grounds under here. When he first found them, he'd been confused as hell, so he googled it. Turns out it's what they used to use in the old days as a loofa sponge, to get away caked dirt and stuff. They were in a pretty tin that was red and brown swirled, the French word for coffee, (oddly enough, café) across the top.

"What is that?" Sam asked, pointing at the tin in Dean's hands as he straightened up and turned towards Sam. Dean made his way over to the edge of the bathtub, where Sam was sitting tiredly. Dean was glad he at least had the brains to sit down.

"Coffee." Dean opened up the lid, showing Sam the dark brown pieces inside. "They used to use it as a loofa sponge."

Sam did his over exaggerated frown thing and tilted his head, huffing out a noise of acknowledgement. Fine, well Dean thought it was cool. Besides, it smelled awesome. Way awesomer than plastic scrubbie things.

"Do I have to do this? I haven't taken a bath since I was like four, Dean."

"Six."

"What?"

"You were six the last time you took a bath." Sam just looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "Nevermind. Anyways, yes you have too."

Sam sighed again, dramatic and annoying. Dean just turned on the faucet and plugged the drain, testing the water with his fingers to make sure it was hot enough. It wasn't just the fact that Sam was filthy, there was another major factor that Dean wasn't going to say out loud because there was no way Sam would go along with this if Dean did.

Sam had been shaky on his feet ever since the second trial, and Dean wasn't going to risk him falling over in the shower and splitting his head open on the floor. Dean didn't know anyone who had died in a shower before, but the last time Dean brought that joke up, Sam had tensed and said that he knew someone that did. Dean figured it was probably some drunk college kid at Stanford who had fallen in the middle of shower sex or something. Either way, Dean wasn't going to take any chances.

"Gotta take off your clothes if you're gonna bathe, Sammy." Sam was still just propped on the edge of the bathtub, staring off into space. He snapped out of it as soon as Dean spoke, and attempted at a smile that looked pained.

"You just wanna see me strip." Sam's voice was light, but it was an opening. Dean shrugged, taking a few steps back from the tub and taking his jacket off slowly. Sam's eyes were on him the whole time, and Dean couldn't help but grin. If Sam wasn't going to get in the bath of his own accord, Dean had some pretty good ideas to convince him in.

"Maybe I do. Is that what you want?" Dean's voice was low, knowing that would get to Sam too. He dropped his jacket to the ground, starting in on the buttons of his overshirt. Sam was watching him with wide eyes, his hands clenching into themselves with nothing to hold on to. Dean popped the first couple of buttons out, then paused, looking at Sam's current state of still really dressed. As much as Dean was into doing a strip tease for Sam, getting Sam in the bath was still the main objective here.

Dean closed the distance between them again, bending over so his mouth was next to Sam's ear. He could feel the tension in Sam's body from here, and it was more than just sexual. There was pain, still, tense muscles from pain, and Sam was still trying to hide it.

"Get in the bath and we'll see if we can't find you company." Dean whispered the words, grazing his teeth over Sam's earlobe after the sentence. Sam groaned and his palm landed on Dean's chest, tracing over Dean's shirt and the muscles beneath.

"You cheap bastard, you manipulated me." Dean just stood up and smiled, tugging Sam to his feet and helping him out of his clothes.

Sam spent more time swatting at Dean's hands than actually undressing himself, but they managed to get Sam out of his top three layers without too much difficulty. Dean snorted in annoyance at Sam's complaints that he could undress himself, but he finally went and checked on the water, letting Sam slip out of his pants on his own.

It was kinda hot, but Sam would probably appreciate that. Once the tub was as full as it could get without sloshing over when two over-six-foot males got in it, Dean shut off the water. Dean turned back to Sam, but he was already stepping over the edge and sinking into the tub. He closed his eyes for a moment, gripping the sides of the marble, but lowered himself all the way down without complaining about the temperature.

As soon as Sam was good, Dean was quickly stripping down to join him. Sam opened his eyes at the sound of Dean's jeans hitting the tiles. He looked over with his eyebrows furrowed, turning in the water a bit.

"I thought I was getting a strip tease?"

"Some other time, Sammy. Let's just get you clean." Dean ignored the annoyed look on Sam's face. They had other priorities right now, and they could deal with all that later. Dean climbed over the side of the tub, his toes burning for a second before he put his legs all the way in and lowered himself down across from Sam. God, that was hot.

It felt like his flesh was being burned off for a moment, but Sam just looked perfectly content. What a weirdo. Dean reached over the side of the tub for the coffee box, setting it up on the ledge between the wall and the right edge of the bath. Their shins were pressed together under the water, the bathtub actually big enough for both of them. Well, mostly. Sam's long legs were still folded up, the top of his knees breaching the water so that Dean had room. Well, this wasn't going to work. If Dean was gonna scrub off Sam, he'd have to actually be able to reach him.

"C'mere," Dean said, reaching his arms out to Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and muttered something about Dean having a vagina but he got the message anyways and turned around slowly, facing the same direction Dean was. The water sloshed a bit as he turned, but they managed to avoid sending any over the edge of the tub, thanks to the few inches of clearance above the steaming water.

Sam scooted backwards, Dean pulling him in and guiding him so that Sam was settled in between Dean's legs, his back against Dean's chest and Dean's dick pressed to Sam's lower back. Sam wriggled slightly, sliding his wet skin over Dean's cock, pressing up against him tighter.

"Not funny," Dean growled, trying to keep the moan from escaping his mouth. Sam tilted his head back against Dean's clavicle, looking at him from the side with a little smile on his face.

"It's payback. You're gonna get it when you're done motherhenning me." It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes, but he really was quite alright with Sam wanting payback, especially if it was of the sexual kind. And Dean wasn't a mother hen, that was extremely lame terminology. Dean was just...taking care of him. Sam was his brother and it was in Dean's rights to take care of him.

He reached around Sam, popping the lid off the tin again and scooping a bit of coffee grounds into his palm. He lifted Sam's right arm out of the water with his free hand, rubbing the coffee granules along Sam's skin. They both watched curiously as the grime lifted instantly, Sam's skin scrubbing clean and shiny smooth underneath. The coffee was rough under Dean's palm, digging up against the skin and making him feel raw. That was not pleasant at all. And it it was doing the same to Sam, he would have complained by now. Right?

"Does it hurt?" Dean asked, trying to make his voice sound more curious than concerned. Sam adjusted his head leaning back against Dean's shoulder a bit, turning to look at the side of Dean's face again.

"Not really. It's a little rough but it's not too bad." Dean nodded, scooping up more coffee grounds and lifting up Sam's other arm. Sam let Dean move him around, his body like a rag doll as he laid against Dean, arm up in the air like a toy soldier. Dean was as careful as he could be, scrubbing Sam down quickly and as light as he could while still getting the dirt off.

He scooted them both forward to do Sam's legs, not leaning up against the wall of the tub so they could be close enough to the other side that Sam could just prop his foot up. It put a bit of strain on Dean's back to hold up both of their bodies like this, but he wasn't going to say anything. He could deal with some back pain if Sammy was comfortable. He had to let Sam help on his ankles though, since Dean's arms weren't freakishly long like Sam's.

The coffee still worked under the water, thank god, just not quite as well. Dean scrubbed his hands all the way up Sam's thighs, until he started squirming from Dean ghosting so close. He moved his hands up Sam's hips to his chest, skipping from his thighs to his belly button and getting an exasperated sound from Sam. Dean just grinned and pressed a kiss to the side of Sam's face.

"You are so sappy," Sam complained, craning his neck away from Dean. He couldn't get far from Dean in the tub though, especially with Dean's arms wrapped around his chest. He pulled Sam in closer, tugging him back and pressing another kiss to his cheek. Sam struggled against Dean's hold on him, trying to pull away from Dean's lips. It was just like when they were kids, and Dean would try to hold Sam down to give him a bath and little sassy six year old Sammy would have none of it. Those days didn't end quite like this though...no, there was kissing then, just Dean chasing a soapy Sam running naked around their motel, screaming that he was going to get diseases if he touched anything without clothes on.

That was one of the reasons they were so many layers, to keep out the grossness of the shady motels they stayed at. Now, though, they had the bunker. Which was clean. And regularly cleaned by Dean anyways. And Sam didn't have any layers on right now either, just his wet bare skin flush to Dean's. Which Sam was trying to keep away from Dean as much as possible, with his squirming that was threatening to tip water out of the tub.

"Would you hold still so I can clean you?"

"You're not trying to clean me, you're trying to kiss me!"

"Since when is that a crime?"

"Since you won't let it go any further than that," Sam grumbled. Dean laughed and cupped water in his hand, splashing Sam's neck. Sam flicked water at Dean's face, finally stilling back down. Dean breathed a sigh of relief and scooted back to the wall of the tub, letting some of the strain off of his back muscles. He used the distance between him and Sam to scrub at his brother's shoulders and back, kneading his thumbs into the tense muscles as he scrubbed. Sam let out a happy noise, tilting back into Dean's hands. His muscles rippled underneath Dean's hands and the sound he made went straight to Dean's downstairs brain. Dean had to take his hands off of Sam for a moment to remember why in the world they weren't having sex right now. Sam just looked so damn inviting, all that skin and damp hair and wetness everywhere. Dean blinked a few times and scrubbed a little faster.

As soon as Sam's back and shoulders were clean enough according to Dean's standards, he pulled Sam back to his chest, running his wet fingers through Sam's semi wet hair. Sam tilted his head back against Dean's shoulder again, making a pleased sound and closing his eyes. Dean slowed his hands down as his palms smoothed over Sam's chest, tracing over the lines of his pectoral muscles, over his ribs thar were just a little more obvious than normal, the engraved lines of his stomach.

Sam looked so young again, his eyes closed and his face relaxed, lying in Dean's arms as Dean looked down at him. Dean watched him for maybe too long, rubbing his hands slowly over Sam's body after it was long since clean. They stayed that way for a while, until the water was starting to get a little chilly.

Dean leaned over Sam, twisting his head to the side to brush his lips against Sam's. Sam kissed him back without hesitation, his eyes still closed and face relaxed. It was kind of sweet, a single, unmoving connection of their lips, water droplets the only thing between them. Maybe Dean really was sappy.

When Dean finally pulled away, he kept his eyes closed for a moment before speaking, his voice sounding kind of gruff from not talking for a while.

"What do you say we move this somewhere warmer? With blankets?" Sam hummed in agreement and opened his eyes, slowly sitting up and slipping out of Dean's arms. Dean kept a careful eye on Sam as he rose up out of the tub, still having that slight fear he might topple over. He was a bit unsteady at first, reaching out and grabbing Dean's shoulder, but he managed to get ahold of his balance and stand up straight over Dean, even offering him a hand. Dean declined and straightened up on his own, pulling the plug on the bath water.

"Stay here for like three seconds, I'm gonna grab us towels." Dean practically skid into the towel room, scooping up a stack of them and hurrying back to Sam before Sam could do something stupid or fall over or something. Sam raised an amused eyebrow at Dean, but he just shot Sam a look and threw a spread out towel on the tile in front of the tub. Sam stepped out on it, reaching for the stack of towels in Dean's arms.

"Can we rinse off in the shower first, so I don't have to get the remnants of coffee out of the white towels in the laundry?" Dean did his best not to be sassy or pushy about it but Sam laughed at him anyways. Dean made a face and laid down another towel in front of the one Sam was standing on.

"Are you making me a fucking pathway?"

"I am not picking your heavy ass up off the floor when you slip on the tile. So yes, I'm making you a pathway. Shut up. Bitch." It wasn't a long ways to the shower room anyways, and Dean could set these on the rack in there and help Sam along the concrete himself.

Maybe Dean was imagining it, but he might have heard a muttered "jerk" come out of Sam's mouth. Did he just-- maybe not. Things hadn't been that simple between them for a long time. Dean couldn't even remember the last time they'd said that. He'd pretty much forgotten they used to even do that. It had meant a lot to Dean at one point, and maybe that's why it stopped. It seemed like everything of significance value, especially regarding Sam, seemed to slip through his fingers.

Once, literally. Into a motel trashcan. He was never going to forgive himself for that. He could still feel the heavy weight of it against his chest sometimes, still grabbed empty air in front of his chest at the laundry mat, intending to take it off and put it in a special spot in his bag to remind him not to leave his duffel on the top of the dryer and walk out without it. It used to be the only way he'd remember his bag, because he couldn't get into the car without the familiar swing of the amulet against his chest, and he'd go running back into the laundry mat for his bag, realizing he'd left them both sitting on top of the dryer. Again.

The first time Dean did laundry without it, he'd spent the entire cycle trying not to cry. Good memories.

Once Sam obliged to let Dean run them both under the shower to rinse off any coffee grounds left behind, he was hustling Sam off in the direction of his bedroom. Sam smelled really really good, like coffee, and he tasted faintly of it too. His skin did, anyway, Dean found out once they were between the sheets.

Dean had fully intended on topping again, but somewhere in the middle of Dean licking along Sam's neck, he got rolled over and pinned to the bed. Dean tried convincing Sam out of working himself to hard, but Sam was pretty convincing himself with a finger in Dean's ass. Dean was only so strong and Sam was acting like he was okay. Maybe he was. Honestly this was no worse than the night after the last trial they did, and Sam had topped that night. So yeah, Dean could be down with this.

When Sam bottomed out inside him, Dean shut his eyes and cried out, his hands squeezing Sam's biceps tightly. Sam hushed him with a cooing word or two placed on Dean's lips, and Dean leaned back against Sam for more. Sam was good to him, kissing Dean over and over as he rocked inside him, the sound of their skin sliding over each other and the sheets sliding over Sam's back the only sounds in the room.

He tilted his head back when Sam broke the kiss, gasping at the fullness inside him and at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His eyes stayed shut, all his other senses heightening and making the length of Sam inside him more overwhelming, more powerful, more consuming. It still smelled a bit like coffee, which was always going to taste a bit like Sam now, and Dean could taste just the faintest bit of copper on his tongue.

The copper was a regular thing now, and as much as it scared the hell out of him, not knowing about it would scare him more. So he kissed Sam anyways, blood in his mouth or not. And with his heightened taste right now, it was just a bit more obvious than normal. But of all the senses flooding Dean, his nerve endings were sparking and seizing the most. Sam was dragging across every square inch of him that made him crazy and it wasn't Dean's fault he forgot how to breathe.

Sam was shuddering above him and Dean was thrashing his head back and forth, chanting Sam's name. He normally didn't think about anything else during sex besides Sam's perfect body and the way he was making Dean feel, but right now thoughts were spinning throughout his brain. Sammy, in Purgatory, unreachable by Dean. His cries as he fell to the ground. If Sam wasn't deep deep inside him right now, Dean would still be worried about if Sam was okay. But when Sam was so full and so present in his body, there was no way Dean could forget for a second that Sam was here with him now.

Like most things in their lives, the sex started out sweet and slow but escalated into a desperate, needy thing, mouths clashing roughly when Sam could chase down Dean's through his frantic words and movements. Their bodies didn't glide anymore but collided, a rhythmic, repetitive reassurance that the other was there. Pounding into each other's bodies and minds that their brother wasn't leaving anytime soon. Sometimes it had to be like this, this fearful, I almost lost you sex.

And maybe Sam's body wasn't up for it, not really, but Dean couldn't stop him now and it was Sam who forced this pace anyways. He was trembling with each thrust, which seemed to make him want to drive into Dean harder. Dean took it all with a rambling of moans and cries and a thousand times Sam's name.

When Sam came, the warmth exploded inside of Dean and his body seized too, his mind entirely detaching from anything on this earth. Sam was collapsing on top of him and Dean forced his eyes open, forced himself to come down from his high, using every hunter instinct he had to pull himself out of the bliss and back down to the present. He had to take care of Sam.

He opened his eyes just in time to catch Sam from falling off to the side of the bed that had an inch too little of space for him, rolling them both over back to the middle. Dean wasn't sure when they'd scooted over to the edge, but if he had known he would've brought them over to the center sooner. Sam was still trembling and Dean took to stroking his hands over Sam's back, his sides, anywhere and everywhere Dean's hands could reach. Sam murmured his name and Dean kissed him softly once before pulling Sam into his chest and cradling him there. He made a soft noise, his breath huffing out onto Dean's skin from where his cheek was pressed to Dean's torso.

Dean carded his fingers through Sam's silky hair, brushing it away from his face. Jesus, his hair was long. Really long. Sam's eyes drifted shut and he shifted his body weight a bit, repositioning his head on Dean's chest. He had a hand splayed over Dean's rib cage, his pinky brushing the cooling come on Dean's stomach. As much as he'd like to clean himself up, Sam didn't look like he was moving. And Dean certainly wasn't going to move him. At least Dean had rolled then both out of the wet spot.

Sammy was asleep before Dean could even ask if he was okay. But sleep was the cheapest and best medicine to any sickness, so Dean just let him. Sleep didn't come quite so easy for Dean, because the movie playing behind his closed eyelids was one he didn't want to see. A machete, slicing through skin and spraying blood, Kevin's antics and disappearance, the stupid trial, Cas abusing him and abandoning him. No, there were no good dreams waiting for Dean Winchester.

So he watched Sam sleep instead, propping his head up in a couple pillows so he didn't have to crane his neck. And it was only when he was so exhausted he couldn't put up a fight anymore that his eyes drifted shut, slipping into a world no worse than his reality, just a replay of the vivid events in his head. Fitful sleep and waking nightmares, that was Dean's life. The only thing in it worth carrying on for was here, laying on his chest. Dean couldn't - wouldn't - lose that.


	9. Omniscient (Pac-Man Fever 08x20)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So idk if this counts as kinky but maybe...? Be warned I guess?

The creaking of the door opening was the first thing Sam heard. Then it was the pounding rush of blood in his ears and a low pitched whine coming from somewhere. Then there was this flood of light and Sam rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to make the bright light leave him alone. His head was pounding, and even just rolling over made his body ache. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow, trying to block out the brightness.

"Hey babe, you up?" came a whisper from the doorway. Well obviously Sam was up he was busy trying to bury himself in Dean's pillow to get rid of that wretched light. Then it was fading and the door clicked again, the light temporarily hidden by the closed door.

"Am now," Sam mumbled, lifting his head from the pillow, lying on his stomach and squinting through the hair hanging in his face, trying to get Dean to come into focus. After blinking a couple of times, Sam could make out that Dean was dressed and walking towards him with something in his hands. And there was a really sugary smell in the air, this warm fruity smell that was super overwhelming.

The bed compressed a bit as Dean sat down on the edge, carefully balancing the tray. Sam turned on his side, blowing hair out of his face and looking at Dean, attempting to see what was on the tray he was carrying. There was a bowl and a spoon and a glass of water but Sam couldn't make out anything else. Dean himself was still a little bit blurry, but Sam could make out all his features besides his freckles. He had his concerned face on, which Sam would really like to kiss off him, but moving hurt. And Dean's mouth was really far away.

Instead, he sat up a bit more, scooting back against the pillows behind him and hating how he couldn't see Dean's freckles. With the pillows supporting his weight, everything hurt a little less and Sam managed to clear his throat without wanting to tear out his vocal chords. Dean scooted a little closer on the bed, bringing the tray and the intense smell with him.

"I made you breakfast..." Dean trailed off, looking down at it and looking back up at Sam hopefully. With that look on his face Sam was pretty sure it could have been gravel and he would've still eaten it with a smile.

"Breakfast in bed?"

"Well, yeah. I figured, with the trial yesterday, you'd be pretty tired. Besides, it's not like you took it easy last night." Dean raised his eyebrows pointedly and tilted his head to Sam's current state of undress. Sam pulled the sheets up a little tighter to his chest, making a face at Dean.

"That was your attractive face's fault. I couldn't help myself." Dean laughed and held out the tray for Sam to take. He gingerly sat it in his lap, not trusting his hands to hold it without shaking and dropping it everywhere. He could see the bowl now, and it actually looked like it'd be pretty good. Sam didn't like heavy breakfasts, but this looked a lot lighter than anything Dean would ever have eaten.

Oatmeal, the mushy kind Sam used to love as a kid, mixed in with mango and strawberries and bananas. Wow, Dean was not messing around. Sam's favourite breakfast food was fruit, and apparently Dean remembered that. And he'd made a warm breakfast out of it. Considering the fact that Sam was freezing basically all the time, hot oatmeal sounded like Heaven right now.

He looked back up at Dean, unable to keep the grin off his face. Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. Right, like anything Dean ever made wasn't absolutely perfect.

"This looks amazing, Dean, thank you." Sam scooped a spoonful into his mouth, the tangy of the mango mixing with the sweet oatmeal and it was almost bordering on too hot. Which meant it was absolutely perfect. Sam had no idea what he did in his past life to deserve this, but it had to have been something incredible. Sam swallowed, the heat traveling all the way down his throat and soothing every bit of scratchiness on its way. "Yeah, seriously incredible."

"Good. You deserve it." Dean smiled softly, his hand rubbing slow circles over Sam's knee. He was looking at Sam with these soft puppy eyes and it was making Sam just a little uncomfortable. They weren't romantic or super sweet with each other often, if ever. And neither one of them took compliments well at all, it wasn't a very regular thing in their lifestyle. So Sam just took another bite of oatmeal. Dean took his hand off and started tracing patterns in the sheet, idly picking at the material. They sat in silence for a few bites before Sam's head began to ache a bit again. Which was why he suddenly remembered how damn bright it had been earlier.

"Hey, what time is it?" Sam popped another spoonful in between his lips and Dean looked up, suddenly grateful for a chance to help.

"About quarter to eleven." Sam nearly spit out his oatmeal. He managed to seal his lips quick enough not to, but his hand still flew to his mouth in surprise. He swallowed carefully, putting his hand back down to speak.

"I slept that long?"

"Dude, you went to Purgatory and Hell yesterday. Pretty sure a couple hours of sleep isn't a crime."

"Yeah, but I don't even know the last time I slept for like nine hours." Dean just shrugged, looking around the room like he was finally taking in how dark it was in here. There weren't any windows, but there was plenty of light when the door was open. And Dean nearly always had the desk lamp on too. He'd thankfully turned it off before they left for the last hunt, because neither one of them had been thinking in about it last night when they stumbled in.

"You up for a movie?" Dean offered. Sam scooped up another spoonful. The fruit oatmeal was disappearing disappointingly fast. All the bananas and strawberries were gone, just a few bites of oatmeal and mango left. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd willingly eaten an entire bowl of something besides just fruit for breakfast. He had cereal pretty often, but he could never finish a whole bowl. Which always meant worried looks from Dean, but it wasn't like Sam was starving himself so Dean could get over it.

"What, so the triptophan in the oatmeal will put me to sleep again?" Dean's nose crinkled in confusion at triptophan, looking vaguely offended.

"Stop complaining, the oatmeal's organic. No freaky chemicals, since you're such a girl about it." Sam looked down in surprise at the blue bowl in his lap.

"Really? Cool. But actually, triptophan is an amino acid that is found in oats, even before they're harvested, and it's chemical balance corresponds with human hormones that encourages the production of seratonin, which makes people drowsy naturally. Which is why it's a food of choice offered at mental asylums and to little kids--"

"Geek."

"--especially before bed. Hey! It's like a common known fact. I'm not a geek." Dean just snorted and nodded his head with his "yeah okay whatever" face. Sam took the last bite of oatmeal with a pompous huff, shooting play glares at Dean over the spoon in his mouth.

Dean took the tray from Sam's lap, setting it carefully on the floor by the nightstand. Then his fingers slid the spoon out of Sam's lips, tossing it at the tray and landing in the ceramic bowl with a clang. Dean smiled triumphantly, a quiet "hell yeah" slipping out of his mouth.

After handing the glass of water to Sam, Dean disappeared with the tray. (And an awful burst of bright light.) Sam zipped the water slowly, careful to make sure none of it spilled out of his mouth. Bloody water was disgusting. By the time Sam finished, the door was creaking open again and Dean was wheeling in a cart with squeaking wheels. Sam was really really close to plugging his ears against the sound, but he just grimaced instead.

He wheeled it to the side of the bed, angling the machine to be as straight across the opposite wall as possible. Sam watched curiously as Dean pulled a tape out of its box, fastening it to the big circular projector. The nineteen-fifties film reel was something Dean had found a little while ago, and they both had kinda freaked out with how cool it was. One if those old vintage movie players that shined light on a wall and played out a black and white film, the circle grinding slowly. There was a little sound box too, although they hadn't used it yet, so they didn't know if it even worked.

Dean flipped on a big switch, and light shot out of it, illuminating a square on the opposite wall. Once he'd found it, Dean had gone through and researched the movie projector, which turned out to be a 35mm, which was rare even for its time. It had a much better picture than most movie projectors, but it was mostly intended for theatre use, not home. The Men of Letters didn't have much else to do besides research, so they'd stocked up quite a few movies in their spare time.

Hollywood or Bust played across the screen! swoopy black and white letters that cracked and shifted a bit as music filtered out of the little speaker. As the credits started, Dean carefully took down the guns that were in the way of the movie on the wall. The cast list started playing, a calligraphy Dean Martin playing across Dean's back as he stood on his tiptoes to reach the highest gun. Sam laughed, air escaping his mouth in a short burst before his chest decided to seize suddenly. The laughter turned into rapid coughing, violent wrenches of sound being yanked from his body.

Putting the gun on the desk, Dean turned to Sam and looked him over with concern. The coughing slowed to a stop, and Sam cleared his throat, pulling his hand away from his mouth. There was just a faint splatter of blood on his hand, which wasn't too bad considering how painful those coughs had been. Sam looked up, taking the napkin from Dean's outstretched hand. He didn't meet Dean's eyes as he wiped at his mouth and his hand, folding the napkin over and shooting it towards the trashcan.

The trashcan decided to jump to the side out of nowhere, and the napkin landed and unfolded slightly about a foot away. Sam moved to swing his legs off the bed and go get it, but Dean waved him down to stay, bending over abs putting it in the trash himself. Sam cleared his throat again with a "thanks," and Dean just nodded.

Then he was climbing onto the other side of the bed as Sam, scooting in close until their shoulders brushed when they breathed. Dean's fingers curled over the top of Sam's thigh, warm and comforting. The credits were almost over, and Sam settled in under the covers a little deeper. It was silent for a few moments before Dean turned to Sam, their heads nearly the same height with the way Sam was leaning.

"So it's Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis, and a bigass Sam-sized Great Dane. So you'll love it. And there's a car, so I'll love it too." Sam rolled his eyes. He couldn't decide sometimes if growing taller than Dean was the worst thing or the best thing that ever happened to him. Lord knows he god teased for it basically daily.

"I'm pretty sure the car doesn't count as a character."

"Oh you just wait, brother." Dean grinned and turned his head back to the wall projection, scooting in the last inch between him and Sam.

Sam automatically curled his body towards Dean's, one ankle slipping over Dean's and a hand landing over his chest, hips pressed to Dean's side. Dean threw an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled him in closer. Somewhere around the time that Jerry Lewis's character was driving the car to Vegas with Dean Martin's character, Sam's head grew too heavy too hold upright. He settled it down against Dean's shoulder, making Dean's fingers tighten a little on his arm.

He was thinking about how Dean had actually been right, the car was actually the major focal point of the movie. And about how that had been a lot of oatmeal. Sam could feel it inside him like a bubble of sated weight, dragging him down. It was a pleasant drag, although he did fight it for a bit.

Finally Sam gave in and a blink became just too hard to open his eyes back up from. Dean felt the breathing patterns change the moment Sam fell asleep. He looked down at the floppy hair that was tickling the side of Dean's neck, rubbing his fingers across the bare skin of Sam's shoulder. He was seriously out like a light right now. Dean glanced at the clock on his desk. 12:05. It was only noon, and Sam had fallen asleep like he hadn't had a wink of sleep for days. Even though he'd slept in until almost 11. Maybe it was the tripto-whatever Sam insisted was in the oatmeal.

There was only like fifteen minutes left of the movie, so Dean figured he'd stay to watch it. It was a good thing he did, too, because about ten minutes later, Sam started shivering like an Eskimo. Dean rubbed his palm up and down Sam's arm to warm him, which made the shivers less violent, but they didn't stop.

"Oh, duh," Dean said to the quiet room, the only sound besides the last five of the movie playing in the background. Sam had no warmth on him right now besides a sheet. Dean had cleaned him off earlier, but he hadn't dressed Sam because he figured Sam would just do it himself. Which apparently he hadn't.

Dean slipped out from under Sam's arm and leg, sidling a pillow up to support Sam's head where Dean's shoulder had been. After rounding up a pair of sweats and a v-neck, Dean placed the folded shirt on the nightstand. There was no way he was going to get the shirt over Sam's head without waking him. Sweats though, Dean could manage.

He slipped his hands under the sheets, moving down past Sam's feet and carefully slipping them through the leg holds of the sweats. Very slowly, Dean managed to pull them all the way up the tree trunks Sam called legs, pausing only at the slope of his ass. Dean scooped under and wriggled the fabric upwards, carefully tucking Sam's dick inside. Sam made a sound and shifted his hips to the side, making Dean still. Sam didn't wake up though, so Dean managed to pull up the waistband over the next couple of inches. Phew.

With Sam dressed a bit warmer now, Dean took ahold of Sam's hips and pulled him down the bed some, so he wasn't awkwardly half-sitting up while he slept. Then Dean was tucking an array of pillows and blankets around Sam, bundling him up and succeeding in finally stopping the shivers. With a final kiss to the forehead and tucking Sam's hair behind his ear, Dean wheeled the long-since over movie cart as quietly as possible out of the room. If he braced the front half with his weight and only used the back wheels, it didn't squeak like a bat out of hell.

Dean returned the movie reel to the storage room he found it in, swooping up a few records while he was in there. Dean had Houses of the Holy and the Untitled Zeppelin album on vinyl, as well as a few other classics. But he normally just popped in one of the Letters' records, letting the sunny fifties music fill the room. He didn't have any memories associated with this music from the past, and maybe that's why Dean liked it so much. It meant he and Sam got to create new memories.

That is, if Sam ever got better.

Dean spent the rest of the day going through a few more rooms of the bunker, checking out the telescope neither of them had had a chance to look at. It took Dean twenty minutes to try to figure out how to operate it, but even then it was confusing. So he gave up on that, deciding he'd let Sam work it out.

Down a couple of hallways Dean hadn't been before, he stumbled upon a door marked "Laundry." Swinging open the door revealed a room with two or three bulky, square washing machines. Dean checked them over, and found that while they were ancient and required you to hook up a hose to the sink every time you used it, they were also automatic and worked. They were bulkier and more squat, two pressed up close together on one wall. Which meant there was a ton of room on top to play cards. Or whatever else they could creatively come up with doing on top of a warm, vibrating machine.

Not that that was the only thing Dean liked doing with Sam, just that it was an option. The third machine was probably a dryer, and sat off a little ways from the other two. A big horizontal cedar pole was braced on heavy supports on the opposite wall, a few empty metal hangers hanging from the bar. The room wasn't very big, but it was well lit and had some cabinets along the far wall, too.

Dean didn't know washing machines were around in the fifties, let alone ones with the same circular front doors and square shape and turning knob settings as the generic laundry mats Dean was used to. So he spent a couple of hours researching and identifying the kind of washer they had. Turns out washing machines had actually been around forever.

Dean was just glad he didn't have to sit through the chemical smells of the laundromat ever again. He was pretty sure this bunker couldn't get any cooler.

On one if his last exploration days, Dean had found and shown Sam the gun range. They'd both messed around a bit, competing for the better-destroyed target. They only did one round though, they'd spent to many years of their lives scrounging many for ammo to waste it on entertainment target practice. Dean headed down to the gun range now, restocking the paper targets they hadn't bothered to at the time, cleaning up empty shells and putting them in the "empty shells" bucket. Dean wasn't sure what all that had been for the first time he saw it, so he might as well find out now.

Dean picked up the orange bucket, which was actually pretty heavy, and turned it around. Painted in big black letters across the back was the words: "TO INCINERATOR." They had an incinerator? Jeez, all they needed was a dungeon and this place was Dean's dream home.

He eventually found the room juxtaposed to the gun room, where there was all the equipment needed to melt down and make new bullets. Damn.

By the time Dean ventured back to the ground floor, it was getting dark outside. He sneaked a peek in on Sam for the sixth or seventh time since noon, but he was still sleeping, his foot hanging off the bed and hair flopping everywhere. He was extremely deep sleeping, if his foot was off the edge of the bed. Hunters didn't tend to sleep like that, since they knew there always was the possibility of getting snatched by some much nastier, real version of the bogie man.

Dean used to sleep with his arm out, so Sam could reach him from the other bed if he needed anything in the night. Which had come in handy more times than Dean could count. But now that they slept in the same bed, Dean's arms were always just wrapped around Sam instead.

With a sigh, Dean made his way back to the kitchen and set out making himself a lonely dinner as quietly as possible. At least Sam was sleeping, though. Getting sleep never hurt. But if he needed it this badly...more must be wrong than what Sam was letting on. He'd seemed super disoriented and light sensitive this morning, both of which weren't good signs either. Dean spent all of his dinner-for-one worrying and mulling over what could be wrong with Sam.

Sam was still sleeping sprawled across the bed when Dean came into his room at the usual time he passed out. He contemplated crawling in under the mess of sheets and pillows and snuggling up to Sam, but there was a chance it'd wake him. So Dean spent the night tossing and turning on the couch.

He woke up around midnight sweating and panting, gripping the side of the couch, blinking away the nightmares. He'd forgotten how bad it was when Sam wasn't at his side. He woke up crying at two a.m, his cheeks stained with tears and his makeshift pillow soggy. At five-thirty, he jolted awake with a burst of a scream and spent half an hour curled into a ball before he tried sleeping for a fourth time. He got in another hour between staring at the ceiling and drifting off into a restless slumber. He gave up trying when he woke back up at seven, just sitting up groggily and staring at the room, annoyed.

First things first, Dean checked on Sam again. He was somehow still asleep, although he'd become even more tangled up in sheets and pillows. Dean made coffee and got out two mugs in case Sam ever woke up anytime soon. He could look for a case, but Dean had a feeling Sam wasn't going to be in shape for a case. At all.

After eating breakfast and pulling up the security tapes on everything Kevin, just in case the kid showed up somewhere, Dean went to check on Sam. It was 11:30 and he was still sleeping. Dean put the empty coffee mug back in the cabinet. Huh. They were running kinda low on some kitchen supplies. So he wrote Sam a note, in case he woke up before Dean got back, and set off on a run.

Coming back into the bunker with food and beer, Dean shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. The note he left Sam was still here, so he tossed it. Apparently Sam was still sleeping. Then he plopped down in front of the computer, looking at the four screen split and seeing absolutely nothing helpful in any of them. Dean slid a beer out of the six pack, uncapping it and taking a drink. Yeah, if Sam didn't get up soon, this was going to be another long day, just watching video feeds for signs of anything that could lead them to Kevin.

A flicker of movement caught his eye and Dean looked up, an extremely disheveled Sam coming into view. His hair was sticking out in twenty directions, parts of it curling around his face and making him look little. Except for the lack-of-shaving scruff that made him look kind of homeless, when combined with the hair. He'd thrown on the vneck Dean had left for him, and was still wearing the sweats. Even his walk was tired, he kind of just stumbled into sight, rubbing at his eyes like the lights were too bright. His hair was the worst though. God, it was so long. He looked like a freaking homeless hippie.

"Y—" Dean nearly said you're finally awake but Sam looking up at him through the mop of a tangled mess was too good of an opportunity to pass up. "Man, I'm telling you, give me five minutes with some clippers, and..."

"Oh, shut up." Well, Sam hadn't slept away his stubbornness. It was too bad, Dean would have loved to give Sam a haircut. Not that his boyfriend wasn't super attractive with long hair, Sam could totally pull off any length. Well, maybe not homeless hippie, but still. It was just, Dean used to cut Sam's hair for him when he was a kid. It was a nostalgia thing. Although after the Nare in the shampoo bottle incident, Sam hadn't let Dean come near him with hair cutting scissors again. Which was a lot of the reason his hair was so damn long. That and it was some sort of defiance against Dad's rules for short hair.

Sam rubbed at his eyes again and squinted at Dean. "Uh, what time did I lay down?"

Dean looked at his watch. 4:30. Wow. Sam had slept for more than 24 hours. The kid was freaking nuts. Well, these trials were freaking nuts.

"You took a siesta around noon. Yesterday." Dean grabbed another beer and tossed it towards Sam. Sam didn't even lift a finger, the beer just soared past him and shattered with a loud sound on the tile in the foyer. Dean just kind of stared for a moment, a wasted beer, huge mess, and groggy looking Sam looking towards the beer too. Dean's hand came down and landed on the table next to him, his eyes burning holes in the wood.

"I'm sorry, I, uh..." Sam looked back at him from the broken bottle. Dean was going to have to clean that up. Sam hadn't even lifted a finger. Dean just stared blankly at Sam.

"That's why we don't have nice things, Sam." Dean was kidding. Mostly. Sam looked guilty as hell though. Dean felt guilty for making Sam feel guilty, but he hadn't...he hadn't even moved a single muscle it just flew right past him and Sam just watched. Then any bit of resentment left him in a flash, his annoyed "I'm going to have to clean that thank you" face instantly transforming into a concerned one. Sam was stumbling all over the place, he couldn't keep two feet on the ground for more than a few seconds before he had to readjust his weight distribution. He looked like he was gonna fall over any second. Dean furrowed his brow, looking Sam over.

"You okay?" Sam looked at him for a moment like Dean was speaking Norwegian, then he blinked and the words seemed to sink in. He was still swaying a bit as he spoke, which basically negated anything he was saying.

"Yeah, I'm, I'm fine, I just—" Sam shot out an arm and grabbed the table, keeping himself from tipping over. Dean automatically moved to jump up and catch Sam, but he caught himself before Dean was out of the chair. Sam rubbed a hand over his face, like that would somehow clear away his disorientation. "--uh, you know what, I'm gonna get dressed. We should go find Kevin."

Sam started off in the other direction but Dean was out of his chair and reaching for Aam before he could take more than two steps. Sam turned towards him, putting up a hand in protest that he was fine, Dean could leave him be. Sam had almost just fallen over by standing. Even if Dean wasn't fine-tuned to Sam's everything, he'd still be able to tell something was up. And since Dean was the epitome of fine-tuned, the pain was so obvious it physically hurt Dean too. The protesting hand smoothed down the crazy hair on one side of his head, a really childish looking gesture.

"Hey hey, hey hey hey, easy, easy, sleeping beauty." Sam blinked at him like Dean was going out of focus, and Dean was pretty sure Sam was going to bite it any second now. His hand hovered where he could grab Sam at the next stumble. He'd grab him now, except Sam was being stubborn as hell and would probably try to push Dean off, which would result in a higher chance of Sam landing on the ground. He just needed to get Sam docile enough to cooperate. "Look, man, I've hacked into every security camera around Garth's houseboat, Kevin's hometown, where Mrs Tran lived..."

"And?" Sam asked impatiently. Even when he was falling over, Sam still had no patience whatsoever. Dean sighed and looked at the ground, hating the news of the next part.

"Well, nothing so far." Dean lifted his head back up, wishing to everything it had been different news he had to bring Sam. Sam tipped his chin down, putting on his "important case" face of desperation.

"Dean, we have to find him." The guilt and need in Sam's voice matched exactly what Dean was feeling inside. But for now, it was a dead end. There was nothing else they could do, especially with Sam in the shape he's in.

"I know. I know, but Garth is out looking for him, we got a hunter APB out on Kevin, we will do what we can from here while you get better." Dean had his hands pointing towards Sam in a but if a pleading gesture. It wasn't a negotiable suggestion, but this would be a lot easier if Sam went along with him. If Sam stopped spurting off the same unimaginative lie of "I'm fine."

"I'm fine. Dean, I can still go out there, I can still hunt." Sam, hunt? Dean was pretty sure Sam wouldn't be able to ride a bike with training wheels right now, let alone hunt. Well there was one way Dean could prove Sam wasn't ready or safe to take on a hunt. It wasn't even rigged, just straight honest proof of Sam's current hunting abilities.

"Really?" Dean said, raising his eyebrows. Sam tilted his head, acknowledging the challenge in Dean's tone. Dean gave Sam a follow me gesture then he was making his way down the hallways, sure to go slow enough that Sam wouldn't fall trying to catch up.

Despite Sam's annoyed protests, he went through Dean's test anyways. And, as expected, drastically failed. Like, horribly. Not even Sam could deny that his current state of mind wasn't safe for hunting. With two new bullet holes in the wall on either side of the target, it was practically impossible for Sam to deny his not-okayness. He finally dipped his head, his words quiet as he confirmed that this trial had hit him harder than the last. It wasn't like Dean didn't already know, but hearing it from Sam's mouth made it that much more omniscient.

"Felt the same. Till the next day." Sam looked guilty, like this was all his fault. No, it was Dean's fault for not being able to kill a damn hellhound and having to be rescued by his little brother, then letting Sam go down to Purgatory and Hell in the same day, and in top of all that, apparently the trials got more intense with each one. Which gave Dean a very uneasy feeling in his gut.

But at least with the fresh bullet hole evidence still lingering, and the guilt on Sam's face, Dean may finally convince Sam to just sit this through until he got better. Maybe it was cheap, but it was the best way to protect Sam.

"So, we're gonna sit tight. Keep an eye out until you get better." Dean pinned Sam with his eyes until Sam relented and nodded. God, finally.

Dean took Sam's wrist in his hand, steadying his brother as he leaned up on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Sam's cheek. Sam still looked over at the target, his eyebrows furrowed. Apparently physical proof of Sam's illness was just as unnerving to Sam. Unless it was just his competitive "always have to be the best" gene kicking in. Either way, Dean lightly tugged Sam out if the room by his wrist. Sam would obsess over the target if Dean let him, so it was upstairs we go time.

After Sam took in a few bites of salad, insisting he just wasn't very hungry, Dean finally gave up on trying to force feed Sam dinner. Sam sat watching the computer screen for anything Kevin-related while Dean did the dishes. When Dean came back out into the library, Sam had a hand over his eyes like he had a massive headache. At Dean's footsteps he took it off and quickly sat up, which Dean just gave him a look for.

Sam got out of the chair, dejectedly reporting the lack of Kevin. Dean leaned against the wall, taking a drag of the beer in his hand. Sam stumbled with the first few steps forward but managed to catch his balance and walk over to Dean without eating it.

Dean turned his body to face Sam, back against the wall now. Sam propped himself up with a palm on the wall above Dean's shoulder, his body a foot and a half away from Dean's still. With the blockade of Sam around him, Dean should have felt trapped. Sure, it made him a little uneasy, but this was Sam. If it was anyone else, Dean would have broken free from the barricade of arms and torso blocking him from going anywhere.

He watched Sam with neutral eyes, torn between wanting to check his temperature and put him to bed or wanting to kiss him senseless and take him to bed. But Sam's health always came first. Although, when one of Sam's hands landed on Dean's jaw, tilting his head up and pressing him back into the wall weakly, Dean didn't stop Sam. If Sam wanted to kiss him, Dean was fine with that. It wasn't like it would make Sam any worse. Besides, the more proximity Sam had, the better.

Dean's eyes slid shut as Sam closed the distance between their mouths, his lips landing sloppily on half of Dean's mouth. Dean tilted his head and realigned them, pressing back against Sam's lips gently. There was so slight vibration between them, maybe Sam's arms shaking from the effort of holding himself up against the wall.

So that Sam wouldn't topple over, Dean brought his free hand to Sam's chest, bracing him and taking as much weight as possible. Sam nipped at his mouth gratefully, then opened his lips against Dean's again. Sam was kind of pushing the kiss, trying to speed it up or make it deeper, but Dean didn't follow. He kept all of his movements lazy and slow and drawn out, simplifying the whole thing. Sam was forced yo oblige, letting Dean just savor the drag of their lips and occasional slide of tongue.

The taste of copper was more obvious now, actually able to pinpoint. It still wasn't to the point that Dean had physical blood on his tongue, just that he could tell Sam had at one point. That was probably what Dean was looking forward to most about Sammy getting better. Dean missed the taste of his boyfriend, the taste of just Sam with no intruding copper.

They were still kissing lazily against the wall when an alarm-like beeping went off. Sam forced himself to straighten up, breaking the connection of their mouths as he took a step backward. Dean opened up his eyes, still leaning against the wall with a bottle if beer in one hand.

Sam beelined for the computer, and Dean shifted his weight against the wall, leaning on his shoulder and facing Sam as he bent over to see the computer screen. That sound was probably an email sound, because Sam would have said something by now if it was Kevin.

"It's from Charlie. "In the neighborhood, found you guys a case." Found us a case?" Sam looked up, his eyebrows raised with disbelief. Dean returned the confused look, asking a question too.

"In the neighborhood? How the hell does she know where we are?" Sam looked back at the screen, his voice transforming into research mode.

"Uh, well, she doesn't. Not exactly, at least. It says she tracked our cells to a twenty mile radius, then the signal went out. Huh. This place must be in some kinda, like, Bermuda Triangle." Dean stepped away from his perch against the wall, looking around the batcave's walls.

"What, are you saying we can make and receive phone calls from here and nobody can track us?" Sam shrugged and nodded, looking just as stoked about this as Dean was. Finally. Sam didn't appreciate the bunker like he should, and any little bonus going for it made it easier to convince Sam into liking it. "Man I love this place."

Sam just made a vague noise of agreement, his long fingers typing (slowly) a reply back to Charlie. Dean swallowed the rest of his beer and sat the empty bottle on the table, watching Sam type. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and he had to keep looking from the keys to the screen. Finally he finished, clicking send and straightening back up.

"I told her we'd meet her tomorrow morning, since it's getting kinda late." Dean looked down at his watch. Yeah, it was too late to discuss anything but sleep. Well, not on a normal basis, but with Sam as sick as he was, bedtime meant 9 o'clock.

"That it is. What do you say we hit the sack?"

"Dean, do you see the time? It's only like--"

"C'mon." Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and pulled him over. Sam was eventually going to start hating Dean for all these false promises, but one day he'd see just how very necessary they were.

When Dean tugged Sam in, he stumbled into Dean's chest. Dean was prepared for that and caught him easily, his hands instantly scooping around Sam's ass. Sam groaned and pushed his hips forward against Dean's.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean said smugly. He guided them both easily to the bedroom, placing the occasional kiss to Sam's neck. Sam held on to him with desperate hands that would probably leave faint bruises. It was just as well, Dean wasn't getting bruises from anything else tonight.

As soon as Dean tugged off his jeans and buttonup and joined the still sweats-clad Sam underneath the covers, Sam was pushing his mouth against Dean's. Dean had to slow down the kiss, turning the frantic nipping and locks into a forced slow pull of their overlapping lips. Sam made a weak noise of frustration, his hand running down Dean's side in a plea.

Dean broke apart their mouths, leaving Sam a little worse for the wear in the oxygen department. Sam looked at Dean curiously through his heavy breathing, trying to figure out why he'd stopped.

Since Sam wasn't going to, convincing as Dean was or not, Dean had to be the one to flip over. He managed to get he back to Sam pretty quickly, scooting backwards so that his tshirt was pressed against Sam's vneck. Just to make the point, Dean grabbed Sam's hand and wrapped it around his stomach, his hand draped over Sam's to keep it in place.

It finally sunk in what Dean's genius and kind of evil plan was. Sam groaned and dropped his forehead to the back of Dean's neck. Dean made an apologetic face that Sam couldn't see. Sam needed sleep a lot more than he needed a workout right now.

"You are such a cockblock." Sam bucked his hips forward on "cockblock," making his words much more emphasized as the outline of his barely clothed dick slotted against Dean's ass. Dean made a choked sound, fisting the sheets in front of his chest. Not gonna give in.

"You need sleep," Dean said weakly, the words sounding more like a question than a command. The hand on Dean's stomach slid down lower, fingertips brushing under the waistband of Dean's boxers. Dean shut his eyes and counted to ten, attempting to get himself under control before he just decided to climb up and ride Sam's cock.

"I need you." The words were filthy-whispered against Dean's ear, followed by the lightest brush of tongue. Dean couldn't help his weak cry and the way he bucked against Sam, up into his hand and grinding back against his cock, begging for more.

"Sam, p-please. You need--ughhh, you need sleep." Dean tried tugging Sam's hand out of his boxers, but Sam just plunged it all the way in, wrapping his hand around Dean's cock and stroking roughly.

"I sleep better post orgasm anyways." Sam said with finality, biting down on the muscle between Dean's neck and his shoulder. Dean shuddered and reached behind him to grab Sam's hip. Sam got the message quite clearly, and then he was yanking down Dean's boxers just past his ass.

Sam's other hand dipped in between Dean's cheeks, spreading them apart and working in a spit-soaked finger. The penetrative feeling, mixed with the way Sam's hand was pumping precum down Dean's cock, it was a lot sensation at once. And Dean hadn't been worked over like this, this intensely, for a while.

As soon as Dean was deemed open enough, Sam pulled his cock out of his sweats and pushed inside Dean, still wrapped around him and laying on their sides. Dean's eyes slid shut and his mouth fell open as Sam filled him up, everything so tight and strange at this angle. The hand on Dean's cock was relentless too, pumping Dean viciously through Sam's cupped fingers.

Sam drew back his hips and snapped them forward, burying as far into Dean as the angle would allow. Dean was basically hopeless to defend himself or Sam against this. It just felt way too damn good. And if they took it gentle enough, Sammy would be okay. Besides, if it let him pass out into a deeper sleep, Dean was more than willing to help.

The hand that had fingered Dean open hooked underneath Dean's arm, Sam's bicep against the top of Dean's rib cage. Then there were fingers being shoved past Dean's lips, filling up his mouth with the same sudden fucking rhythm as both of their cocks.

Dean choked around them for a moment, surprise setting in before his brain. Then he closed his lips over the three fingers, letting Sam stuff him full in every way possible. Dean was lost past the point of thinking anything even vaguely coherent, let alone about how they should slow down and take care of Sam.

Later, Dean would realize that was exactly Sam's intention, to fuck Dean so out of it he couldn't think of anything else. He had to breathe out of his nose as Sam fucked him, his mouth and ass and cock all twitching with oversensitization. There was so much going on Dean couldn't even think about his orgasm, or rocking back against Sam, or anything. He was just jello in Sam's hands.

As if Dean wasn't already dying, Sam's tongue was circling his ear, teeth nipping flesh and the tip of his tongue shallowly plunging inside every crevice and even dipping inside his actual ear. It was weird as fuck but Dean didn't have the brain to process that til later either.

Dean lost track of anything even resembling time, and he could have sworn it was just as much three hours as it was twenty minutes. There was nothing besides full and friction and fucking for what felt like forever.

Sam switched the pace a few times, so that Dean's ass was full as his fingers were drawing back, and vice versa. A repetitive back and forth seesaw of pleasure that was definitely verging on the line of too much. Dean had no idea which rhythm was more torturous, there was plenty of both to fuck with his head too. The never-relenting always-stuffed-somewhere was overwhelming and made his entire body convulse, but the getting-fucked-everywhere-at-once was so powerful it made Dean's eyes water.

The pace wasn't particularly fast, but it didn't matter, it was crazy anyways. If Dean had had his brain functions with him, he might have noted that the medium pace was due to Sam's extremely weakened and disoriented state, and that this probably wasn't very beneficial to Sam's health in any way. Dean was going to be strung out as hell, probably wouldn't be able to move for a couple of hours, but Sam wasn't getting any better. Especially when he was the one doing all of the work.

Dean couldn't help it though, he had one hand digging permanent fingernail marks into the sheets and the other tight over Sam's hand pumping and twisting his cock. Dean was pretty sure there was more precum beading out of him right now than ever before in his life ever.

Sam scooped some of it up and lifted his hand off of Dean's cock. Dean whimpered under Sam's fingers, more tears springing to the edges of his eyes at the loss of sensation. Sam's cock drew almost all the way out of him and paused, making Dean cry out with raw need around the muffle of closed lips and his still getting-fucked mouth.

Then Sam's hips thrust forward and he slid in to Dean even slicker, dick coated in Dean's precum. With less friction between them, Sam's hand moved back to Dean's cock and the pace quickened considerably. Dean lost all sense of what bit of reality he was holding on to, just getting pummeled into the bed and unable to even put a name to it.

Another who knows-how-long passed, and Dean would be surprised he hadn't come yet if he could think. Although every time his body seized, Sam's hand clamped around the base of his cock and Dean had no brain power left to stop him. The sensations were on the path of building higher again, and the pace was getting quicker and sloppier.

Still just jello to whatever Sam's body was doing to him, Dean was suspended in time as Sam filled him up with a stutter of hips and a rush of warm stickiness. Dean was coming seconds later, his body finally just collapsing under the relentless push.

When he came to, everything felt empty as hell and Dean shivered at the cold and at how hollow his body felt. He felt like he'd been carved out on the inside, and that he'd never be complete again if he didn't get filled up right now.

Dean turned around a little, mostly just moving his head and shoulders. Sam was draped across his back, sleeping soundly against the pillow with a limp arm around Dean's waist. Dean plopped his head back down and stared at the darkness, at the emptiness inside him.

At least Sam was asleep. That was kind of the whole point. But as Sam's steady breathing behind him started lulling him into his own sleep, Dean gave in to how wasted he felt. He had nothing left to give, he might as well let the darkness of the room fill him up. All the empty places Sam had been started getting poured into again, with the darkness and the fear that maybe Sam wasn't going to get better soon. Maybe.

~*~*~*~*~

Sam was losing it. He couldn't just sit in the bunker and do nothing. Sitting like a child and taking worried phone calls from Dean every few hours. Sam had probably heard "Hey, it's me. You okay?" four times today and he was really really done with having that conversation with Dean. What happened to "if you say you're okay, I'm with you 100%?"

It wasn't his fault he was going stir crazy. He needed to get out, and the case was forty-five minutes away, tops. He might as well go prove to Dean he was fine. And not Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional, just fine.

He arrived at the scene a good ten minutes before Dean and Charlie showed up. He could tell the second they got there, not even from the rumble of the Impala. It was from the way people stared. Cops, witness, victims, civilians. Anyone that was even in the vicinity all turned their heads to the approaching incomers. Dean always said it was the car, or the walk maybe, the fed-type confidence in his footsteps. Sam knew better.

He knew exactly why they all stared. Because Sam stared too. No one could help to keep their eyes off of him. Dean, with his perfectly gelled spikes, broad shouldered suit, green tie that made his eyes literally pop. The sculpted jawline, soft pliable lips. Which were now set in an angry line as the heads all followed him, stalking over to Sam. Sam couldn't pretend he didn't love everything about Dean, even when he was angry. And maybe he was pushing his luck, but he was totally going to pretend like he was supposed to be here. Like Dean wasn't shooting rays out of those sparkling eyes.

"Took you guys so long?" Dean didn't even pause, he just stalked right up to Sam until they were sharing air, hissing and pissed.

"What the hell are you doing here?" From this close, Sam could see the faint brushing on the side of Dean's mouth, where Sam's fingers had been last night. Sam was sure there were bruises on Dean other places too, but now was not the time or place to think about that. And he wasn't thinking about his headache or the way Charlie was slightly blurry from that far away, or how it hurt to breathe. A little. Nope, Sam was just thinking about the case.

"Working the case, same as you." He pointed over his shoulder at the body, ignoring the flash of pissiness across Dean's features. "Jake Hill, librarian. Went missing yesterday, no relation to the other vic. Coroner already swooped in and scooped up what was left of him."

"Yeah, we met her, bit of a stickler. Well, if there's not a body, there's nothing else to see here, so why don't you head on home?" Home. Right, Dean's affectionate name for the bunker. The way he said it sounded strangely coupley, and if anyone was eavesdropping they would instantly assume gay and married. That's the way Dean said it too, but Sam shook that thought off. He wasn't going to mess with that, wasn't going near it with a twenty foot pole. Besides, he wasn't going "home," not when there was still work to do.

"Still have to talk to the witnesses." Dean gave a curt nod and looked at Sam like he was made out of hooker lace. Dean couldn't see through him that easily! could he? His nose didn't sound quite as stuffed up as it felt, or at least he didn't think it did.

"Well, we can handle that. Charlie, why don't you go talk to the witnesses." Dean's eyes didn't even see her, every fiber of his being was vibrating in Sam's direction. He nodded his head at the kids though, clearly indicated her to leave. Charlie got this disappointed look on her face, her fiery voice turning to a whine.

"But I don't wanna miss the bromen—"

"Charlie." Dean scolded gently, his voice leaving no room for even an inch of a wriggle. Charlie sighed resignedly and walked off to where the witness were sitting. For someone so hesitant to take her, or any newcomer, Dean sure was handing out responsibilty passes right and left. To everyone but Sam, that is. Then Dean was turning back to him, his eyes soft but his mouth stern and unyielding. "Look, man, I know you're frustrated, but you're also sick."

Sam couldn't let Dean just toss him in bed and feed him oatmeal and expect Sam to not still want to be out here, doing the job. Working was what he was good at, so what if he didn't feel so hot? How often were both of them in tip top shape anyways? It just wasn't a thing for them, and Sam had no idea why Dean was suddenly babying him now of all times. Whatever the reason, Sam couldn't let him. Sam wasn't going to waste away in the bunker while Dean was out here with his ass on the line. That wasn't happening.

"I'm not leaving, Dean." Sam made his voice as strong as he could. He wasn't yielding on this, period. Dean stared at him with that intense gaze that was stuck between disappointed and aggravated. With just a sparkle of admiration thrown in there behind all the worry. Dean worried about Sam enough for the both of them most of the time, and that was even when Sam was attempting to worry about himself.

"Sam--"

"Dean, I have to be doing something. I can't just waste away, okay? Don't you get it? This is what I'm supposed to be doing. Helping you."

"I know you wanna help, I do, but—" Sam already knew what came next, he didn't need to wait for Dean to say it. Was that all Dean said anymore? That Sam had to take care of himself, that Dean needed Sam to be okay. That Dean couldn't take care of Sam when Sam was on a case, blah blah blah. All the while, Dean had faint circles under his eyes, a certain weariness in his step. So little not even Dean noticed yet, but Sam did. It wasn't physically possible to worry about and nurse Sam and care for himself too. And Sam wasn't letting Dean waste away like that. If worry was a living creature, it would have eaten Dean alive a hundred times over by now.

"Dean, you cannot take care of the both of us. I need to be out here. Play through the pain, right?" Sam tried to keep the pain out of his voice as he said it, but Dean's face melted anyways.

"Come on man, don't quote me to me." There was more to that too, something else Dean was about to say. It was important too, he had that look on. But then Charlie appeared out of nowhere and Dean's mouth snapped shut.

She looked between them with this knowing gaze that made Sam think of what she said earlier. She didn't want to miss the bro moment. If his head was fine, Sam probably could remember, but everything was too pounding and fuzzy right now to really know. He honestly had no idea if they'd introduced themselves to Charlie as boyfriends or brothers. Obviously not both. Or maybe both? Charlie was pretty open minded, but Sam wasn't sure Dean would want anyone else to know about that. Hell, Sam didn't want anyone else to know about that.

Sam tuned back in as Dean's gaze turned to him, pretty green eyes lighting on him sternly. For just a moment Sam was five and Dean was scolding him to go to bed already. Then the pretty pink mouth was opening to speak and Sam was suddenly reminded that nothing between them was that simple anymore. It wasn't a big brother little brother thing between them, not with the way Sam's heart pounded the moment his eyes landed on that mouth.

"Sounds like something you should read about. In a book. At home." Again, with the home thing. When someone says "at home," the "our" was implied. Theirs, which was something the bunker was not. But it didn't matter anyways, Sam wasn't going to let Dean be in danger and he wasn't going to let Dean worry more about him and he wasn't going to sit in bed and be useless.

"I'm not leaving until we find out whatever is doing this." It was his strongest we're-done-talking-about-this voice he could muster. Dean glared just a bit, his worry and disappointment flashing and sparking with red hot anger. Anger at Sam for being stubborn. Anger at Sam for disobeying him. Anger at Sam for being stupid and reckless.

"Whatever." Dean spun on his heel and stalked off. Clearly, somebody was super pissed. Sam stared after him, trying not to feel more and more crushed by pressure on his chest with each step Dean took away from him. Sam was not going to go there again. He was not thinking about that. Period. No.

"You guys fight like an old married couple." Charlie piped up. Almost like that was a good thing. Besides, if she was implying that they should...how did that marriage thing just keep on popping up everywhere? And did Charlie know they were dating or what? It was all giving Sam a headache. Besides, it was a dangerous subject to talk about anyways, him and Dean.

"Charlie..." Sam warned. It was a plea too, though. He may be telling her to drop it, but he was begging too. Charlie either didn't notice or she had the attention span of a squirrel. Or she was even cooler than Sam thought. Because it was instant subject change, not even a single inquiring look out of her. Not one Sam could see, anyways.

"Does this mean we don't have to break into the coroner's office anymore?" She sounded extremely hopeful, but that was actually a really good next step.

"That's a good idea." Sam fingered Charlie's keys in his pocket. This way, he'd have a chance to prove to Dean that he could do this. He could still hunt.

Sam sucked in a breath and pretended the roar of the Impala's engine was driving stones into his stomach. Dean, pulling away without him. Yeah, it wasn't even a real right, just a little argument, but Sam's body protested vehemently anyways. The further away Dean got, the more Sam's head felt like it was exploding and the more the rest of his body wanted to crumble to dust.

Maybe that was half the reason he was here. But he couldn't let Dean know that.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Maybe it was the game. The standing in a uniform, opening the hospital curtain to see Sam, lying still and glass-like against the sheets. The irrational fear that pumped through Dean at the sight of that floppy hair sprawled over the pillow was still bleeding through his veins. The white glow surrounding everything and contrasting so strongly with the tan skin and bright blue hospital gown. It was surreal and like every other horrifying moment in Dean's life all at once. How many times had Dean sat at Sam's bedside, worrying over a gash too deep or a sickness too out of control? There was nothing worse in the world than sitting beside a broken Sam and being powerless. That was a road Dean never wanted to travel again.

Maybe it was what Charlie said. There was something about her that just knew Dean. He didn't feel like a mystery at all to her, which is why what she said didn't come as a surprise. And the smile on her face said she wouldn't have expected any other answer. What about you, you're gonna let it go? Not even a second of hesitation before Dean was answering back. Never. Then came the smile and that little knowing look. That's my boys. Then she was gone to say goodbye to her mom, and Dean watched the closest thing he had to a little sister walk away with a content grin. It wasn't every day you had a friend who quoted Star Wars with you in your goodbyes.

Whatever the reason was, Dean had only one thing on his mind as he opened up the bunker door. He'd gotten a taste of that familiar hated poison, what it was like to lose Sam. Never. And as much as he and Sam slept together and fought and worked and laughed, there was one thing they never did enough.

As Dean crossed into Sam's sight, he shot up from the table, instantly defending himself. His mouth was spewing off a speech that was probably quite important, from the way he started it but honestly, Dean already knew everything Sam was going to say.

"Okay, look, you were right, I-I should've laid low, I— I know, I should've hung back, but I'm glad I was able to—"

Sam was cut off as Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother and pulled him in for a hug. His words just stopped coming, surprise overruling his engrained sense to babble. It took a few seconds before Sam lifted his arms, before he clapped his hands to Dean's back and returned the hug.

They kissed, they argued, they made each other coffee and saved each other's lives. But they didn't do this often enough. Dean didn't hug his little brother often enough. Because no matter what else Sam was to him, he was Dean's little brother first and Dean's little brother he would always be. If Dean lost Sam right now, he would absolutely regret not hugging his little brother enough.

There was something about hugs, about wrapping your arms around someone and devoting your time and effort and physical space to them. There was a warmth found in the embrace, in the pressed together chests, that meant something more than the warmth of the summer sun. When Dean hugged Sam, he felt close to him in a way that was different than any other time. Hugs were promises and thank yous and I love yous. Dean was fairly sure there was nothing much that holding Sam, hugging him, embracing him, would fix.

Every time Dean pulled away from hugging Sam, it was too hard to let go just yet. Going from all of that omnipotent contact to nothing at all was like getting a wrench twisted into your stomach. No, every time they broke apart, someone's hands would linger. This time, it was Dean's fingers gripping Sam's arms tightly, holding him safe in Dean's eyes. It was always this way with them.

Sam looked bewildered, like a hug was the most surprising thing Dean could have done. Maybe it was. Either way, Dean let Sam have his confusion. He could work through the thought process on his own. Or ask Dean, although the likelihood of that was questionable. There was a smile on Dean's face that was surely sappy to something, but not 1% of Dean cared.

There used to be a time when Sam was the sappy one, the girly one. Now Dean was melting into Sam's embrace and there was nothing in the world he'd rather have, nowhere he'd rather be. And he didn't give a damn that it made him weak, made him vulnerable, to need Sam this much. Because he'd almost lost Sam today, even if just when he knew it wasn't real. And if Sam ever left him, Dean prayed he'd leave knowing Dean loved him with every ounce of his being.

Pulling back from the warmth, from the circle of their arms linking themselves to each other, Dean held onto Sam's arms for just a moment longer, looking him over. Memorizing exactly what he looked like in this moment, now. He didn't feel sadness, which was odd. He didn't feel anything negative really, just this lightness. It was airy all around him and for once there wasn't tension at the edges if his mouth, or worry lines in his forehead. Just him and Sam and lots of air cushioning them.

"What d'you say we find our prophet?" Then Dean was walking off and giving Sammy the space to think.

Sometimes, Dean lost sight of his purpose. Sometimes Dean forgot that he was supposed to look out for Sam because they were brothers. Things never felt that simple. Because most often they weren't.

For just now though, Sam was his litte brother. A very sick little brother who Dean was taking to bed later and finding some creative but gentle physical activities to wear out.

Maybe it was crazy, maybe it was dangerous. The fear djinn wasn't the first to use Sam as his weakness, and it wouldn't be the last. But that was the price Dean was willing to pay. Because he couldn't live without his brother.


	10. Recurring (The Great Escapist 08x21)

"How are you feelin?" Sam startled to the words, his eyes jerking up from the papers in hands. He looked up from his seat in one of the control room chairs, the sound of Dean's voice coming from behind him. Sam would turn around except that moving his neck too much sent a throbbing ache to his temples. So he just waited for Dean to walk in sight.

A warm blanket landed around his shoulders, strong hands wrapping it over him. Normally Sam might protest the coddling, but the blankets were the only thing he didn't push away. Because as much as he hated bring treated like an invalid, warmth and protection from his frozen bones was always welcome. Sam reached out and grabbed the edges of the blanket draped around his shoulders as Dean tucked the rest of it around him carefully.

Dean clearly had to have seen the violent shakes of Sam's body, the way his hands flapped the paper around as he shook with the never ending chills. It was so cold his teeth clattered, but now that the warm fabric was over him, the shaking turned to shivering, which was slowly dissipating back into the eerie stillness of his body that made Sam remember every muscle he'd ever overworked, all of them now acting like it had just been yesterday. Sam didn't want to think about what had to have been going through Dean's mind in order to bring Sam a blanket and wrap him up in it, but the shaking must have been scaring Dean just as much as it scared Sam.

Maybe he could have gone and gotten his own blanket, except that he didn't think like that. Gotta remember to take care of yourself, Sammy. Maybe it was because he never had done them as a kid, but things like getting a blanket when you were cold wasn't something that Sam ever thought to do. Which was fine, because apparently Dean got a blanket for him. Besides, even if he had thought of it, Sam didn't trust himself to stand up without toppling over. Once he was standing, he was normally okay to walk. But getting up out of his chair meant a lot of balance that Sam didn't have right now without Dean's supporting hand.

"Warmer now, thanks." Sam tilted his head as Dean straightened up, propping on the edge of the table next to Sam's papers. He had a thin mask over his concern that wouldn't fool even Dean if he looked at his reflection right now. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, fingers bordering white knuckles as he held in whatever urge he had to further coddle Sam.

Sam just looked back down at the papers spread over the table, which he had been attempting to read over when Dean came in. He was fine reading for a little bit, then the ink on the pages started to run together and overlap and the words jumped around, letters scrambled and the whole sheet too blurry to read anymore. It was annoying as hell only being able it read in fragments, but there's only so much one can do.

"Anything I can get you?" Dean was keeping his voice carefully nonchalant, like that would change the fact that he was in nurse-mode. Just because Dean didn't sound like he was worried didn't mean Sam didn't hear the words he was saying. Sam wasn't going to look at those green eyes that were trying to search Sam's soul for some sort of task to do. There was nothing Dean could do, though. No matter how much he coddled and kissed and cooked for Sam, it wasn't helping. Sam was cold basically 24/7 and the buzz in his ears was getting worse.

He wasn't going to bring Dean down with him in his decent to madness.

"I'm fine, thanks," Sam lied, turning his shoulders away from Dean so he got the message. Dean waited a bit longer, his foot swinging impatiently as his tense body stayed rigid as a doll's, doing everything he could not to reach out and touch Sam. It was clearly painful for Dean, but Sam was grateful for the space. It still wasn't much space, only a few inches between their bodies when Sam would really just like to crawl into a locked room with concrete walls five feet deep and never see the light of day again. But he'd never get that kind of space, that kind of emptiness to surround himself in. So he took comfort in the few inches between Dean's leg and his own shivering arm.

Sam didn't look up as a few minutes passed, scanning over useless documents that didn't take away any of the ache with eyes that couldn't read for this long anyways. Finally, Dean sighed lightly and scooted off the table and onto his feet again, landing with a huff and pausing there next to Sam too. Dean stood waiting next to Sam for another minute and a half at least. Sam could feel the tension rolling off of Dean's body. He was fully hyperactive aware of every breath of air that separated their skin. He didn't turn around though, he couldn't open up like that to Dean and give him hope. Hope that Sam was feeling better, that he didn't feel like never doing anything but sleeping again.

Dean left eventually, a kiss to the top of Sam's head before his footsteps echoed into the library, then into a hallway past that. The ringing in Sam's head was too annoying to focus on where Dean was going. Which was too bad, because Sam didn't have anything else he even remotely cared about right now besides where Dean was. He knew it was his own fault, that he was the one pushing Dean out. He had been stuffing inches between them over the past four days, and it was hell for both of them.

Maybe it wasn't better this way. Sam didn't even remember the initial thought process that made him think space would be a good thing. But it was too late now to close the space between them. It hurt his head too bad to think about breathing, let alone how to relay the way he was feeling to Dean. And it wasn't like just physically opening his arms would fix anything, Dean would just come into his space and it would get stuffy and Sam would feel that same mysterious guilt that was plaguing him. It was there every time Dean held him, kissed him. The last time they'd slept together, two days ago, everything between them basically. It a just a series of waking up to this embedded weight of guilt.

Sam wasn't sure what it was about, but he couldn't try to analyze it in the least with the way he felt right nw. Maybe the ache wasn't even that, maybe it was some other ache and pain Sam just hadn't been able to identify yet. Whatever it was, it got lost in the pile of a thousand other things Sam should think about when it stopped hurting to think. It had a higher priority than most things because it was Dean, but Sam still hadn't been able to place the source of it.

Just when he thought he was finally going to get some space to himself, Dean was back thirty minutes later, walking in with a tray balanced on his hands. Sam looked up and tried not to let his hurting show all over his face. At least the blanket kept him from physically shaking with the cold. There was this strong smell in the air that was something like spice and vegetables, but in a rotten and burning sort of way. It was kind of horrible, and Sam's stomach clenched just at the thought of putting any of that in his mouth.

Dean swept over to Sam's side, setting the tray down with a flourish and a hopeful tone in his voice. Mixed in with his big-brother words that made Sam feel like he was six. And not in a good way.

"Alright, here we go. John Winchester's famous cure-all kitchen sink stew. There you go. Enough cayenne pepper in there to burn your lips off, just like Dad used to make." Like how Dean used to make. He'd learned it from Dad, but John had only made it for him about three times that Sam could remember. On the other hand, Dean had made it for Sam more times than he could count.

Once the tray was on the table, the smell was too strong. It burned the inside of Sam's nose, like the cayenne peppers were physically in his nasal cavity, not a few feet away grinded and sprinkled into the liquid Dean was trying to force into him. Sam pushed the tray aside, trying to get himself some air that wasn't tainted with capsasin.

"Yeah, we do the whole airplane thing with the spoon?" Sam could remember that. Maybe he shouldn't remember that because he'd been six or seven since the last time it happened, but he could remember the way Dean used to do that to get him to eat food. It was intended for babies, but Sam had been a very picky eater in his childhood (still was, according to Dean) and had taken quite a bit of convincing to eat anything at all during one of his phases. Dean gave him this look when Sam glared at the airplane suggestion, like he was actually disappointed he hadn't gotten to. Sam wouldn't put actually doing that past Dean.

Dean threw down the spoon and pinned Sam with that look that would make a baby bunny feel like a murderer.

"When was the last time you ate?" That wasn't fair. Dean couldn't just ask that. Besides it wasn't like Sam kept track of those things, especially when food was all terrible lately.

"I- I don't..."

"Days, Sam. It's been three days." Sam felt that pang of guilt again. Dean apparently was keeping track if Sam wasn't. There was nothing Sam could say though, because he wasn't sorry. Food just sounded like it was the worst thing in the world right now. And Sam wasn't in the mood to puke. Thankfully, Dean didn't expect a response. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thermometer. Sam was pretty sure they didn't own a thermometer.

"When'd you get that?" Sam tried to sound as incredulous or condescending as possible but Dean didn't even look up, just scanning over the stick in his hands.

"When you started throwing off heat waves." Unfortunately, since Dean was always touching him, sleeping next to him (or with him when Sam didn't feel so fucking horrible) he was always the first to know when Sam was throwing a fever. Hell, Dean had probably known before Sam did. Then he was coming at Sam with his mothering voice on and his hands outstretched, his voice coaxing. "Here."

There was no way in hell Sam was letting Dean put that thing in his mouth. He was practically thirty, and here was Dean treating him like a three year old. Even if Sam agreed to let Dean take his temperature, he'd never let Dean be the one to put the damn thing in his mouth. But knowing that no words would stop Dean and absolutely refusing to be humiliated like this, Sam scrambled out of the way, throwing the blanket aside. The world tilted and span a bit as Sam stumbled to his feet, but once the blur faded enough to see the room around him, Sam could see he was safe from the thermometer at least.

"Enough, Dean. Please." Sam was taller right now but it felt like he was a foot below Dean. Dean was still towering over him and fixing him with this glare that could definitely have a bit of hate mixed in with concern. Sam knew Dean liked taking care of him, but this was too much. And it wasn't like Sam just had the cold that Dean could fix with a few blankets and warm soup. Sam's body felt like it was decaying from the inside out, and Dean somehow thought the little plastic thermometer was going to fix this.

"The bloody handkerchiefs, the fever, the shaky legs... this is not good." Sam managed not to say well obviously but the world was still trying to knock him off his feet and he swayed dangerously. Dean kept transforming into two Dean's and then back to one again. At least his vocal chords weren't broken yet.

"Well, I'm not good. And I'm not going to be good until we can start moving again. Until I can start the third trial."

"Trial? I wouldn't let you start a moped." Dean threw down the thermometer on the table, the little clink echoing loudly in Sam's ears and emphasizing Dean's point quite obviously. Sam didn't even have a chance to correct Dean's "I wouldn't let you." This shouldn't be up to Dean anyways. And it wasn't like they could quit now, so Sam wasn't sure what in the world Dean was thinking. "We're on the rails with this thing, okay, and the only way out of it is through it, believe me, I know. And you know how bad I wanna slam the door on all those sons of bitches. But you gotta let me take care of you, man. You gotta let me help you get your strength back."

Sam just closed his eyes against the bright lights and shook his head. Dean still wasn't getting it. Dean still thought he could nurse Sam back to okay and kiss him on the head and hold his hand through the next trial. That wasn't what this was about. This wasn't just going away.

"This isn't a cold. Or a fever, or whatever it is you're supposed to feed. This is part of it all. Those first two trials... they're not just things I did. They're doing something to me. They're changing me, Dean."

Dean nodded and looked down the way he did when he was hit with a big piece of information. It was his "absorbing" look, but not one that looked like it was going to end well. Dean looked like he was almost in as much pain as Sam felt. It killed Sam to see Dean like this, it really did, but there was nothing Sam could do. If Sam didn't get better, Dean had to prepare for that.

A loud buzz from the other room interrupted their conversation. Dean started walking towards the computer, pulling his phone out of his pocket. It was probably a notification for an email, since both his phone and the computer were going off.

"It's Kevin." Well that was two words Sam hadn't been expecting.

"Finally." A message from Kevin also meant a break from this recurring fight with Dean. Sam wasn't sure Dean would ever understand. Sam just hoped he'd be able to show Dean before the next trial, because who knows what shape Sam would be in after that one. If this was how he felt now...Sam wasn't sure it could get much worse.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean had never been more grateful for speed-dial in his life. With as disoriented as Sam must have been, being one button away from Dean had proven to be so helpful Dean wasn't sure what he would've done without it. He'd picked up on the second ring, instantly worried the second his phone vibrated in his pocket. And when Sam's name had flashed across the screen, worry turned to extreme concern.

Sam had been delirious all day. From his weird Word-of-God Stanford course that he somehow remembered, and how he kept asking Dean if he heard anything when there was absolute silence. Or how he was remembered random stuff from when he was like four years old. Not even stuff about himself really, but stuff about Dean. It was weird. So yeah, Dean was worried at first. Now he was extremely concerned.

Then when Dean had picked up and said Sam's name and gotten no response, that's when the panic set in. Dean was peeling out of the parking lot and driving to the hotel so fast he honestly couldn't remember even getting in the car. One moment there was silence and Dean's worried "Sammy? Sam, you there? Sam!! So help me god..." into the cellphone and then the next second he was bursting into the motel and taking the steps three at a time because it was way fucking faster than the elevator.

He didn't even know whether or not Sam was in the hotel room, but it was his first guess and the most reasonable start. Dean hadn't even had time to turn on the GPS of Sam's phone earlier, so if Sam hadn't been in the hotel room Dean wasn't sure where he would have started. He was too panicked to think straight right now, and that was before he swung open the door to see Sam in the floor.

If temporary cardiac arrest was a thing, the sight of Sam slumped on the ground barely a foot into their hotel room was certainly enough to give Dean one. He couldn't even breathe, he was just rushing over and falling to Sam's side. Dean was faintly aware he was hyperventilating, but at least he wasn't shrieking. Only because that required air and there was no oxygen inside Dean's lungs right now. His hands went straight to Sam's face, lifting Sam's head from where it had fallen on the floor. Sam's neck was lax and his head just rolled in Dean's palms, his lips parted and face ashen and drawn. The walls and the floor were spinning around Dean, Sam's name the only thing falling from his lips besides the desperate, choked pleas to wake up.

He pressed his fingers to Sam's neck a little roughly, pressing harder when there wasn't an obvious pulse. There were tears on Dean's eyelashes now, but two finger-shaped bruises in Sam's neck later, Dean could finally feel a faint heartbeat beneath his hand. Breathing out shakily, Dean's hand moved back to Sam's face, the other one wrapping around his little brother's shoulders. God, Sam was burning up. His body was like fire underneath Dean's touch.

Dean pulled Sam up into his lap and quickly snatched the thermometer out of his jacket pocket, slipping it past Sam's parted lips. He rocked back and forth and smoothed Sam's hair down as he waited for the beep. It was definitely the longest sixty seconds of Dean's life. He was babbling something to Sam still, a mix of apologies for leaving Sam alone and threats to kick Sam's ass if he didn't wake up soon. And a few repetitive mantras of what Dad's voice in his head was telling him.

"Calm down, breathe in and out. Focus on Sam, focus on the pulse. Breathe, Dean. You can't help your brother if you're freaking out. What good is a soldier who can't keep his head? Breathe, Dean. Sam is fine. Sam is here, he is fine. Oxygen, in and out. What can you do to help your brother? Put yourself aside, Dean. Save him, you understand me?" The words slipped into whispers. It was a speech Dean practically had memorized. Ever since he had been a kid, Dean tended to overreact whenever Sam got hurt. Hell, Dean had cried the first time Sam ended up in the hospital. It hadn't been anything too bad, just a broken arm that John hadn't been able to set since he broke his wrist and fingers. And Dean had been hyperventilating at the angle of Sam's limb too much to be of any use to anyone. That was only one of the many times John had rattled off that speech, trying to get Dean calm enough to be able to drive them to the hospital or back to the motel or whatever.

It didn't matter that John had been dead for over 7 years and Dean hadn't heard his voice in over 6, the words were still crystal clear in the same husky military sound. Just another person Dean hadn't been able to save. But Dean couldn't lose Sam like that, he couldn't give up the one thing he had left. He couldn't fail to save Sam. He couldn't.

The thermometer finally beeped, and Dean slid it back out of Sam's mouth as quickly as he could without bruising Sam's lips. 107. Holy shit.

It was bad, dangerous enough to kill Sam if Dean didn't bring it back down fast enough. But it wasn't so bad that there was nothing Dean could do about it. It wasn't even hospital IV worthy. No, this Dean could fix. He could force it down if he got Sam cold enough.

He was laying Sam back down and bolting back up just a few seconds after he read the three numbers. Plugging the tub, Dean turned on the coldest water possible. He left it to run as he searched the hotel room for the little fridge. Finding it, Dean pulled out all the ice that the bucket and trays held. After dumping those in quickly, Dean stooped back by Sam's side.

Sliding his hand under Sam's shoulders, Dean managed to heave Sam up. With a noise or two from the extreme effort, Dean got his other arm hooked under Sam's knees and straightened up. Sam's head hung limp backwards, his long hair hanging down in stringy strands that made him look even sicker. Dean stumbled on his way to the bathroom a few times, his feet not tripping but Sam's heavy body weight making his center of gravity extremely off. As he reached the door, Dean turned sideways and repositioned Sam in his arms with a grunt and a jostled lift. He had to walk slowly on the tile for the few steps it took to get to the bathtub because if he slipped and fell, Sam's head would hit the tile and Dean would die right there next to him.

Every muscle in his back and arms complained and creaked as Dean lowered Sam into the freezing water. There was no point in taking off Sam's clothes, it would waste time and Sam didn't have time to spare. Sam's body didn't have the slightest reaction as Dean submerged him in the cold water. He lay there, still and quiet. Dean kept his head propped above the surface as he turned off the faucet. The water was cold, but it wasn't freezing. Not trusting Sam not to drown, Dean sat him nearly all the way up before he was running out of the hotel room.

The ice machine was on their floor, thank god, just a little bit past their room. He had two buckets with him and filled them both as high as they would go, dropping a few pieces of ice in the hall on his way back to their room. The door nearly slammed shut behind him but Sam didn't even flinch, his head rolled to the side and his entire body lax and unresponsive to the cold water around him. Dean dumped the two more buckets of ice into the water, grabbing Sam by the shoulders and gently sinking him all the way into the freezing cold.

Dean sucked in a breath as the skin on his hands lit up with a burn from the cold, but he just grit his teeth and situated Sam under the ice. There was no way this wouldn't take Sam's temperature down.

He sat back on his heels, not leaving Sam further than two feet away. At least he wasn't panicking anymore, he was just watching and waiting now. Waiting for Sam's body to wake up and cool down before he fevered or drowned himself to death.

When the gasp and the splash finally came, Dean was back at Sam's side in an instant. The peaceful sleeping beauty was now a sputtering, soaked and vaguely annoyed little brother. Dean put his hands back on Sam, helping, doing anything he could. He wasn't nearly as possessive as before, Sam would flip. And now that his eyes were open and there was oxygen in his lungs, Dean could breathe again too.

Apparently Dean's minuscule touches were still too much because Sam was pushing him off and struggling to stand on his own.

"Get off!" Sam pushed at Dean again and Dean threw his hands up in the air. It was a symbol of surrender, but it still kept Dean a few inches away from grabbing Sam if he needed to. Sam was gasping and still attempting to get out of the bath and get away from Dean as quickly as possible. And considering that Dean was standing just outside the bathtub, that was kind of impossible.

"Take it easy, Sam. Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam managed to get his dripping wet self onto the tile without falling but by the way he was still flailing he wasn't staying upright for long. "Take it easy, take it..."

Sam's breathing started to settle out and he seemed balanced enough that Dean could turn around and grab a towel. Sam was looking at him with wide eyes out of the same pink and sunken face. He looked like Dean had been attempting to murder him or something. And that Dean was even crazier for trying to balance Sam out as he was about to tumble onto his face.

"Found you on the floor, passed out, your temperature was a 107. I had to force it down or you were toast." Dean swung the towel around Sam's shoulders and wrapped up his shivering brother. Sam didn't even hear Dean, he was already off rambling. Dean just wanted to kiss him on the head, make sure he was okay, but Sam was still freaking out and Dean probably couldn't get another inch closer without Sam stumbling away from him again and falling on his ass.

"He's here, Dean. Metatron is here, I know it, I can hear him." Sam was breathing pretty violently, like his lungs hurt to even expand. It was raspy enough to the point that Dean would bet it was more than just the aftereffects of staying underwater for a minute or two. But that didn't explain the nonsense Sam was spouting off in between his jagged attempts to breathe.

"What're you talking about?"

"All I know is that I'm connected to it somehow." Sam's eyes darted back and forth, his movements jerky and shifty. He was seriously not okay. All the physical stuff was turning into mental stuff too and that was a lot harder to fix. Dean stayed as collected as possible, though. If he stayed calm, his disbelief in Sam's words would upset Sam less. Sam was freaking out enough as it was without worrying about whether or not Dean believed him.

"What, like you got a link to him, like a prophet?" Prophet came out a little incredulous, but this whole thing was, so it was fair for Dean to be a bit skeptical.

"I don't know!" Sam said desperately, clutching at the edges of the towel and flicking his eyes over the bathroom. "I just know he's here. Metatron is here."

It was taking a lot for Dean not to close the gap between them, but he managed to keep his distance for now. Sam was shaking enough as it was, they didn't need his weird avoidance maneuvers on top of that. Dean still hadn't figured out why Sam was keeping all this air between them, but with the way Sam's body was heaving with the effort of each breath, now was probably not the time to ask.

"Okay, "here" where?" Dean asked instead. Sam looked around him, like Metatron might just pop up right there in their hotel room. Yeah, Sam was definitely not losing it. Once he saw just how unsurprisingly empty the room was, he at least calmed down a bit. Which was good, because if Sam hadn't started to calm down soon, Dean would have had to interfere, Sam's weird new prudish rule or not.

"I can show you." Dean's eyebrows went up. Okay Sam had entirely lost it. Show Dean? Where Metatron was. The scribe of God, in some no name Indian town. Besides, how had Sam found him in the first place? Sam was supposed to stay here while Dean was gone. "I can show you. The manager. He was delivering books to him."

Sam looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure they were still alone. If only Desn knew how to get off-the-rocker Sam to stop babbling nonsense, maybe they could figure this out. Or go home. Where Dean could take care of Sam and keep him from randomly passing out again. Besides, what Sam said wasn't making any sense.

"Books?"

"Books. Hardcovers, paperbacks, novels — books." Wait, that one creepy Indian store manager had said something about books. Well, not books, but sacrifices. Sacrifices to the scribe of God...

"Stories." Well duh. So maybe Metatron really was here. Dean wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse. At least Sam was stir-crazy as Dean thought he was. But then again, there was also a powerful angel in their hotel that had the entire staff and who knows who else enrolled as personal slaves.

Sam was looking at Dean expectantly, shivering and waiting for Dean to say something more, to confirm Sam's idea. If Sam was right, the the answers they were looking for were here. However, those answers had stayed out for the last few centuries, Dean was pretty sure they could wait another twenty minutes.

"Let's get you dried off, then we'll go check it out, okay?" Dean fixed Sam with his please-be-reasonable look, and Sam's eyes just shifted to the side again. He didn't back away when Dean stepped into his space though.

He lifted the towel from Sam's shoulders, bringing it up to Sam's head. Sam stayed quiet as Dean rubbed the towel over his dripping hair, some of the silky volume returning already. The towel sent Sam's hair every which way, and it would probably be a bit ruffled, even tangled, after Dean's rubdown. Which was fine with Dean, he almost appreciated the opportunity to run his fingers through Sam's hair. Finger-combing the tangled mess was a bit of a secret weakness of Dean's.

After his hair was just damp instead of dripping, Sam was still shivering. Which was probably due to the fact that he was soaked in ice-cold clothes. Dean moved his towel-drying back to Sam's shoulders, trying to at least make the sopping mess drip a little less. As soon as the towel was back within reach, Sam grabbed onto the end of it with a weak hold that a toddler could have overpowered. Dean stopped rubbing anyways though, meeting Sam's eyes for an explanation.

"I can do it, Dean."

"Sam--"

He just ignored Dean and brushed off the hold Dean had on his shoulders. Dean took a step backward with a huff as Sam ran the towel over the water droplets on his arms. It wouldn't do much with Sam still drooped in those wet clothes though.

"What do you say we get you into something dry?" Dean lifted the hem of Sam's shirt and peeled it upwards, making Sam drop the towel and lift his arms. He was grumbling something about Dean treating him like a baby but Dean just promptly ignored him and popped the shirt off over Sam's head.

When Dean reached for the button of Sam's jeans, though, his hands got swatted at. Okay, weird. Dean's palms turned up, an open question that matched his "what the hell" expression. Because seriously, it wasn't like he hadn't taken Sam's pants off a hundred times. Since when was Sam a blushing virgin?

Apparently he wasn't worthy of an answer because Sam didn't even look at him, just fumbled at the button on his own. Right, cause shaky, frozen, uncoordinated, clumsy fingers were going to be much better at unbuttoning Sam's jeans than Dean was. Dean folded his arms over his chest and watched with arched eyebrows as Sam took a solid minute and a half to get the button and zipper undone.

Sam's center of gravity was still off, so he nearly fell into Dean as he scooted his soaking jeans down his legs. Dean's hands landed on Sam's shoulders and held him solid and steady as he kicked the jean material past his ankles.

The moment Sam was straightened up and standing again, Dean leaned forward and lifted his hands up. His palms carefully cupped Sam's face, fingertips brushing against damp hair. He didn't waste any time staring into Sam's eyes, not when he knew Sam would break away. So instead his eyes drifted closed and he demolished the space between them that had been expanding every day. His hands tilted Sam's face just a bit as he pressed their lips together. Dean made his mouth as soft and tender as possible, just gently puckered against Sam's. Sammy was cold and stiff beneath Dean's lips, but at least he was alive now. Sammy was okay. Sometimes Dean just needed that physical reinforcement.

He stopped kissing Sam and was backing away a step before Sam could recoil and hurt himself tumbling backwards. The kiss was nothing more than a few seconds long, but Dean had needed it. Sam had been passed out, burning up and unresponsive and barely breathing on the floor. His prude rule could take a three second pause for Dean to have some fashion of comfort.

"Dean..." Sam sounded weary, almost offended. Dean took another step backwards.

"I know." Even though Dean really didn't. Sam didn't give him a single reason why he was drifting away. There was a beat of silence where Sam stood shivering and Dean stood looking at his feet. "You want me to get you dry clothes?"

Sam shifted his weight and looked over his shoulder again, his teeth clattering.

"Yeah."

"Okay, only if you let me help you get dressed."

"Dean."

"Hey, I can't have you falling over again, I need your Stanford class crazy prophet thing brain to help me find the librarian angel." Sam huffed out a laugh, then he was letting Dean throw an arm around his waist and guide him out of the cold bathroom.

Sam was stuck between being in pain and fussing about Dean helping, or reaching for Dean and telling crazy stories about things he remembered about Dean from when he was little. There was no in between.

It was hard to keep up with, the sudden mood changes. Dean did the best he could. Just so long as he got Sam out if this place unscathed, Dean was chalking it all up to some sort of victory.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean had a lot to worry about. He had an entire catalogue of conversations from today he needed to worry over and that wasn't even the worst of it. The last conversation had been the most poignant one, and Dean had a feeling it was even more important than what Sam was letting on.

"You used to read to me, um, when I was little, I— I mean, really little, from that— from that old, uh... Classics Illustrated comic book. You remember that?"

"No."

"Knights of the Round Table. Had all of King Arthur's knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. And I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad, and, and, and he was kneeling, and— and light streaming over his face, and— I remember... thinking, uh, I could never go on a quest like that. Because I'm not clean. I mean, I w— I was just a little kid. You think... maybe I knew? I mean, deep down, that— I had... demon blood in me, and about the evil of it, and that I'm— wasn't pure?"

"Sam, it's not your fault."

"It doesn't matter anymore. Because these trials... they're purifying me."

What the hell did that mean? Seriously? Whatever Sam meant by purifying, Dean didn't like the sound if it. Even if Sam felt he needed purification, it seemed to Dean it was coming at a heavy price. It was getting worse and worse, scarier and scarier. First just the slight space between them, then the protesting everything. Then the weird emerges and the horrible passing out episode. Then there was the danger-inducing tendencies popping up. Which were somehow even worse.

Dean's heart was still pounding from earlier, when Metatron had a rifle aimed at Sam's chest and Dean was as powerless as ever. And them Sam went and decided to be stupid and reckless and make Dean nearly lose his mind. Sam had looked Metatron square in the eye, his shaky voice steadying out for just a moment as the words fell out of his mouth.

"You know what? Pull the frigging tigger. Pull the freaking trigger, you cowardly piece of garbage."

Dean instantly reached for Sam, because seriously what game was he playing at?

"Sam. Hey!" Then Sam had just reached out and grabbed the end of Metatron's rifle and pointed it square at his chest. And then rattled off some saving-humanity speech that didn't make the situation any less terrifying.

"All the time you've been hiding here, how much suffering have you read over? Humanity's suffering! And how much of it has been at the hands of your kind?!" Dean had no choice at that point but to put himself between the gun and Sam. So what if it was an angel and Dean could die? This was Sam and Dean would take a thousand bullets for him. Which was actually kind of the point.

"C'mere, hey." Dean pushed Sam back and got a hand on his hip. He wasn't letting Sam just throw himself in danger like that. But that was kicker - Sam knew Dean would jump in front of him. Sam had always known that. So therefore, by pointing the gun on himself, he was practically pointing it at Dean. Normally, Sam only pushed his reckless tendencies down for fear that Dean would get the rebuttal. But he was so far gone in his deliriousness, it never even crossed his mind. Which Dean didn't mind, because if Sam was okay with putting Dean in danger, so be it. But what happened if Dean wasn't there next time?

So yeah, Dean was worried. He had a lot to worry about. Especially with how damn sick Sam was. And now that they knew what the third trial was, well what the cryptic godspeak of it was anyways, Dean just added that on top of the pile.

"Cure a demon. Okay, ignoring the fact that I have no idea what that actually means, if we— if we do this, you get better, right? I mean, you stop trying to cough up a lung, and, and, and bumping into furniture?" Sam glanced at him from the passenger seat of the car. It was a straight road ahead for some time, so he let Baby take the wheel and looked Sam over. He didn't look as bad as he did earlier today, which was good. He still didn't look okay though.

"I feel better, yeah, um, just having a direction to move in." Sam didn't sound that convincing on the I feel better part, but Dean knew what he meant. If there was a purpose and a job to be done, it was easier to let all the other crap be pushed aside. That's why it was easier when Dean had Sam to take care of, then he had a purpose and he wasn't plagued by all this other crap.

"Well, good, cause where we're headed doesn't sound like a picnic."

"But we're heading somewhere. The end." Dean nodded vaguely, because Sam definitely had a point there. His eyes glanced back to the road, and --

Dean's foot slammed the brake petal, skidding the car and splaying the headlights all over the figure that was lying in the middle of the road. It took a few seconds to sink in and for the car to jerk to a stop after the car swerve. What in the world...was that Cas?

All of Dean's pissed and brooding and hurt thoughts about the angel just temporarily slipped away as he jumped out of the Impala. God, was that blood all over Cas? He was lying crumpled in the middle of the road after all. Dean wasn't even sure it was him, it was just that same old tingling feeling in his stomach. And the trenchcoat.

"Cas?" Dean said tentatively, taking a step toward the slumped body. If that even was Cas...after all this time? After everything that had happened and with that single word that slipped past Dean's lips it all came back and he was suddenly a little sorry for stopping the car. It wasn't like hitting Cas would kill him. Besides, he was an angel after all and it probably would have made Dean feel a hell of a lot better.

"A little help, here?" croaked out that unmistakable voice. Dean stood frozen for another moment. Then Sam rushed forward and Dean broke out of his spell. Sam was kneeling at Cas's side, unsteady and wobbling threatening to topple over and injure himself up just as bad as Cas if he wasn't careful. Sam's lack of balance was the reason Dean rushed forward. Or so he told himself. It had nothing to so with the fact that he loved the broken and bleeding angel that had appeared in front of his car.

As soon as he reached Cas, Dean got an arm under him and started to lift. Cas groaned and his head rolled to the side. Shit, that was a lot of blood on him. Was that all Cas's? What in the world had he gotten himself into? Where in the world had he been? Dean pushed all his questions aside for the sake of getting Cas into the car. Hell, Dean could barely get him off the ground, let alone into the car. The angel was heavy.

"Dean, let me help." Sam tried to get one of Cas's arms around his shoulders, but Dean could only handle one severely injured man at one time, so he angled Cas's body away from Sam. Which elicited another groan.

"Sam, no. You can't carry that kind of weight."

"Neither can you! Let me help, Dean." Dean heaved Cas up in one swing, getting both arms hooked underneath Cas's.

"You can help by laying a towel down in the backseat." Dean's words were strained under the work of lifting Cas. Sam hesitated, his hands reaching for Cas again. Sam was seriously going to slow him down and this was hard enough as it was. "Sam, go!"

With an annoyed huff and more than one worried glance over his shoulder, Sam finally made his way back to the Impala. Great, now he and Cas were alone again. Dean clearly didn't think that plan through. He leaned to the side and shifted all of Cas's weight and shoulders onto one arm, sliding the other underneath Cas's legs until he reached the back of his knees. With a shove upwards, Dean staggered to his feet with Cas in his arms.

"The hell did you do?" Dean muttered to the bloody rags and skin in the bridal carry of his arms. Cas squinted open an eye, looking up at Dean with a glossy unfocused gaze. Dean took a few steps towards the car, stumbling a bit but thankfully not dropping Cas or falling over. He tossed him up an inch, readjusting Cas in his arms. This was the second time today Dean had to carry a barely conscious extremely heavy man in his arms. Not a good day for Dean's back.

Dear was torn between tossing Cas into the back of the car or tucking him in the blanket with care. He ended up just awkwardly laying him down and kind of slamming the door. Sam was thankfully already in the front seat, looking worriedly at Dean. He'd wiped most of the blood off of his hands on the towel in the back seat, but the front of his shirt had splotches of soaked through red. That was just great.

Dean didn't look back at the worried face from Sam, he just started the engine. Once the sweet sound of his Baby's engine got going again, some of the tense mess left Dean's shoulders. This was going to be a long drive.

The rear view mirror was repositioned to be aimed at Cas, which Dean wasn't sure was who's fault. Maybe Sam had done it or maybe be had, he wasn't really sure. Everything was too hazy right now to figure out little details like that. Either way, it became an addiction to peek up to the left and check on Cas's bloodied form.

Cas's eyes were shut, which was probably a good thing because Dean wasn't sure he could handle seeing that eerie blue staring at him from amongst all the ripped and bloodied red. How had it even come to this? Dean was heartbroken all over again and Cas had barely even opened his mouth. Just the fact that he showed up like this, after ditching Dean, only to come back because he needed help. Then again, in the half year after Sam had gotten his soul back, that's exactly what Dean and Sam did to Cas. Only called when they needed help. And that horrible episode had ended with Cas sucking in souls from Purgatory. Good times.

"Hey Dean?" Sam's voice was hushed, but it still felt like he was shouting in contrast to the deafening silence in the car.

"Yeah?" Dean responded gruffly.

"Do you want me to drive?" Dean turned his head towards Sam, his eyes saying the same you're crazy he was thinking. Sam just tilted his head towards the steering wheel, his face perfectly serious. "Your hands are shaking."

Dean looked down at the leather circle under his palms, seeing that in fact his hands were shaking. He glared at them and focused solely on stilling them, but the rapid twitching refused to stop. He sighed and turned his eyes back up to the road.

"Yeah, well earlier today your entire body was shaking." No matter how bad of a shape Dean was in, Sam was in worse.

"That was because of how close I was to Metatron, Dean. Remember that whole resonating thing? I'm feeling better than that. I'm fine."

"Sam, you're fine once you've had more than a day with three hearty meals and walking in a straight line under your belt. Once you eat and rest and stop choking up blood, then we can talk about you carrying half dead angels and driving the car."

Sam huffed out an annoyed sound and turned his face back to the window. Even if he wasn't going to admit it, they both knew Dean was right. The heartbreaker in the back seat wasn't as severe as getting over these trials. Because Dean could always pretend Cas didn't exist. That's what he'd learned to do to keep the wrenching pain out of his chest. And there was no reason for it to stop now.

 

As soon as Cas was settled, sleeping and healing in the guest room down the hall from Dean's room, Dean practically bolted to the bathroom, sliding the lock shut behind him. His hands found the edge of the porcelain sink and gripped it tight, his head hanging and eyes squeezed shut. Why did these things happen to him? He opened his mouth and took in a forcefully deep breath, filling up his lungs with oxygen that tasted stale the moment it hit his tongue.

His fingers let go of the white knuckled grip on the sink and fumbled for the water faucet knobs, sending a steady stream of cool, clearing thoughts into the basin. Dean cupped his hands and splashed the water on his face, the droplets bringing some part of him back to calm. Well, calm enough. A few more splashes later, Dean dared to look up and meet his reflection in the mirror.

The last time he'd been with Cas, his face had been swollen and bloody and so broken Dean could only remember one time it was worse. Cas may have taken away the physical damage and pain at the time, but the memory of what it felt like was still there. His fingers ghosted over his face, over the skin that had been quite unlucky in its time. But, despite how much it had sucked at the time, Dean getting pounded to a pulp managed to make Castiel snap out of his control bubble and get back to some form of sanity.

Funny how that worked. Dean, after getting his face pulverized, somehow managed to break through the walls of controlling bastards. Apparently, bloody and beatup Dean was enough motivation to overcome even the worst. The other time it had happened was the day Sam jumped in the pit. He'd been looking at Dean, all beatup and gross and swollen, and Sam had managed to use that and the toy soldiers in the Impala to overcome the possession of arguable the most powerful creature to ever exist. Sure, Cas was an angel and therefore stronger, and he was only being controlled by some other angel named Naomi, but he still overcame something stronger than himself. Not Lucifer strong, but Dean still made him break through.

Sam had told Dean about it when he'd gotten his soul back, a year and a half later. He told him about what he saw, about how how love for Dean just overtook everything evil inside him and he was able to battle Lucifer for control. Dean had teared up when Sam told him that, and they'd spent the rest of the day holding each other.

The only thing was, Dean didn't know why Cas had overcome Naomi. It couldn't be the same reason as Sam, because Cas didn't love him like that. Cas had made that very clear. Even not counting the thousand and one times Cas had trampled over Dean and left him and broke him, he'd never come close to even saying anything like that. Well, once when he was Godstiel he said something about it, but that didn't count. Neither did all the things the other angels said, all the "the one in the dirty trenchcoat who's in love with you" crap. Dean didn't trust angels because they were just as manipulative as demons. They just said stuff like that to mess with Dean because someone somewhere found out how Dean secretly felt about Cas.

Well, not so secretly anymore. Dean had outed himself entirely to the angel, with his stupid unplanned "I need you" plea. And Cas had made it very clear he didn't feel the same way when he left Dean, saying he didn't even trust him with a goddamned rock. It hurt. A lot. So yeah, Dean had every right to be falling apart in the bathroom right now.

If this shit with Cas wasn't bad enough, Sam was a mess. They were a mess. Dean had no idea what was causing the growing space between them but it was killing him. Hell, Dean had probably been in here for fifteen minutes, trying to breathe, splashing water on his face, staring at himself and thinking. Not exactly normal behavior. But guess who hadn't come looking for him? There was no light knock on the door, no "baby talk to me" Dean used to get from Sam.

But he wasn't gonna cry about that either. He wasn't gonna cry about any of it. With a final splash of water, Dean unlocked the door and made his way in the dark back to his bedroom. He was going to try to sleep and forget about everything. Especially that Sam almost died today and that Cas was almost dead and just a hallway over. It was too much.

"You ok?" Sam's worry voice finally piped up as Dean crawled under the sheets on the far side of the bed. Well, 20 minutes late in asking. Dean was surprised it came at all. Maybe Sam really was feeling better. Or maybe Dean was just being cynical about everything now that Cas was here again.

"Sam, not tonight. We can talk in the morning, let's just get some sleep, yeah?" Dean pulled the sheets up over his shoulders and rolled onto his stomach, his face turned towards Sam. Sam turned from where he was laying on his back, looking at Dean in the dark for a few moments.

"Yeah okay. G'night." Sam rolled over too, on his stomach and facing the same direction Dean was. They weren't looking at each other, not even touching. Maybe Sam wanted it that way, but with everything Dean couldn't do that right now. Not when Sammy was still sick and Dean felt like everything was hanging on the edge of a steep precipitous fall.

Despite how badly he wanted to curl into Sam's side, Dean kept his torso and legs where they were, his arm cautiously reaching for Sam. Slipping under the sheets above Sam, Dean's fingers gently pushed up the bottom hem of Sam's tshirt and slipped his arm against Sam's skin. Sam made a quiet sound, but he didn't move away from Dean as he slid his hand up to Sam's shoulderblades.

Half tucked under Sam's shirt, Dean's arm lay like a hot brand against the skin over Sam's spine. It was warm and possessive, even if it was the only part of them touching. It wasn't much, just Dean's hand splayed across Sam's scapula and his elbow digging lightly into Sam's lower back. For now, it was enough. Dean might not sleep tonight, but at least he had Sam right here. And when Sam was under his palm, Dean could breathe. Everything else, he could deal with in the morning.


	11. Costals (The Clip Show 08x22)

The jolt of waking up from hitting the ground while falling in a dream was never a pleasant feeling. When topped off with skin that felt like it had been consumed in flames, pounding in his head to rival a blacksmith shop, and lungs that felt like they had had the air vacuum sucked out of them and left to shrivel like raisins, Sam woke up in a lot of pain. Not to mention the nightmare he'd just woken up from.

His eyes opened with a gasp, and every muscle in his body felt like it tensed up all at once. For a few brief seconds, Sam lie gasping, staring at the darkness of the room folded around him. He was empty, save for the images consuming his brain, the horrible smell from the dream that still lingered in his nose.

Then the emptiness was suddenly banished, the hot brand on his back gone and then suddenly wrapping around his waist, rolling him onto his back. Sam was still gasping, so he was in no position to protest the forced roll. The arm rolling him pulled his further hip too, sending him onto his other side, the curve of his ribs and shoulder now laying against the bed. As soon as Sam was turned facing away from the door, the hot skin returned to its position tucked under Sam's shirt and laying heavily against the skin on his spine. It happened so quickly that Sam's body just moved like a rag doll, save for the shaking and tense muscles and open mouth sucking in oxygen and clenched fists.

"Shhh, Sammy, you're okay. I'm right here, baby boy. Shh sh." The arm on his back stroked in time with the words, heavy weight rubbing over his muscles and making them involuntarily relax. Sam shuddered and let his brain turn off, reaching his hands blindly for Dean.

His fingers crashed into Dean's ribs, but he didn't so much as flinch as Sam's hands curled fists into Dean's tshirt. The arm on his back was suddenly a rope pulling them closer to each other, Sam's heaving lungs now nearly brushing Dean's chest as he tried to remember how to breathe without his entire body shaking with the effort.

Lips sealed over his own and clear oxygen pushed into his mouth, the air sucked in greedily by Sam's throat. The lips disappeared for a moment and returned with more air, the mouth fitting sideways over his to seal any space between them. The air didn't really push into his mouth like CPR, more like slipped and danced its way into his throat in long, twirling tendrils, reminding his lungs how to fill his body with the oxygen his cells needed.

The soft trickles of blowing air repeated a few more times, Dean reviving him and forcing the gasping to turn to breathing as Dean put his own oxygen down Sam's throat. Dean breathed with him until Sam wasn't gasping anymore. Dean made sure Sam could breath on his before the lips covering Sam's finally closed and slid over his. Sam let his body respond to the kiss, automatically moving his mouth slowly against Dean's. Even the kiss felt brief, because before Sam could even register entirely what had happened and what was happening, there was just cool air against his mouth again. And not the smoky oxygen fed to him from Dean's lungs, but the natural and light air that belonged to Dean's bedroom.

Sam experimentally sucked in some of the fresh air, and the pounding blacksmiths in his head quieted their hammers, letting the spinning behind his eyes slowed to a stop. Sam's vision cleared and the darkness was far from empty. Instead, there was a warmth embracing him, dark eyes locked on his own that still reflected light in the dark room. Sam could see the beautiful curved line that traced Dean's body for an outline, a three-dimensional silhouette in the blackness.

"You okay?" came a whisper, the shortened space between them making the air in front of Dean's mouth ripple a reverberation until the air brushed Sam's cheek. Sam let his eyes fall shut, taking inventory of his body. Now that the head rush was fading, Sam had control over his tensed muscles again and focused on relaxing what ones Dean's touch hadn't already soothed.

His hands released the tshirt inprisoned in his fists, arms curling onto the two inches of bedspread between them. As soon as the only part of him connected to Dean was the solitary an on his back again, Sam opened up his eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down his hairline and Sam could smell the salt in it, the human in it. The flesh, burning.

Sam bit back a cry, his mouth falling open to speak instead. Anything to get his mind off that smell and the others that stayed reminiscent from his nightmare.

"Nightmare," his vocal chords grated, everything feeling more surreal with the admittance of the word.

"You wanna talk about it?" Dean's voice was low and gentle, like talking down a wild animal that could trample you any second. Then the hot muscle on his back stroked comfortingly again, spreading heat all over Sam's back. Heat, burning, fire.

Sam threw his shoulders and hips back, wrenching free from Dean's hold and flopping onto his back against the cool sheets. Dean's arm retracted quickly, leaving Sam's body untethered and empty again. Sam opened his eyes back up, not really sure when they'd slammed shut.

There was an energy buzzing off Dean's body, worry and hesitation and fear. His desire to touch Sam was a palpable thing in the air that washed over Sam in waves. He breathed in a few more breaths that still felt manual and awkward, but the clean air in his head sorted everything out.

"Fire," Sam said quietly to the ceiling. Dean's shoulders tensed, Sam could feel the subtle vibration in the sheet below them. Sam knew there wasn't a lot of things that got to them both, but nightmares about either each other's death or that dreaded word - fire - were always the worst.

"Hell?" Dean asked in his low scruffy voice. Sam could feel the green eyes watching him, but Sam still just stared at the ceiling.

"No." Sam waited a beat, but Dean didn't ask question #2 yet (Jess? which hadn't happened in a long time). Maybe Dean could sense that this time was different. Maybe Dean just knew already and he wanted to hear Sam say it. Maybe Dean didn't really care, maybe he was going through the motions. Maybe Sam was crazy and overthought everything anyways. "You know how I keep remembering things from when I was younger and younger?"

Dean nodded into the darkness, his hot skin still sizzling Sam from the six inches away. Dean understood that with some nightmares, touching was worse. He knew because he had nightmares sometimes too. Sam never had them more than once or twice a year, but the trials were messing with everything in his head, awake or asleep.

"I had a nightmare I was laying in a crib and looking up at something bright and yellow and tasting the worst thing in the world. Then there was fire. So much fire, Dean." Sam choked on the last sentence, his words cracking as a sob made its way into his throat. A hand reached for him but stopped half an inch before touching, drawing back reluctantly.

"Oh Sammy." Dean's voice sounded broken, like he was going to cry too. Sixty long seconds dragged out between them, both of them laying in their silent, respective spaces. Sam spent most of the minute of silence blinking away moisture from his eyelashes. When Dean spoke again, his voice was collected and gently convincing. "You were only six months old, you know your brain can't physically store that memory Sammy."

Sam stared at the ceiling, watched the foggy flames of his reminiscent dream lick it up in rolling waves of unnatural light.

"Yeah, I know. I-I think it was my imagination piecing with stories I've heard about that night and with Jessica's death." Saying that out loud didn't make any of it easier. There was still the image of his mother burning on the ceiling branded there in his head. He could smell the sulfur from the fire and Azazel, taste the blood in his mouth. Which he could still taste now, although he knew that was just his own blood, not a demon's.

But between the coughing up blood and the fever, the dream about fire and demon blood was only made more real. Maybe the heat in here fueled half the dream, Sam's sickness fueling the rest. Or maybe it was inevitable in coming. Either way, it had come and it had conquered and now it was over. It should be over.

Maybe Sam should have elaborated, given Dean some sort of comfort that Sam was okay, but he really just wanted to get back to sleep, to pretend that nightmare had never happened. Besides, Dean was probably going to want more from Sam than just an okay. Dean always wanted and Sam wasn't sure he had it in him to be good enough.

Instead he just squeezed his eyes shut and urged himself back to sleep. About ten seconds passed before the smell hit him again, burning flesh and sulfur, followed instantly by screams and a leap of fire behind his closed eyes. Sam gasped and opened his eyes again. Okay, apparently he wasn't going to go back to sleep.

"Is it still there?" Dean's quiet voice asked again. Sam could feel the burn of the green eyes on him, a brighter burn than the fire behind his eyelids. Apparently Sam only got to pick escaping one of the fires that plagued him tonight. Dean, or the nightmare of his mother's death.

He closed his eyes again.

He got about a minute in of the nightmare before he couldn't take it anymore and he jolted himself awake again. Fine. Sam turned his head a bit to the side, finally able to see Dean. Dean was curled up on his side, a few inches away from Sam and watching with worry lines creasing his forehead. His hands had the sheets gripped tightly against his chest, like he needed them to keep his sanity in tact. Or maybe to not touch Sam. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, Dean nearly trembling with the effort to be patient. Finally Sam sighed and turned back up to the ceiling again.

"Yeah, it's still there."

"Do you - do you want me to take your mind off it?" Dean sounded hesitant, like he was afraid of offending Sam. Or maybe afraid of rejection. Sam snorted softly, rolling his head in the pillow to face Dean again.

"I don't think it's that easy, Dean." Dean looked down at the sheet still clutched in his fists.

"We could try. I mean, if you don't want to, it's fine, I just. I just want to help."

At this point, Sam was pretty sure the only thing that would fix everything wrong with him was the gun on Dean's nightstand. But Sam didn't think that way anymore. So he just sighed, looking at Dean with complacent eyes. Dean untucked one of his arms from the sheet, reaching up and cupping around the back of Sam's neck. Then Dean's lips were on his and it was just as hot as the fire, hotter maybe. Sam had been cold, deathly deathly cold, but this wasn't warm like he'd been craving. It just burned instead.

Sam turned his head, disconnecting their lips in an ungraceful smear. Dean's mouth kissed down his cheek, hot wet moisture pressed over his jaw and down his neck. Sam turned his head to the side, weakly grabbing on to Dean's arm.

"Dean-" Sam started.

"Just let me. Just let me help you." Dean whispered in between kisses on Sam's skin. It was just as well Dean interrupted him because Sam didn't know what he would've said next anyways.

He let his hand fall back to the side, closing his eyes and focusing in on the little shivers running down his spine. This would help Dean more than it would help Sam, but Sam could make that sacrifice. Dean had been rendered useless in the trials, and then rendered useless in helping Sam fight his sickness. Which was much worse for him. If Dean needed half an hour of feeling like he was worthy and helping, Sam could give it to him. Even if it meant adding another layer of guilt and disappointing Dean to the accumulating pile.

Dean kissed down his sternum, little pecks on the fabric of Sam's tshirt. Sam's body lifted a bit into Dean's touch, his shoulders rolling back and making his chest rise. Flames suddenly begin to lick in the corners of his shut eyes, and Sam wearily pried them open again. Dean's fingers tugged down Sam's boxers, shimmying them all the way off Sam's feet. The room was dark and Sam liked it that way.

Sam's lips parted and he breathed out with a quiet noise as Dean slid a spit-slicked finger into Sam's ass the same time he took the half the length of Sam's mostly hard cock into his mouth. Sam's fingers found Dean's still-gelled spikes in his hair, weaving in between gelled pieces that hadn't gotten washed out tonight since neither of them had showered yet. Sometimes they just fell asleep as is and dealt with showering in the morning.

He tilted his head back a little and just focused on breathing. His lungs felt directly corresponded to Dean's fingers and tongue, but Dean was slow enough Sam still managed to get in a thin stream of oxygen. One of Dean's hands slid up under Sam's shirt and ran over his torso, tracing Sam's ribs with fingers that felt like they were dripping disappointment.

The fingers were insistent and Sam wanted to bat them away, to tell Dean "I'm fine," even though Dean hadn't asked. But his fingers did. The way they traced over every rib was more distracting than the way Dean bobbed Sam's dick in his mouth and crooked his fingers inside him. It was like they were mocking him, scolding him. Dean always complained that Sam didn't eat enough. And that was when Sam wasn't sick.

But now Dean was worried sick about Sam's calorie intake and Sam didn't need to add stress to that by showing Dean just how much his body had sunken into itself. His ribs were all clear and visible lately, so he'd kept his undressing in front of Dean to a minimum. But that didn't matter now, because Dean and his curious fingers had found the state of weakness Sam was in and his fingers were obsessed with it.

Even when Dean moved back up Sam's body to kiss his cheeks and forehead, his hands just rucked up Sam's shirt so he could press his palms over Sam's rib cage. Dean wasn't applying any pressure, but Sam could feel his bones crushing and caving into his spleen. It was silent and uncharted for everything but Sam's brain, who felt the imaginary pain like Dean had placed an anvil on his costals.

"I'm gonna take care of you," Dean whispered into Sam's ear, his voice catching between care and of as he pushed the head of his cock inside Sam's entrance. A pitiful moan left Sam's lips and Dean rose up on his elbows over Sam's body, his head hanging limply between his shoulders as he canted his hips backwards to get the momentum to fill Sam again.

As Dean rocked into him, Sam tilted his head back to let the pillow support his neck. Dean wasn't pushing hard enough to scoot Sam towards the headboard, which was definitely good. He sure as hell didn't go easy on the depth though, he thrust in hilt deep every time. It was distracting, Sam would admit to that. The lower half of his body felt vaguely warm, something actually inside him besides blood and ice. Dean was solid, the drag of his cock against Sam's inner muscles invoking sparks of warmth from the friction between their bodies.

The pounding rhythm of the headache in Sam's brain was forced into submission and replaced with the new rhythm Dean was setting inside him. The rush of blood in his ears was quiet enough that Sam could hear a few of Dean's breathy moans. The frozen skin on Sam's face thawed at the stroke of Dean's palm. Dean's hands never really stilled, always running over Sam's cheeks or neck, dancing down his chest and sides, sliding over his ribs. Back up to Sam's face, tilting it so Dean could kiss him sloppily through his pumping hips.

When Dean's tongue just barely dipped into his mouth, Sam's eyes slid shut. He didn't know if Dean could taste blood right now, Sam's mouth tasted like blood and ashes all the time now so Sam never knew when it was real or imagined. Either way, Dean didn't so much as falter a fraction as he ran the tip of his tongue over the inside of Sam's bottom lip.

In the darkness of the reprieve of his eyelids, Sam's body focused on the places he and Dean were connected. Their lower halves, repeatedly sinking in to reach each other. The skin on his face and Dean's hands, spreading warmth through him like a disease Sam could get addicted to. Their mouths, firm and tight and wet and hot as Dean kissed him and kissed him. It wasn't enough though. Sam's body felt like it was getting dragged or lifted out of the pit he'd been in, a bit of sunshine showing on the top of the cliff he was dying to climb. But Sam couldn't do it alone, he needed Dean.

The arms Sam had relaxed at his sides rose up, which was a bit of effort, and wrapped over Dean's shoulders. It was an embrace more than anything, but Dean tilted his hips and pushed in Sam a little faster. Sam held on with what little strength he had, his only bit of participation in tonight.

Sam wasn't even bothering to return the kisses, because that was a lot of work and Sam's brain was already on overload from letting Dean do this. But Dean kissed passionately enough to compensate for both of them.

Dean's back arched and danced as he shifted his hips back and forth, in and out. He'd been hitting a sensitive spot in Sam this entire time, but Dean's movements started fading out of precision and into sloppy passion as he neared his bliss, draggingd the barely conscious Sam with him by the hand. Sam let himself be dragged, let Dean touch and excite his body, even if his head still hurt from everything inside him. If Dean honestly thought a little pleasure on Sam's body would make him feel okay, Sam wasn't going to rain on that parade. It wasn't that Sam didn't love Dean, because he did, and his body did too. It was just that everything that was happening to him was drawing emotions out of him Sam hadn't felt for a while.

Behind the big brick wall Sam had built between himself and all the pain of his past was a plethora of things Sam used to feel. And now someone was tossing bodies like the Black Plague over the wall, infecting Sam with battles he'd fought long ago. There was guilt, the shred of disappointment in Dean's eyes. The helplessness, feeling weak and vaguely useless. The condescending feeling, like he was just a kid brother who Dean had to coddle and bundle up in blankets.

Then there were the even fresher emotions, the ones that were new and specific and nearly just as haunting. The sun despised him and daylight came to be like the vampire's curse to him. Everything was too bright under the false promise of warmth from the sun. There was the trapped feeling, and that one was one of the worst. It was like the concrete walls of the bunker shrunk in a couple feet closer together the longer Sam stayed in a room. The oxygen was slowly depleted from everywhere, making it harder and harder to breathe as each room turned into a fatal cage. A cage Sam felt like he would do anything to escape from.

Dean couldn't know any of it. He was worried sick, literally, about Sam's physical health enough already. Darkened bags had begun to shadow underneath Dean's eyes, his brow constantly creased with worry lines and stress. Sam couldn't dump all his crazy on top of Dean too. Not when Dean tried so hard to take care of him. The sweat sheen on Dean's hairline right now was just another testament to that.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, shuddering a little and pressing a kiss to Sam's neck. Sam could feel the same edge Dean was on, both of their bodies reaching a maximum point. Sam's brain never stopped thinking and overthinking while Dean was inside him, which was an entirely new concept. Normally all thoughts blacked out, got too fuzzy to care about as Sam just zoned in on the sensations richeting through his body. But with the trials making everything backwards, Sam's recently foggy and disoriented head suddenly cleared during sex. And his body sure as hell reacted beautifully.

Sam's eyes were closed, and somehow, there wasn't fire taunting at the edges of his vision. There was no sharp smell of sulfur and death and flesh, only the familiar musky scent of Dean and sex. It looked like Dean had been right. Or right enough. The distraction made the memory of his nightmare just a memory. Sam reveled in the darkness behind his eyelids, in the nightmare-free black that he could sink into with Dean and never have to crawl away from again.

The man above him let out a cry, his hips stuttering as Dean filled Sam with warmth, actual warmth for once. Sam's body followed quickly after Dean, and even Sam's thoughts slipped away as his orgasm hit, Dean's name leaving his tongue as his brother suddenly became the only thing in the world. It was just the two of them, moaning each other's names and gripping each other tight.

The only problem was, it wasn't actually just the two of them in the bunker anymore. Sure, the walls were thick and tended to be a little sound-proofed, but that was no match for celestial hearing.

Cas had not had a good day. Or week. Or month. Or past couple of years. And now he was sitting through the torture of having to listen to the man he was in love with having sex with another man. Cas had accidentally come in to rooms while they were kissing before, once or twice even rolling around in a bed with clothes on, clearly a precursor for what they were about to do. And Cas knew they slept together, even knew the first time they fortified that bond. And they'd kissed long before Cas ever even met Dean. But none of that stopped him from being jealous.

He was laying in a guest bed down the hall from the noisy room, staring miserably at the ceiling. The skin on his stomach was healing annoyingly slow, barely even stitching together to stop the blood. It still hurt to move, but Cas just grimaced and lifted his arms delicately and slowly anyways. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Cas closed his hands over the open ear canals on the sides of his head in an attempt to shut out the noise.

Unfortunately a half inch of human flesh made absolutely no effect on angel hearing abilities.

The whispered "Sammy" in Dean's spent and shaky voice came through just as clear as ever. Cas sighed and lowered his hands back to his sides with a brief hiss of pain. Cas knew how to turn on and off his celestial vision, and the wavelength that angels communicated on, but he'd never attempted or needed to learn how to turn off his celestial hearing. If he wasn't so injured, he'd try harder, but he wasn't sure how much of his energy it would take. And Cas wasn't really willing to risk permanent damage just because he was miserable and jealous.

When the two men orgasmed, the cry from Dean was loud enough Cas probably would have still heard it faintly even if he couldn't hear everything that was happening on this floor right now. The moans and names falling out of their mouths painted a vivid picture of everything they both were feeling and Cas lifted the sheets over his head, burying his face in the pillow. He had to lift the pillow and bunch it over his face because he couldn't lie on his stomach when it was still ripped open. He searched for other noises, finding the ticking of a few clocks and zoning in on them. Click, click. Repetitive click, click. Anything but the pleased sounds from the other room. Click click.

Eventually they fell to silence, or at least to heavy breathing. There was a soft deflation sound as Dean probably fell back onto the mattress. Another few minutes of quiet, breathing slowing out and steadying. Cas let the clock's ticking fall back to normal volume, sighing with relief that that was over.

"Sam? You okay?" Dean's voice penetrated both of their silences. Cas lifted the pillow off of his face and returned it to its rightful post underneath his head. Then he tugged the sheet back down to underneath his arms. He wasn't sure how or why humans found such comfort in the little piece of cloth. The fabric was so thin a mosquito could probably bite through it. It served Cas no real comfort, and in fact felt quite pointless. He kept it tucked under his arms anyways.

"Mmm. Fine," Sam replied groggily. His voice had that underlying tone that made it quite clear that that statement was at least partially untrue. "Fire's gone."

There was a slightly squishy sound Cas he'd come to recognize as a type of kiss. Probably Dean kissing Sam somewhere. Cas made the clock a little louder again, wincing with the effort. Click, click.

"You let me know if there's anything else I can do, Sam. Okay?" Click click. A shorter kiss sound.

"Mmm." Click click. Sam sounded super tired. Cas could already hear his heartbeat and lungs settling into a calmer rhythm as his body relaxed into the temporary catatonic state. Click click.

There was the soft sound of bodies shifting on a mattress accompanied by the quiet slide of skin on skin. Both bodies stilled, Dean's heartbeat beginning to slow down and steady out like Sam's.

Cas let go of the clock sound again with a gasp and a tentative hand touching the side of the slash in his stomach, his fingers pulling away with a few drops of fresh blood. Like he'd ripped imaginary stitches in one spot. And of course, a slightly pounding sound commenced in Cas's head. Probably from over exertion of certain simple angel abilities while he was so weak. However, it took less out of him to focus in on a certain sound like the clocks and raise its volume than it took to entirely shut off celestial hearing altogether. Which Cas didn't really know how to do but what definitely learning as soon as he got his strength up.

The two heartbeats from the other room fell into the rhythm they always did, beating (nearly impossibly) in unison and sync with each other. It sounded like one heartbeat, except maybe just a little louder, and Cas would be worried one of the had died if it wasn't for the increased volume of the heartbeat and if Death wasn't so obviously recognizable.

Cas eventually fell into an attempted but fitful catatonic state of his own, closing his eyes and letting his body repair without having to worry about anything else. The sounds of heartbeats and breathing and click click lulled Cas's conscious to take a break, and he was more grateful of it than ever.

At least he'd made it through a night of that. After that torture, how much worse could this get?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean handed Sam the file and Sam grimaced at the stack of papers in his hand. It would take him hours to read this normally, let alone with the way he read with the trials sickness. All the blurry words meant taking breaks every half hour or else he got a splitting headache that not even aspirin or Dean could get to go away.

Like the one that suddenly decided to spark behind his eyes right now. Sam gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, his hands instantly flying to his face to settle the sharp pain. God, that freaking sucked. Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him, the way he was looking with that same cautious hesitancy that he'd been wearing on his face for a while now. Sam gave it about five seconds before Dean asked him if he was okay. Five, four, three--

"How you feeling?" Okay, so Sam was off by two seconds. Close enough. But the look on Dean's face, it was almost like he felt guilty. Or was afraid to ask.

"Honestly, um... My, uh, my whole body hurts." There it was again, the flash of disappointment across Dean's face. He shifted his weight, looking guilty and uncomfortable. Like Dean was to blame for Sam's body hurting. Or maybe that he was disappointed in Sam for not getting better yet. Which meant Dean was thinking about last night. Sure, Sam was a little sore and weary, more than usual, but it wasn't that bad. And maybe it was Sam's fault for not getting better. At least, Sam was pretty sure Dean wasn't the reason he was so achy. Sam looked away quickly from the look on Dean's face, the way he reacted so much stronger to "my body hurts" than everything else Sam said. Sam continued anyways. "I feel nauseous and like I'm starving at the same time, and everything smells like rotting meat."

"I've had that hangover." Sam furrowed his brow and looked up at Dean. When the hell had that been? Sam was pretty sure he'd remember if Dean had ever been that sick. Dean saw the question on Sam's face, keeping himself carefully nonchalant as he answered. "Jaeger, man."

Oh. So it had been in either the year Sam's soul was in hell, or when Sam was at Stanford. Based on the shifty eyes from Dean, Sam would bet that was a Stanford-Era hangover. It made Sam sick to his stomach just thinking that Dean had ever been in pain that even compared to this, or at least to the description Sam just gave him. To imagine Dean aching and hurting and feverish, but worst of all, alone through it all. Because Sam had let him down and abandoned him with Dad. If Sam had only been there...who knows what other kinds of hell Dean went through during those four years. They never talked about them. But every ounce of pain, every tear shed was all Sam's fault. Dean was still talking though, so Sam tuned back in.

"Maybe you should, uh, take a break, get some air."

"Dean, the only thing that's gonna make me feel better is finishing this." Sam looked back up, expecting a bit of protest. Dean was standing with his arms crossed, all traces of humor gone from his features.

"All right." He agreed. Well that was unexpected. He said it so resignedly, like he'd do whatever Sam said right now. Like that was supposed to make Sam feel any better. It was like Sam had guilt tripped him with the "my whole body hurts" thing. Dean looked sincerely upset about that still. "Well, I'll go get you some grub, keep your strength up."

Yeah, because Sam's strength was up enough to want to keep that way. Right. But maybe if he could choke down something he wouldn't feel so shitty. Honestly, he'd gotten a bit of sleep. Well, after the nightmare and Dean's unconventional methods of saving him from it. It had tired him out though, and gotten rid of the fire images and the smell. Anr Sam had gotten in a couple of hours. So maybe his body could take food.

Dean started toward the kitchen, boots clacking on the floor, when suddenly the pattern hesitated for a fraction of a second. Sam looked up just in time to see Dean avert his path due to the angel standing in the doorway with a chipper "Good morning" that got flattened the second Dean spun on his heel and promptly ignored him. Oh yeah, Cas was here. Shit, Sam had nearly forgot. He was surprised Dean wasn't being more of a mess about it. Although Sam would feel better if Dean was yelling and drinking and throwing things because then at least everyone knew where they stood. But when Dean did his silent, ignoring thing, it was bound to either blow up or eat away at Dean's soul until it killed him. Either way was definitely not good.

They both followed Dean with their eyes until he was out of sight, leaving the two of them alone. Cas stood awkwardly in the doorway for another moment or two, looking basically shattered. Then he finally spoke up, attempting at a half assed smile they both knew was fake. If anyone understood Cas right now, it was Sam.

"I like this bunker. It's orderly." Cas stepped down into the room, pulling out a chair for himself. Sam looked around the space he still hadn't quite come accustomed to. He probably never would, honestly. It was orderly when they found it, and not too bad right now. But it probably wouldn't stay that way.

"Oh, give us a few months. Dean wants to get a ping-pong table." Saying it out loud like that sounded weird, with the "us" followed by the couple sentence. It was the structure of every apple pie couples barbecue conversation. We love what you've done with the place! See, Jimmy here just can't wait to put in a pool...

Cas didn't catch the awkwardness that statement turned out to be though, since he didn't catch many references anyways. Let alone accidental married-couple references. Not saying Sam was entirely opposed to a ping-pong table, but still.

"I've heard of that. It's a game, right?" Thankfully the awkward small talk had a chance to dissipate as Cas clutched his stomach and groaned. The sooner they got off the coupley stuff the better this conversation would go for everyone. Besides, Cas did not look good. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink. Well, he probably hadn't, with his celestial hearing making him absorb all the new sounds around him. Wait, did that mean Cas had heard...oh god, Sam hoped not.

"Are you okay?"

"My wound isn't healing as quickly as I'd hoped. But I am getting better." Cas sat down in the pulled out chair with a bit of effort. Sam nodded his head in acknowledgement. At least Cas was healing. Sam wasn't sure he could say the same for Dean. He was still so broken from the last time Cas ditched. But before Sam's mind could expand upon that thought, Cas nailed him with his eyes and dead serious tone. "And you're getting worse.'

"Well, two trials down, one to go." Cas looked at him for a moment with eyes that said he definitely noticed Sam dodging a straight answer for that question. But he went along with the topic change anyways.

"And the final test, do you -- you know what it is?"

"I have to cure a Demon."

"Of what?" Sam snorted. He didn't even know where to begin.

"That's what we're trying to figure out." Then the telltale boots were returning and Sam's attention got immediately distracted. Cas's too, he was sure.

"Soup's on. There we go." Dean swept over to Sam's side and laid down the tray. The quite pitiful tray, actually. Then he lifted the beer up to his lips.

"I think this is, uh..." Dean wrapped that mouth over the end of the beer and sipped it. "Oh, it's still good."

Dean gave Sam a brotherly smack on the back, which actually kind of made his whole body shake. Well normal brothers did not share the same beer bottle, thank you. Just because they shared saliva on a regular basis did not mean Dean had any right to drink from Sam's beer. Besides, it wasn't like there was much here for Sam if Dean wasn't taking things.

"A half-drunk beer, jerky, and three peanut-butter cups?'

"Yeah, we're -- we're running a little low." Sam just looked up at him, giving Dean a face that Dean read very easily. Sam could probably convince Dean of anything in the world with a single look. He didn't even so much as pretend to protest. "I'll make a run."

Sam turned back down to the files in front of him, scooting cdthem to the side to make room. Then there was a chair scooting back as Cas stood up to speak.

"Dean, I can go with you." Sam looked up at the words, and the unhesitating footsteps away that followed. Dean didn't even pause. Then he was shrugging on his jacket and Cas was looking at him like a kicked dog. Sam almost felt sorry for the angel. Well, just a little bit of sympathy. "Dean. I'm sorry."

Okay, empathy. How many times had Sam let Dean down? How many apologies had he said that had been promptly ignored? How many things did Sam do that Dean hadn't forgiven? Sam looked at Cas, at the broken expression, and he saw a little bit of himself. For the first time, in more ways than just being in love with the same man. But Dean just fixed Cas with a cold unforgiving glare.

"For what?"

Cas shook his head, speechless for a moment. Like he'd never be able to encompass the depth of his sorrow in words. So he said the closest thing he could. "For everything."

Sam knew the second Cas said it that it was the wrong thing to say. Dean didn't so well with "everything," because he hated vagueness and people refusing to say specific wrongs. Sam knew from a lot of first hand experience.

"Everything?" Dean said sharply. Sam looked down at his files again, not seeing them anymore but unable to stare at that too familiar look on Dean's face. It was bringing up too many memories of fights. Fights like this one, where neither of them said I love you or any real reasons why they were hurt. Sam still heard every word Dean said though.

" Like, uh... Like ignoring us?" Sam looked up again on the word "us." It wasn't them that Cas had ignored. It was Dean. If Dean didn't want to admit that out loud, fine. But Sam was pretty clear with the look on his face that he had nothing to do with this. This was Cas and Dean's problem. They could work it out. But from the sound of it, Dean didn't want too. Or, knowing him, he wanted to so badly he was afraid to. Therefore backfiring and making him want to stay mad at Castiel. Because if Dean let Cas back in again...Sam wasn't sure if Dean would make it through next time. Hell, Sam wasn't sure Dean was making it through this time.

"Yes."

"Or like bolting off with the Angel Tablet, then losing it 'cause you didn't trust me? You didn't trust me." At least Dean finally admitted this was about him. Although the way he said the last sentence was curious, like the me was so emphasized that he knew exactly what he meant to Cas. Every time Sam had ever mentioned it, anyone had ever mentioned it, Dean had scoffed at the idea of Cas being in love with him. It was clear as day to Sam and the rest of the planet but Dean refused to accept it. Which was just as well.

"Yes." Sam looked over at Cas. Yes, it was written there clear as day. Cas was so in love with Dean just the angry words were ripping him to shreds. He looked as fragile as Sam felt. Dean was merciless though. Either because he was still refusing to recognize that Cas was in love with him, or because he didn't care. Dean knew Cas liked him, sure. They'd kissed after all. More than once. But Dean still insisted it wasn't love that Cas felt.

"Yeah. Nah, that's not gonna cut it. Not this time. So you can take your little apology and you cram it up your ass." Oh wow that was harsh. Cas took a moment to reply, his face melting like butter in a Texas sun.

"Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Yeah, you always do."

Sam had to look up at that. The tone of voice Dean let himself have...it was like he almost didn't care if Cas knew how much he'd broken him. Cas was staring at Dean like Dean was the sun and Cas was a little planet that Dean had deemed about as worthy as Pluto, then flicked off into another galaxy. And Dean was staring at Cas like Cas was the antichrist in a flower crown and everything he'd never wanted to fall in love with but had anyways.

Then the staring didn't stop. They just stared at each other. With heart eyes. Extreme fucking hearteyes. That were severed in half down the middle of each. It was intense, even for Sam. He felt himself growing achingly uncomfortable. It was like suddenly he was the third wheel, the awkward one out. The thing Dean pretended to love as he hid his feelings, the emotions pouring out of him right now as his eyes stayed locked on Cas's.

Sam was suddenly reminded of a similar occasion, on a lot less nuclear level, the first time Sam had ever seen Dean around someone he loved. Or well, used to love. It was a long time ago, just after Jess died. This girl named Cassie, and Sam could remember standing there awkwardly as they stared each other down. The tension had been horrible, but how had he broken it again...? Oh yeah.

He cleared his throat, loudly, a bit too obvious and a bit too pointedly to be anything but a please stop eye-screwing each other you're making me uncomfortable cough. They both glanced at him, their energies and bodies still focused solely on each other even if Sam had managed to get their eyes to break apart. God, Sam had had to resort to his "Dean you're ignoring me leave the girl alone" tactics. This was way worse than he thought.

And now they were both glaring at him like he had personally stomped on their eye-fucking session. Which technically he did, but he needed a save before mr. angel mojo and pissed minor-psychopath was suddenly pointed towards him.

"Hey, uh, do we have a room 7B?"

~*~*~*~*~

The room was dark. Just like Cas's fucking heart.

Okay that was a little harsh but seriously. He ditched and ditched and ditched and shattered Dean into a million pieces and then beat the living pulp out of him and abandoned Dean after Dean's confession because apparently after all of this time Dean isn't trustworthy and then he just shows up and expects to go along on food runs with Dean and sing in the car and be all buddy buddy and when Dean tells him he can't Cas just puts on his puppy face and says he's sorry like that's somehow going to fix the fact that he entirely ruined Dean's life.

So yeah. The room was dark and Dean was going with that.

Then Sam and his coughy throat and his pensive looks and brooding shoulders and apparently aching body spoke up with his lecture-y voice, which he shouldn't even possess because who was the big brother here? Not Sam. Well, not counting the way Sam was towering over him right now, just the whole age and maturity and overall older and big brother part.

"Dude, go easy on Cas, okay. He's one of the good guys." Dean glared at Sam. Seriously who the hell was Sam to say. And since when did the good guys ditch and ditch and ditch and lie and cheat and steal and yeah Dean was going to go on forever and his head was never going to calm down and stop thinking in run on sentences if people didn't stop trying to get him to forgive the very douchebag that made him this way.

"Dude, if anybody else -- I mean anybody -- pulled that kind of crap, I would stab them in their neck on principle. Why should I give him a free pass?" Dean hissed out the words, more for effect than for making Cas not hear. Dean didn't give a damn if Cas knew Dean wanted to stab him in the neck. Because Dean did. He also wanted to do a lot of other things to (and with) Cas but Dean didn't let himself thinking about that. Especially not now. No sir.

Then Sam just fixed him with that look. That stupid, "I know you better than you know you so I'm going to try to convince you into a decision that I think is right and you would too if you weren't being so stubborn" look.

"Because it's Cas."

Why did Sam get to say his name like that? That wasn't fair. Sam didn't get to just determine what's important with the damn tone of voice he used. Like Cas was somehow the whole universe to Dean and that Dean just cared about him so damn much, that just because he was Cas-fucking-stiel he got a free pass from getting stabbed in the neck or other worse fates Dean could plan if Sam was worming his way into Dean's head right now with his stupid floppy hair and hopeful puppy eyes and gentle fingers laying on Dean's wrist. Stupid Sam and stupid Cas and stupid stupid Dean for letting any of it get this far.

Dean shrunk away from the towering Sam, closing in on himself in the process. If everyone else wanted to share breakfast and read stories together then they could just leave Dean to sulk on his own that was perfectly fine and everyone might as well get it over with and ditch now so Dean could go figure out what the hell he could do without everyone he was so damn needy of.

He hated it, he hated it all. But he hated talking about it even more. So that's why he shifted his weight, looking past Sam into the storage room.

"What are we supposed to be looking for down here?"

Sam sighed and gave him another look, but he bought the bait anyways and started talking the case. Sam managed to temporarily stop badgering Dean about Cas, which was nice. Everyone was just insisting he forgive the angel but he really did not fucking want to. Like, at all.

He was silently fuming while he searched for the file Sam was talking about, thinking it was going to have to be some damn good information in this file to lift Dean's spirits. Considering how drab the rest of the files of the Menoletters were, Dean didn't have much hope for any sort of elevation in his mood. That is, until he found the suspicious mark on the floor.

"Sammy, check this out." Dean pushed back on the set of shelves, folding out like doors into an empty room. Well, mostly empty. The paint on the floor turned out to be a bigass Devil's trap, taking up the majority of the room. The walls were shelved with manacles, and there was a set of chains that looked like they might be engraved.

"Whoa."

"Is that a Devil's Trap? It takes up half the room. These chains -- they have spellwork etched into them." Sam sounded just as excited as Dean. How could he not be? It was a fucking dungeon.

"So we have a dungeon. Finally!" Sam gave him a sass face, but Dean just grinned. Of course Sam took it that way. They'd never gone quite that kinky before, but hey, Sam was the one throwing off looks about the idea. Maybe when Sammy got better they could test out their little dungeon. In the mean time though, Dean would prefer not to get daggered with the vehemence in those hazel eyes. He cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. "What do you got there?"

"Movie night?" Sam asked all adorably. That was definitely a date that sounded much more at Sam-speed right now. They could play in the dungeon some other time. Besides, Dean never could turn it down when Sam asked him on a date. Even if it was just a little movie night date.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam and Dean had left. They were off to St. Louis and just left Cas at the bunker. And Dean hadn't even bothered to pretend to be nice about it. The words had stung, like he was twisting the knife he had drilled into Cas's chest.

"Let's roll." Glance at Cas. "Not you."

"Sam is more damaged than I am."

"Yeah, well, you know, even banged up, Sammy comes through."

"Dean, I just want to help.

"We don't need your help. Just stay here and -- and get better."

The last three words had surprised Cas a lot. Dean had looked away awkwardly as he said them, like he really didn't want to say them but it had just happened anyways. He kept his face in the same hard, cold glare during the words though, as though that might make the last three as mean as the rest and not give Cas any hope that Dean might care.

Cas was eternally hopefully when it came to Dean though, and he wasn't ever going to let to of that. He'd explored the bunker a bit before he remembered they were running a little low on supplies. He could he helpful. He could prove himself to Dean in little ways.

So that's how he ended up at the food market, shopping basket in hand. He had jerky, the iniquitive magazine Dean liked, beer (which was a staple, toilet paper (which seemed to Cas would be a staple too) and a few other things he figured Dean might want. There was one thing Dean would want most of all, though.

Cas got to the register and saw the sign. The bin appeared empty though. He turned confusedly to the clerk.

"Where's the pie?"

"I think we're out." Chris the Attendant replied.

"You don't understand." Castiel couldn't fail Dean again. Not this time. Cas could not fail him. He reached over the counter and grabbed Cheus the Attendant. "I. NEED. PIE."

Cas was so focused on getting pie, gaining Dean's trust back, getting Dean to not hate him, that he entirely missed the sound of wings rustling behind him. Then suddenly there was another angel in the minimart.

"Put the virgin down, Castiel. We need to talk."

~*~*~*~*~

Sam knew Dean was having a seriously shitty enough day anyways. From everything with Cas to the worried looks he kept giving Sam every time he coughed. They did not need shit with Crowley on top of it all. So when the 666 blinked across Sam's cellphone screen, he huffed out a puff of annoyance. Dean was already too fragile right now for this.

Even though he was pretending to totally not care at all. Which was way worse. Earlier, when they'd gotten back to the bunker and Cas was gone, Sam had the stupidity to pipe up with "I can't find Cas. You think he blew town?"

Not even a single shadow flickered across Dean's face. He looked terrifyingly neutral. If this was how he was dealing, whenever he finally blew up it was going to be tumlutous to everything. His voice just droned out three uninterested words, instantly changing topic two seconds later and pretending not to care. "Sounds like him. So it turns out that, uh, Father Thompson recorded all of his demon-cure tests..."

So Sam had every right to be worried sick about Dean. He was hiding and burying and no matter how much Dean insisted that worked, it didn't. Either it backfired and Dean blew up or it worked too well and Dean lost a touch of his humanity in the process of protecting himself. And now that he had a vibrating cellphone in his hand with the King of Hell on the other end of the line to add to his problems, Sam had plenty of reasons to be cross.

"How'd you get this number?" He spat out.

"Ah, first things first -- what are you wearing?" Crowley's snide British voice on the other line dripped with filth. Sam clenched his jaw, he was used to Crowle's antics by now. Dean, on the other hand...

"Oh, okay, hanging up now. Hang up." Dean had this murderous look on his face, one that was so clearly a pissed off jealous boyfriend that Sam might have laughed if it wasn't extremely unamusing in the light of things.

"Fine. This isn't a social call." Wow. That may be the first verbal battle with Crowley in history that Dean had won. Crowley had legitimately just backed down because of the very deadly tone in Dean's voice. Apparently, half-crazy pissed-off jealous boyfriend trumped arrogant bastard King of Hell. Sam couldn't help but feel that tiny spark of pride, that Dean cared enough about him to be jealous just when someone says something. And not just anyone, Crowley who was basically engrained to be like that. It was a little special.

Then Crowley was actually getting to the real reason he called, coming down to business again. The only problem was, neither of them had any idea of the severity of what came next.

"You okay?" Dean followed Sam down the bunker stairs. Sam paused at the edge of the control room, and Dean kept his distance. He didn't need to crowd Sam right now, not when Sarah just...

"What do you think?" Sam said tiredly, turning around to face Dean. Dean nodded slightly, looking at the ground. Sam had more than every right to be upset.

"Look, I know it's bad right now, okay, but we stick to the plan. We shut down Hell."

"How, exactly?" Sam raised his arms in a hopeless gesture of defeat. Not now. Not after all this. Dean wasn't going to let Sam suffer all this time for nothing. Dean took a cautious step closer, than another. Until he was standing just a foot in front of Sam. Sam didn't back away.

"We get a demon --"

"You heard Crowley. He's not gonna let one near us, and without a demon, all we can do is sit back and watch people we know, people we saved, die like Sarah." Sam was emotional now, his voice raised and bordering on taking this out on Dean. Dean just swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to keep a lid on the rage and disappointment inside of him.

"So what are you saying?" Dean was doing his best not to be disappointed, to not sound disappointed in Sam. But after all this how could he just give up at the finish line?

"I'm saying... Maybe this isn't one we can win. Maybe we should just take the deal." Heartbroken and resigned. Too tired. Done with losing people, the only people they had left. Dean bit the inside of his cheek. He was going to hold it together, he had to. For Sam. They couldn't stop the trials, not now. It would make the nightmares and the fighting and the coughing blood and the aching body and the physical distance and all that danger and pain all for nothing. Benny's death, for nothing. Risking their lives to kill a hellhound for nothing. Dean couldn't let that happen.

"We'll figure this out." Sam let out the breath he'd been holding, turning his head with a disbelieving huff. Sam honestly didn't think they could do this. Dean just persevered on, catching Sam's eye and keeping his voice as solid as possible. "We will. Man, we'll get it done. We'll kick it in the ass like we always do."

Sam was looking at him with those doubtful eyes, fear and hopeless all over his face. Dean held his gaze, tried to hold the look between them like how Sam used to let Dean hold him in his arms. They were a team, and they'd been drifting. Further and further due to the trials, or Sam's sickness, or whatever reason Dean wasn't what Sam wanted anymore. But they were still a team. That was all they had left. When Crowley has said that, shouted at them What else do you have? Dean instantly thought Sam. Dean had Sam. Always, right? True, it was the people they saved that kept their sanity in check. Without that, they'd both be in shambles. Too much to even care for each other. But they had to try anyways, try to find a way through this. Together.

"You with me?" Sam sucked in air and Dean could see the internal battle scene playing out in Sam's head. Sam wanted to say yes, he wanted to be on Dean's side. But there was some major factor holding him back, something invisible eating away at him. Dean would ask, but he didn't know how. Sam looked so confused, so tumultuous. Like he had no idea if he wanted Dean anymore. Not really.

Before Sarah died, she'd said something interesting. Something Dean couldn't help but think about. No, you're not. You're not the same. Look, it's been years, and I can't even imagine the things you've been through. But I don't know. You just seem...more focused, confident, like... ...like you know what you want. You grew up, Sam.

Sarah had been mostly right. Sam had been through unimaginable things, screamed unspeakable horrors. And with the trials, he was more focused and he had purpose. He was a Men of Letters, which was perfect for him. His niche. So that was probably the confidence.

Two months ago, Dean would have beamed, or maybe blushed at the "you know what you want." They'd danced around each other for so long but now they were together. Two months ago, Sam had wanted Dean. And Dean had been 100% certain on that. But now, now things were changing. Sam didn't act like he used to around Dean. There was no want there, just tired kisses and complacent words and feel better sex.

So if Sam really did want something...it wasn't Dean. If Sam knew what he wanted now, it was something other than his boyfriend. Brother. Lover. Whatever.

Or maybe Dean was just missing the most important part. "You grew up, Sam." Maybe now that Sam was doing the trials, he had a different perspective on things. Maybe he'd grown up and realized he didn't need Dean anymore.

Dean shook his head, looking down at his shoes. They never caught a break, did they? There had to be some way. Something they could do. Dean was sure one of them could figure it out before someone else died.

"How about we tackle it in the morning and just get some sleep?" Dean looked back up at Sam, who was chewing on his lip in aggravated and hopeless thought. He nodded at Dean's suggestion though, letting out a sigh and turning to walk towards the bedroom. Not even waiting for Dean.

He followed after Sam, reaching the bedroom a few steps behind Sam's big feet. They silently shed their jackets and jeans, Dean climbing under the sheets half a minute before Sam and his uncoordinated, slow fingers. Dean lay on his half of the bed, staring up at the ceiling with the sheets tucked under his arms. He turned his head as Sam crawled in too, but Sam was facing away from Dean.

With a sigh, Dean shut his eyes and listened to the sound of Sam adjusting his position on the memory foam. Then something slightly warm and hard was touching to the side of Dean's arm and he opened his eyes and turned his head again. Sam's back was pressed up to Dean's arm, the rest of him curled up a bit Dean could feel Sam's back expand with each breath, his too-obvious rib cage jagged against Dean's skin.

Instead of rolling over and spooning Sam like he wanted to, Dean slowly turned the other way, curled on his side as a mirror to Sam, their backs pressed together. Dean could still feel Sam's ribs, and the lack of legitimate body heat he was giving off. But with their back pressed like this, at least Sam could take some of Dean's.

They used to sleep back to back. Before Dean or Sam went to hell, long before they dated. Or slept together. Hell, long before they kissed. It was strangely familiar but extremely foreign at the same time. They hadn't slept this detached from each other in a long time. But so long as he was touching Sam, there was a possibility he might get some sleep.

He hadn't had enough sleep last night, after their...angel troubles. That Dean didn't care to think about. Or care about at all, actually. He was promptly ignoring that anything besides dealing with Crowley and Sam had happened lately. It was just Sam Dean had left. That was it. And that had kept him up too, all of Sam's nightmares. And his achingallover body.

What should have happened when Sam said he was aching all over definitely wasn't happening now. Or any time soon. Dean should have kissed him somewhere, asked if that helped. Then he'd end up laying Sam down and kissing him everywhere until he was happy and blissful and worshipped. Every square inch of Sam's body, under Dean's lips.

But instead it was arguing, drifting, fights, more pain. Too much pain. No one deserved this. Especially not his Sammy. No, Sam deserved the world. And Dean would do anything it took to make sure Sam got it.


	12. Eminently (Sacrifice 08x23)

If colours had a feeling, red would be this. The spray felt like buckshot on his bare skin, scattering crimson bullets that bounced off or melted, turning into red rivers that snaked down his legs to pool temporarily at his feet before slipping away forever. As he turned a fraction in the water, the pummeling shots awakened fresh skin, burning raw and rampant for a minute or two until the fire turned to scarlet ivy and spread lazy spirals across the most broken pieces of flesh. His lower back, neck, clavicles, knees, all accumulated the scarlet rash as the water burned away at the thinly veiled covering over muscle and bone.

The captured bit of raw sun and fire flooding through the pipes and onto Sam's skin may have burnt and roasted, but it did not warm. The knob was spun as far into the red strip it would go, but the water had no warmth. If it was possible to heat the water more, Sam would. The fire temperature was so hot now, though, steam was snaking out of the suspended metal sprayer above his head.

Like the red water bullets, the steam rolled out of the shower head and swirled down in a foggy mist over Sam's body. He could see nothing beyond the circle of dense clouds around him, even if he had chosen to open his eyes. But in the dark flesh-colored screen of his eyelids, the water ran hotter. The brittle and chilled bones inside his body were dampened a bit, the raw skin covering them hotly on the surface still barely letting a touch of warmth sink in.

Sam ran his weak fingers through the waterlogged tangles on his head, the hair folding between his knuckles feeling thicker than his fingers themselves. Standing in his own personal firing squad sauna, there wasn't much on his mind. There had been a purpose when he'd walked through the door. He'd stepped onto the rubberish gray floor, flipping a switch that turned on only the dim underfoot lighting that lined the lip of the bottom of the room, tracing a golden glow in the shape of a semi circle and the outline of the showers in the middle. His clothes fell off his shrunken frame with ease, falling to the ground behind him as trembling legs took him to a showerhead. He'd been so cold, so utterly freezing inside and out, he could imagine nothing but warming his body. His lips had turned a vague colour of purple and Sam could feel different bones inside him popping and disagreeing with the formation they had been set in.

There was a particular bone in his chest, at the very bottom tip of his sternum. Sam was pretty sure it was called the Xiphoid Process. But whatever it was, the muscle around it, or the bone itself Sam didn't know, would begin to ache in a desperate, tense sort of way. If he dug his shoulderblades together and reversed the movement, a pop would go off in his chest at the same spot it had been tense, and he'd be temporarily relieved of the pain. He'd spent some time trying to figure out what that meant, or just how dangerous it was that his bones were popping back and forth. Thinking too much just hurt his head though, so he let himself sink into the ruby burn of the shower water instead. The steam encompassed every part of him not getting beaten down by the spray. It was like every square inch of skin Sam had was slowly being flayed. And the easiest way to deal with it was to close his eyes and shut off his brain, let the only thoughts in his head be ones of water and red.

He didn't hear the door creak open and shut. The bloody river was a waterfall in his ears and he had long since passed remembering that he wasn't utterly alone. In the bubble of steam surrounding him, Sam's mind had let the thick concrete walls of the showerroom get closer, barricading him in to a three by three cell he didn't care to escape. There was nothing existing past the walls, only the trail of water down his body inside them.

When the hand touched his bicep, Sam's body reacted instantly and he jumped three inches in the air, drawing in a gasp. The quick breath of surprise and fear took in a brook of burning water with it, which was now trying to be hacked back up by coughs from the burning holes it was making in his esophagus. His body lost the sense of balance and there was so much fog around him, Sam couldn't decipher which way was up or down, only that his body was slipping and there were different forces pulling him and he didn't know which to succumb to.

He sputtered up the water trying to get into his lungs, his toes gripping something solid as his body fell onto something hard. The spray of the fire water was pattering on his calves, but the rest of him was just steam covered and wet and bright red as the water itself had felt. The hard surface he landed on shifted beneath him but Sam didn't move from wherever he landed. Strong, solid muscle wrapped over his back and Sam couldn't tell if he was getting lifted off the ground or if he had landed on a different surface entirely.

A heavy hand held the back of his head and Sam's nose came to brush against something soft. He carefully blinked open his eyes, recognizing the shoulder his head was resting on. He could feel the smoke curling around and in between the body that was holding him and his own. Sam fought the urge to let his eyes slip closed again.

There was no point in trying to stop it as Dean ran his hand up and down Sam's back, placing his feet in between Sam's to slowly guide them back into the water. His lungs were still just trying to suck in what pitiful amount of oxygen they could. The steam was making it into his throat fine, but instead of the sticky humidity that should have relieved his aches, it felt dry and scratchy in his throat.

One of the hands left Sam's back and he could feel the muscles of that arm fluttering and tightening as Dean reached out a hand. Most likely to test the water temperature the way he had since the first time he'd bathed Sam.

"Ah!" Dean hissed in a breath and darted his hand out of the range of the water. Sam's eyes had managed to close themselves again. He couldn't see anything from right here anyways. Then the chest pressed close to his expanded with a short breath before sinking back into Dean's spine as he exhaled words. "God, Sam, that feels like freaking fire."

Sam didn't answer but his body had started to shiver from lack of exposure to the heat of the shower. Dean seemed to untense a bit from recognition of Sam's brittle frozen bones. Then the big hands were on his biceps and pulling him off of his safe spot on Dean's chest. He followed complacently with his eyes still closed as Dean guided his body back into the fire.

There was another quick steal of oxygen behind him as Dean's hands breached the red bullets. It was too hot for him. But the hands stayed tight on him anyways. Sam tilted his head back and let the crimson tide roll over him. The shivering didn't quite still, the muscle spasm insisting Sam was continuously cold. He was.

Then the hands gripping his biceps so tightly loosened and slid down the length of Sam's upper arm. Then slid back up again, painting a line of white across his red skin. The sliding became rubbing and Sam recognized what Dean was doing. He was rubbing his hands up and down Sam's arms as though that might make him warm. Like the scalding, pounding shower water might not, but Dean's little hands adding some friction might set Sam's world on its axis.

It did a little. There was a foreign and longsince forgotten warmth spreading over the wildfire on his skin like a monstrous thunderstorm of warm rain. Sometimes when it got so hot in Texas that the sun baked everything before it had the chance to set foot on ground, the rain water would be warm and comfortable. It was the only place Sam could really remember warm rain, and he'd thought it'd been the most curious thing at the time. That was exactly what Dean's hands on him felt like.

Sam didn't pull away. He wanted to but he didn't. It was like the other night, when he'd woken from a nightmare and Dean had wanted to help him feel better. Sam hadn't wanted it to work. He hadn't wanted Dean to feel hope that he was the cure for Sam. There was nothing wrong with Dean, just that so much was wrong with Sam he would disappoint Dean if Dean tried to fix him. And now, Sam wished that his shivering hadn't stopped, he wished that his goosebumps could come back. He would just end up giving Dean false hope and ripping it away and Sam couldn't destroy Dean like that. How was Sam supposed to disappoint him that much?

But the window where he could have slipped away dissipated as Dean sidled up his body behind Sam. Slowly, carefully, wincing and trying to adjust to the hot water. But then his chest was pressed to Sam's back and the heavy heat of his cock was pressed to Sam's ass. Dean's hands wrapped around to Sam's chest, drawing him closer than what felt possible. Another centimeter and Sam was melting into Dean's body. Sam had been too greedy to escape before Dean touched him like this and now he would have to live with the consequences.

"You feelin okay?" Whispers cascaded into his ear, lips brushing against skin as the hands on Sam's chest slid lower and molded over the thin layer covering broken thawing bones. Sam's neck tipped his head back against Sam's will, landing it on Dean's shoulder behind him. The red hot spray was dancing on Sam's chest, over Dean's hands, sliding down the sides of Dean's hips. Sam could feel the burn of it slipping in the space between his lower back and Dean's belly button, riding down the slope of Sam's ass and pooling over Dean's cock before dripping to the ground. He could trace the path of a hundred firey water droplets, could feel everyone tracing over imaginary lines, racing each other and sizzling the nearly transparent skin on Sam's body.

"No," Sam croaked out, not having spoken yet this morning. Dean's chest tightened against Sam's back, his grip on Sam' lower stomach squeezing Sam just a fraction tighter. His breath was on Sam's cheek, his ear, his neck, and Sam could feel the expansion of Dean's lungs as he breathed in a shaky deep breath to calm himself down. Sam had scared him. Sam hadn't meant to, it was just that Dean cared so damn much and Sam couldn't live up to that.

"You want my help?" Dean kept the sexy growl out of his voice with some effort, because he hadn't spoken much this morning either but he wasn't intending to turn Sam on (maybe - the jury was still out on that one) and he knew that his morning voice definitely was a factor in that.

Sam pictured for a brief moment Dean entering him right now, just standing where they were and spreading Sam's ass cheeks apart to push inside him and fuck him, holding onto Sam's hips as the little moans rushed out of his mouth and water streamed down between their bodies. Dean would focus on making sure Sam didn't fall, that he was okay. He'd be so worried about Sam being okay that he'd actually probably take him down to the floor instead, lower him down gently and cradle his face as he rocked into him from above. Or maybe he'd press him to the wall, kiss him hard and thorough as his hands worked over Sam's body and hips pumped their bodies together.

Sam couldn't do it.

He couldn't do that to Dean, not when Dean would be so goddamned worried about Sam the whole time. Even now, his hands were the tightest they'd been on him today and they still weren't pressing more than butterflies. Even when Sam had been slipping and falling, Dean had cradled Sam to his chest with the minimum amount of pressure necessary for Sam to stay upright. Somewhere down the road, Sam had scared Dean into thinking Sam would break with one missplaced touch. And in all honesty, Sam might.

Dean would be so worried about Sam he'd be doing it for him, taking care of Sam and not of himself. Beating himself up over every little bruise he'd find on Sam's body later. Sam couldn't live with the guilt of making Dean feel guilty for hurting Sam. Dean was guilty about everything anyways and Sam couldn't add bruises or pain on top of that too. Sam couldn't add another reason to the list of a thousand reasons he already was the cause of the tired look on Dean's face. The bags under his eyes, the extra scruff in his voice from lack of sleep. All of it because of Sam's nightmares, or waking up to make Sam tea or water, watching Sam in his sleep, not letting himself sleep until his restless insomniac of a boyfriend did.

Dean was deteriorating and Sam was the sole reason. No, he couldn't do that to Dean.

"No," Sam said again, a little stronger this time around. Dean took a half step back in surprise, adding an inch or two between Sam's shoulders and his chest. His hands that had been snaking down to Sam's cock withdrew too, sliding back up to just barely hold Sam's hips in what could possibly be the faintest touch of all time.

His neck was forced to roll his head back up to straight, since Dean's body was further away now. Once he'd backed away a bit, Dean took another step and disconnected their legs and lower halves too. Hesitating first, Dean finally touched his palms down on Sam's exposed and frail hipbones, guiding him to turn slightly to the side. Sam completed the turn, grabbing Dean's forearm in support on the slippery floor.

The firewater was beating down on Sam's back now, although the scalding temperature of the water had dropped a few obvious degrees. Which made sense because Sam had been in here for god knows how long before Dean came to find him. Yes, there was unlimited hot water in the bunker, but there was also a system in place that encouraged non-greedy water usage by slowly making the water cooler after about an hour. So apparently Sam had been in here for a while. The steam around them wasn't a blanket now, more like a dusty fog in the air. The walls of the concrete around him had expanded out to a seven foot square, giving both him and Dean enough room to breathe.

Dean was looking at him expectantly, but more worriedly than upset. He was clearly searching for an answer to why Sam didn't want help to feel better. After all, it had worked before. And just now, when Dean's rubbing hands made him feel warm for once. He couldn't look at the green eyes though. They were so bright even in the very dim lighting of the room. Green was the opposite of red and red was all Sam had right now and he wasn't strong enough to fight the battle against the green.

"You can stop worrying about me, Dean," Sam said to the rubbery ground. Dean's eyebrows must have shot up at that, Sam was sure of it. He took a step closer too, the one hand he still had on Sam's hip for balance turning from the touch of a feather to a small child. Whether it was a good idea or not, Sam uncurled his fingers from Dean's forearm, forcing himself not to need Dean anymore. If he couldn't even stand upright without Dean...

"Is that what this is about? You think I'm coddling you? Is that why you've been blocking me out?" Sam tried not to shrink away from Dean's words but his shoulders folded in closer to his body anyways. Dean sounded so angry and that wasn't what he wanted.

"No, no. I just--" Sam bit his lip and looked around the room. The fog was lifting even more. And with it went the lack of clarity in Sam's brain. His blissful ignorance and lack of thought was leaving, the water becoming crystal and turning from red to pink to clear and it was even kind of hot against his skin now. The rivers and tunnels and concrete walls closing in all started to fade. Sam had to get out of here before he realized just how far off the deep end he was falling when Dean wasn't touching him. "I gotta go."

Sam brushed past Dean's naked body, twisting Dean's arm over his stomach until his fingers snapped free of Sam's hip bone, and nearly sprinted for the door. He stumbled a few times, and was actually extremely surprised when Dean's hand wasn't there again on his waist to catch him. He hadn't come after Sam. Sam had left him entirely stranded in the fog.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean was on his fourth cup of coffee. The past three had contained more whiskey than coffee but Dean figured he'd at least pretend he wasn't drinking since it was only eight am. The comfortable burn in his throat wasn't much of a distraction from the pain in his chest. No cup of joe, regardless of its alcohol content, could fill up the silence in the space between him and the elephant in the room. Or, well, the moose as Crowley said. The moose who actually wasn't in the room. Who hadn't been in the same room as Dean since the shower incident this morning. That had been two hours ago.

When Sam walked slowly into the control room, Dean looked up from his mug in surprise. Sam had finally decided to show his face. Well, not exactly, because he was staring at his boots all awkwardly. He was much more dressed now than he'd been the last time Dean'd seen him. But he wasn't just dressed as in no longer naked, he was dress-dressed like he was going somewhere - jacket, backpack, and all.

Dean considered saying something, but considering how bad that had turned out last time, he was gonna pass. If Sam had a reason to be here besides accuse Dean of caring too much, Dean would let him say it on his own terms.

He seemed to catch onto the pointed silence in between Dean's exaggerated sips of whiskeycoffee. Dean wasn't saying anything any time soon unless Sam provoked it. What could Dean say? Sam pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it carefully, like the floor was made of ice and he was wearing shoes sprayed with Clark Griswold's special spray.

"I uh- I'm sorry I snapped earlier. It's just, everything with Crowley, and these trials--"

"Yeah, you're tired, you're hurting, I know. You won't let me help, remember?" Dean let his hurt show in his voice because he damn well had every right to let Sam know how much getting stranded and rejected and ignored sucked. Sam not wanting to have sex was fine, it was more than fine. Dean would never have even mentioned it in the first place if it hadn't worked so wonderfully last time. But if Sam wasn't up to it, or just didn't want to, Dean would happily tuck Sam under covers and go sleep on the couch. If that's what Sam wanted, Dean would deal.

But it wasn't about the sex. Or the unexplained rejection. Or even really about Sam being spacey and distant lately. Hell, Dean could even pretend Sam hadn't been trying to boil his skin alive in the shower. Yeah, nothing wrong there.

No, the problem was how he avoided talking about it. Avoided Dean entirely, actually. Just flat out ignored that Dean's presence was here. And that Dean cared very much about what happened to Sam. Sam didn't give him anything, though. Dean was left in the dark to build up worry and confusion and overthink everything.

He had to stop overthinking. He had to put an end to it, or he was going to explode. He could think about it all he liked tomorrow, when these trials were over. Until then, Dean wasn't thinking much of anything.

"Dean, I. I do need your help. We have to go meet Crowley." Sam sounded overly patient, like he was giving a second grader a toy after cutting her 48 pack of crayons in half. Dean took another sip of whiskey and focused on the burn.

"You know the way to Bobby's just as well as I do."

"But Dean, I. I want you to come."

"You don't need me."

"Dean, I want you to be there." Sam said it firm and sure, meeting Dean's eyes for the first time today and challenging Dean to say one more word about Sam's apparently nonexistent lack of desire.

He tipped back his mug and chased the last few bits of caffeine and alcohol. Sam waited. Dean set the mug down on the table with a loud sound, smacking his lips in tandem.

"Fine. I'll go." Then he was scooting his chair back from the table and standing, walking back to his room to grab his stuff.

That conversation was the last time Sam got to make the decisions. And in all honesty, Dean probably wouldn't have given Sam the option to go alone if it wasn't such a straightforward task. Well, it should be anyways.

But from here on out, Sam was too goddamn weak to be the one who decides things. His body was more fragile than Dean's pinky finger and Dean was scared he'd snap just as easily.

Sam could hate Dean for it all he liked, but when it came down to it, Dean would always protect Sam.

~*~*~*~

"And the next trial?" Cas looked over to Metatron. For an angel on the run from his home who had spent all that time locked up in Colorado, he looked eminently comfortable on the bus stop bench.

"Across the street. His name is Dwight Charles. I've been listening in on the Angel radio. Cupid frequency, actually. And he is the next on their list." Metatron looked quite smug about that, like it was a piece of the most valuable information available.

"Their list?"

"To do the horizontal mambo." Cas looked at Metatron in confusion. "Slap bellies."

Again, for a locked away angel, he knew a lot of slang. Slang Cas was quite unfamiliar with. How would one dance while laying down...? Metatron sighed when he saw the look on Cas's face. It wasn't Cas's fault he didn't understand.

"To find love." Metatron finally clarified.

"Oh. Yes." That made sense. He even got the horizontal mambo part now. (Which wasn't literally a dance, by the way.)

Actually, Cas knew a lot about the world of Cupid and his bow. And he knew even more about love. Ever since he'd been part of the designated Team Free Will, he'd actually reconsidered his opinion on Cupid. It seemed kind of wrong to just force two people to fall in love. So many did that way, but wouldn't it be fake deep down? If your feelings for someone were created by celestial intervention, then Cas was pretty sure it wasn't love at all.

Love was supposed to conquer. It was an omnipotent force that couldn't truly be handled by the bow of a low class angel. What the cupids harnessed was something under the same name, and something that was nearly as powerful as real love. But real love was so much more complicated than what the cupids had accustomed their job to be.

Love meant fighting through the struggles and wading through the pain, normally doing anything you could to avoid truly falling. Because once the descent into madness started, there was no going back. Love was a battle all in its own, like a hole in the ground that had walls too slippery to climb out of. A hole that was connected to a hundred other tunnels, weaving and complications and battles at every corner and turn. And some of the caverns were connected to others that were just as big, maybe bigger. Castiel believed that very few people in the world actually truly loved each other. Or loved a person at all, unrequited or not. And the odds that of the tiny percentage of all the real love in the world had decidedly put two beings in love with the exact same person was nearly impossible, but Cas knew first hand it happened.

He knew a lot about love, especially the not so pleasant parts. Cas never had been a part of the beautiful part of love, really. He had no horizontal mambos with the one he was in love with, he had no promises of devotion. Castiel didn't get the joys of loving someone, only the troubles. But it didn't make him love any less. Castiel never could love Dean any less, no matter what happened.

Which probably was irrelevant anyway. Dean didn't love him, in fact, Dean hated him a little right now. And the only way Cas could ever hope to gain that trust back was to go through with these trials. If Cas proved to Dean he was strong enough, loyal enough to do the angel trials, then maybe Dean could forgive him. Maybe they could be friends again. What Cas would give for that.

~*~*~*~*~

"And the contract?"

Crowley pulled a scroll out of his jacket and tossed one end towards them, the paper unfurling into the 10 foot long space between them. Dean kind of just stared at the contract for a minute. Holy shit it was long. Dean didn't know they even made paper that size. Hell, they probably didn't, it was most likely some grotesque material that Crowley had pressed in a machine of his own.

"Yeah, I'm sure there's no hidden agendas in there." Crowley was trying to screw them over even now, and Dean was already pissed in the first place. He'd been in a bad mood the whole car ride up here too. There had only been silence between them besides the faint musings of the radio and working out a few details of the plan. Dean hated silent car rides.

"The highlights --we swap tablets, you stand down from the trials forever."

"You stop killing everyone we've ever saved." Even that simple sentence sounded like it took all the energy out of Sam to say. He was practically swaying on his feet. And Dean would guess that had nothing to do with the nostalgia of their meeting place.

"Agreed." Crowley said with a pompous nod. Everything about the demon was pompous. That pissed Dean off too.

But he reached in his jacket anyways and pulled out a pen to sign the contract with. He uncapped it and took a step towards the stupid contract. He really did hate Crowley more than most things. He felt a little like he was signing his soul away again, except this time Sam was just a fraction less dead. Not much though. Dean was pretty sure Sam couldn't even drive up here on his own if he wanted to. It seemed like now was a bad time of all to be having their civil dispute, but sometimes emotions got in the way regardless of the convenient timing. Dean just had to set them aside and pretend to sign the damn contract, get this all over with so Sam could do the trial and get better and they could get on with their lives and stop the constant bickering and fighting.

"Unh-unh-unh." Crowley suddenly yanked back the contract out of Dean's reach, making a tsking noise and a face. "Nice try, squirrel. Moose is doing these trials. Moose signs."

That did not sound good. If Dean ended up accidentally signing away his soul, fine. But Dean couldn't let that happen to Sam. Dean wouldn't let that happen to Sam. Even if this was fake, there was always a chance of backfiring.

"No, no. He's not signing anything until I read the fine print." Dean didn't bother looking at Sam before he said it, didn't even attempt to include him in this because Sam had not exactly proven himself as gooddescisionmaker lately. Even if he had, it was Dean who had the responsibility to make sure this all went smoothly the way it should. Sam was so focused on not falling over right now, Dean was pretty sure he couldn't read it if he tried.

Sam reached over and yanked the pen away from Dean. Dean looked at him in surprise. He didn't know Sam had the strength to even pick up a pen right now. Okay, that was a little over exaggerated, but still.

"I can read it," Sam snapped. Dean glared at him. Actually, Dean was pretty sure he couldn't. Sam may not tell Dean anything anymore, but that didn't mean Dean couldn't pick up on things and tell what was going on. Sam had a lot of trouble reading lately, it gave him headaches and he couldn't see the words very well. He was constantly squinting, holding papers too close, pining them down to keep them steady. Then he'd get a headache and would be forced to stop, which Dean was pretty sure hurt him even more. Besides, Dean had a damn role to play in this too. And he wasn't going to let Sam do something stupid just because he wanted to be stubborn and pretend he wasn't in pain.

"Hey, you wanted me here. I'm here." Dean still hadn't figured out why Sam had asked him to come. There wasn't really a motive there. Besides, if he was so intent on doing this all by himself, why had he begged Dean to come in the first place? And despite how pissed he was, and how hurt he was, Dean had come anyways. Because it was what Sam wanted and Dean couldn't just deny that. "But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him screw us even more."

Sam had his fuming face on as Dean kinda-yelled at him, both of them looking at each other with a heated glare. It wasn't even just this morning that had been a problem. Sam had been trying to force Dean out ever since the first trial and it had just gotten so bad lately that neither of them could ignore or overlook it anymore. This palpable tension between them was getting worse and worse and Dean wasn't sure if it could get better until this damn trial was over. Which meant a lot of fighting between now and then. Even if this fight was supposed to be staged, it had turned to an authentic fight the moment Sam decided to be stubborn.

"What's this? Trouble in paradise, boys?" Crowley laughed and looked from Sam to Dean and back again. Dean clenched his fists at his sides and had to manually talk himself down from fucking over this entire plan by planting a fist in Crowley's nose.

The bastard had no right, no fucking right to talk about their relationship like that. Or like anything. Crowley didn't have the privilege to know anything about what was going on between Sam and Dean, although god knows he'd found out in the beginning anyways. But stuff like this, arguments over Sam's safety, that was personal shit and Crowley just had to pry. And the way he said "trouble in paradise," like it was some dirty fantastical thing...Dean seriously would like to punch him right now.

But instead he glared and stooped to lift up the bottom of the contract. He had a lot of reading to do. Even if they were planning on neither of them signing the contract, Dean knew their plan wasn't foolproof. The handcuffs may not work, even if Dean got close enough to execute. So he did have to legitimately read this. Because in case the plan backfired and Sam had to actually sign to keep Crowley from killing them on the spot, Dean wasn't having Sam screwed over. It was better safe then sorry. So the fight three minutes ago had been quite legit, because Sam knew there was a possibility they'd have to sign too.

"You're gonna move your lips the whole way up here, aren't you?" Dean just glared. He wasn't sure if that was a stupidity joke or a sexual one but either way he was busy reading and it was weird for Crowley to talk about his lips in the first place. But of course, he didn't shut up. Crowley never really did. "You know why I always defeat you? It's your humanity. It's a built-in handicap. You always put emotion ahead of good, old-fashioned common sense. Let's have the big galoot sign it now, shall we?"

Dean looked to the side, getting confirmation from Sam for the plan. Sam nodded, and Dean whipped out the handcuffs, quickly snapping them over Crowley's wrist. Wow, that had actually worked. So far.

"Is this a joke? You realize all I have to do is..." Crowley snapped his fingers. And nothing happened. Dean let himself smile in triumph for just a moment. It was about damn time something went their way.

"Unh-unh-unh. Demonic handcuffs, jackass. No flicking, no teleporting, no smoking out -- oh, and... no deal. Which pretty much means that you're our bitch." Dean had been waiting for basically all of eternity to finally put the bastard in his place. And now Crowley was powerless. Which felt awesome.

"Fine," Crowley spat. "You want to play chain gang? Let's."

Suddenly a fist connected with Dean's vision and his head snapped to the side. Ow. Goddamn that might bruise. A forced noise escaped his lungs as his body registered the pain. Not exactly part of the plan, but Dean could handle a little pain. Hell, he could embrace it even. A few bruises on the outside might be just the distraction Dean needed from the ripped open pain on the inside.

"You saddled yourself to the wrong bull, mate." Actually, Dean was pretty sure this was the best idea they'd had in a long time. He reeled back his arm and landed a punch square on Crowley's jaw. Something cracked beneath his hand and a pained grunt came out of the bastard's mouth. Fuck yes. In the moment of disorientation, Dean snatched the Angel Tablet out of Crowley's pocket and held it out to Sam. Who was standing somewhere in the vague vicinity behind him.

Dean fisted the lapels of Crowley's jacket and shook him, keeping the disorientation for a moment longer. God, it was great to see Crowley like this. So weak. And finally in his goddamned place. Dean hadn't gotten to punch Crowley for the paradise comment earlier, but he certainly got his payback now. Actually, that punch was for every stupid, condescending couple-joke Crowley had tossed their way. And if Dean was really counting, he had a lot more things to punch Crowley for than that.

"I can do this all day, 'cause you know what? Damn, it feels good!" Dean would fucking love to do this all day. Beating the pulp out of Crowley sounded like some twisted form of heaven. But turning him human and doing it then would probably be just as fantastic. Maybe more. It'd certainly hurt more then. "But sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it -- you're ours. Which means that your demon ass is going to be a mortal ass pretty damn quick."

"What's he mouthing on about?" Crowley turned to Sam, giving him the second chance to speak in this meeting. Yeah, there was no way in hell Sam would have been able to pull off capturing Crowley on his own. Whether he liked it or not, Sam needed Dean. And if Sam had done this on his own, Crowley would have punched him and probably killed him. Dean was pretty sure a flick would knock Sam unconscious right now. So if he had tried this on his own, he would have failed. Then it would be just another thing to add to the pile of times Sam royally fucked up everything.

"You're the third trial, Crowley." At least Sam could still be a bit intimidating, even in his sickly palor. Because right now? Crowley looked worried as hell. And he totally should be.

With Crowley locked up in handcuffs and a devil's trap, Dean was feeling pretty powerful. Their consecrated ground turned out to be really beautiful too. This old abandoned church that was on the perfect line between ghetto and too elaborate. The road getting here was a bit muddy, but it was nothing Baby couldn't handle.

The sun was peaking in the sky and they were on the winning team for once. That didn't happen often, and it hadn't happened at all in about two years. The last time they'd won anything was with Dick Roman, but even then they ended up losing each other and Bobby and Meg and Kevin and Cas in the process. So that had basically been a lot closer to losing. So really the last time they won anything was when they'd beat Michael and Lucifer and Sam had jumped in the pit. Which was a really really long time ago. So much had happened since then, and now they were finally about to win again. And if they won this battle, they were basically guaranteed to win the war. With hell locked up, they only had the angels to deal with. And getting rid of whatever demons weren't stuck in hell during closing hours.

Dean walked out of the church and towards Sam. Even his anger for this morning had faded considerably. They had bigger things to worry about, and he could push the ignoring aside for a moment. They could have some long girly talk ten hours from now, when it was all over. For now, Dean could set aside Sam's distance. It'd be so much easier if Sam just told him what it was for. Dean could deal if he knew why. But that wasn't coming anytime soon, so he just had to keep Sam healthy between now and the end of this trial.

"He's primed. How you feeling?" Dean's shoulder lightly brushed Sam's jacket as he walked around him. They were standing close again, ignoring the big empty space around them they gave them plenty of room to stand at normal brotherly distance and just breathed each other's air instead. Sam looked grateful for Dean's change of attitude, enough so that the corner of his mouth even curved into a little smile.

"Honestly, for the first time in a long time, it feels like we're gonna win. I'm good." Sam breathed out a huff of relief. Dean understood the rush of things finally going their way, but they hadn't won yet and they still needed to be on their toes.

"All right, well, no dancing in the end zone until we're finished. What's the good father's playbook say now?"

"Well... Now that we got the consecrated ground, I just, uh," Sam cleared his throat and Dean tried not to cringe. Okay, no signs of a bloody cough. Phew. "I slip Crowley one dose of blood every hour for eight hours and seal the deal with a bloody-fist sandwich. That should do it." Eight hours would put them at about nine, ten o'clock depending on how quickly they started. This was all going to be over by midnight. Tomorrow, the gates would be shut. Every demon, every monster, they all finally pay. For killing Mom, for killing innocents, for ripping Sam and him away from each other. It would all be over tomorrow. If they could pull this off.

"Your blood's supposed to be purified, isn't it? You ever, uh -- you ever done the "forgive me, father" before?" Dean was almost afraid to ask, because it was one of the rare things Dean didn't know the answer to. When he'd found out about seven, eight years ago that Sam actually prayed, he'd been extremely shocked. Knowing that Sam had that history with the whole church thing made Dean a little curious as to how far the extent of that religious part of his life had played out. It was the only part of Sam's life that Dean had never been a part of. He'd never even been invited to be. So naturally it was something that intrigued Dean a lot.

"Well, once, when we were kids." Dean raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. How far back had Sam really felt like he was evil? He'd told Dean the other day that he'd thought it as a really little kid, which had scared the hell out of Dean. If Sam was just a kid, why on earth would he feel unwhole enough to be lay down a confession? Kids didn't have sins. They were kids for crying out loud. If he and Sam were in a better place right now, Dean would ask what Sam had done that was so horrible he needed divine forgiveness as a child. Maybe Sam would tell him eventually one day. Until then it was just another secret Dean had dangling in front of him.

"...which is why I have no clue what to say now." Well, kids may not sin, but Dean could think of plenty of things on the list of screw-ups that could call for a bit of divine forgiveness.

"Well, I mean, I could give you suggestions if you want."

"O-okay. Yeah, sure."

Sam actually ended up being quite unimpressed with Dean's list of Sam's Biggest Fuckups. Probably because it was a sore spot for him. Which was quite understandable. Considering it was a big list and all. Then Sam ended up turning it around on Dean with Dean's Penny Markle suggestion. Hell, maybe Dean should confess at some point in his life too. If that whole church thing was for him, maybe he would. But the church thing really wasn't, so he just stayed out here taking inventory of ammo in the trunk. And listening to the thunder rumble. Which it had been doing for quite some time now. It was a little dismal like pre-storm always was, and the sky wouldn't shut up. The cloud formations were getting dark too, which meant they probably had a motherload of a storm on the way. A storm the night they closed up hell. Kinda ironic.

"Dean, I need your help." Dean startled and nearly hit his head on the Impala's propped up trunk. Good lord, Cas did not know how to do introductions. Dean shot him a glance, decided he was still pissed, and looked back to the trunk.

"Little busy, Cas. Take a number." He turned his body back to the trunk's inventory and promptly ignored the angel's presence. Cas really thought he could show up when Dean and Sam were at the one yard line, ask Dean to leave his practically crippled brother alone with the king of hell to complete the last trial? All when Dean was too pissed at Cas to talk to him even if Dean happened to be bored as hell with nothing to do as opposed to boarding up hell with everything to do?

"I'm afraid this can't wait. Naomi has taken Metatron." Dean looked up from the weapon in his hands. Okay, it was important. Important enough that Dean could listen while Sam was in confession. He stood all the way up, leveling Cas with a neutral gaze.

"And you know Metatron how?"

"I've been working with him on the Angel trials."

"The what?"

"We're gonna shut it all down -- Heaven, Hell, all of it." Dean raised his eyebrows and looked Cas up and down. If Cas really was completing the angel trials, he sure didn't look it. There were no shakes, no weakened visage or bloody coughs. Even after just the first trial, Sam had been a wreck. Maybe it was because Cas was an angel. So there was no physical trauma there.

"The angels have been fighting amongst each other, and the damage is spilling out onto earth. We just want to lock to gates with all the angels inside, so we can work out the problems in heaven before it gets too big to fix."

Dean sat down on the edge of the car, listening to Cas's speech. The idea in boarding up heaven was a solid one. It was just the "we" part Dean was having a problem with. Angel crap had spilled out on to earth before, and Metatron hadn't moved a muscle. Why now? Metatron had been pretty clear about not caring about anything, especially whatever was going on topside. So the idea that he wanted to take on something as monumental as the trials just to stop the angels from fighting...it was kinda crazy.

"Metatron, the guy who was full-on crazy, cat-lady-hoarder angel yesterday -- now he wants to save Heaven?" It made absolute negative sense. He hated heaven. For kicking him out. But now he was coming to the rescue? Something just wasn't adding up.

"Yes, he wants to. But I'm the only one one who can. I can't fail, Dean, not on this one. I need your help." Cas was playing his cards right, at least. He was egging at the part of Dean that wanted to help Cas, that had befriended the angel. They were friends long before Dean had been an idiot and fallen in love with him and gotten his heart broken over and over.

"Look, Cas, that's all well and good, okay, but you're asking me to leave Sam, and we've got Crowley in there tied and trussed. Now, if anybody needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam." Dean hated when it came down between the two of them, but Cas knew Dean's choice.

Then a crackling of dirt under boot sounded behind Dean, suddenly changing the playing field. Dean knew Sam had showed back up to the conversation before he even opened his mouth to speak.

"You should go." Of course Sam showed up for that part. Dean rolled his eyes and turned to look at his brother. What game was Sam playing at? Why in the world would Dean skip out now?

"Seriously," Sam reinforced.

"Oh, what, and leave you here with the King of Hell? Come on." Sam glanced at the church and looked back at Dean. His hand were stuffed in his pockets, a habit he used to do when he was little. He looked so small and fragile, face sunken and hair limp. How was he gonna do this without Dean?

"I got this. And if you guys can lock the angels up, too...That's a good day." Sam huffed out a smile, looking determined. And for a moment, when the thunder crashed, he even looked a little strong. Sam wanted this just as bad as Dean did. Just so long as he took care of himself...he wasn't doing anything but administering shots. It wasn't like there was physical labor or anything dangerous involved. Besides, Sam did have a point about locking up the angels.

"Look, I... I'm down with sending the angels back to Heaven, just 'cause they're dicks. But the demons? This is on us. Start the injections now. If I'm not back in eight hours, finish it. No questions, no hesitation."

"Yeah."

Dean looked at Sam for a moment, then his body inched forward like he was walking over to give Sam a hug goodbye. He stopped himself in time, though, and used his instinctive forward motion to turn to the trunk and grab a bag. Dean straightened up and met Sam's gazee again, both of their eyes burning brightly on each others.

Then Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder and they disappeared. Sam let out a breath of air and made his way back to the church, closing the Impala trunk for Dean on the way.

 

Sam wasn't sure if the injection or the hour between them was worse. Crowley couldn't keep his mouth shut and Sam had a lot to think about anyways. An hour was a long time when you were stuck with the king of hell and your own thoughts for company.

"Hey Moose! Just curious, is the blood your injecting me with just yours? Or do you and your squirrel boyfriend have a bit of a kinky sex life? You know, I could definitely see you being into BDSM and all, but your man...not so much. Or maybe you don't give him much of a choice...oohh, that's a lovely thought. You are bigger than him after all, I'm sure you could make that pretty mouth of his do all sorts of lovely tricks."

Sam was whittling in a chair in the corner of the church and doing his best to ignore Crowley, but Dean was still a weak spot and Sam couldn't just let that go.

"Crowley, I can and will make this a much more painful process for you if you don't shut up. I am also not opposed to duct tape."

"Jeez, touchy touchy. Just like your boyfriend and that punk traitor angel." Sam threw his block of wood across the room and hit the back of Crowley's head. He may be sick, but apparently he could still aim.

"Ow! Okay, okay I'm done. For now." Then he grumbled something under his breath that sounded like delinquents these days throwing bricks and all that Sam decided to let slide. So long as Crowley shut up.

~*~*~*~*~

"Anything? You've been gone long enough." Dean complained as Cas walked back in the bar. Funny how Dean sounded like he cared Cas was gone. Since when did Dean care if Cas was gone? Wasn't Dean supposed to hate him? Didn't Dean particularly say he hated Cas?

Cas wasn't even sure why Dean had agreed to come along. Of course, Cas had wanted him to, he just thought Dean was still being bitter. But now Dean was looking at him expectantly for an answer, so Cas had to give some.

"No. There was one female, but..."

"What?" Dean asked impatiently.

"...I don't think she was female. Anything here?" Cas sat down next to Dean and Dean didn't move. Cas wasn't sure what he did right for Dean to stop hating. Or maybe he did still hate Cas and he was pretending to be nice so he could be a heartbreaker later.

"Free drinks." Or it could just be Deam being happy he got free alcohol to drown his sorrows in. Then Dean pointed at the guy working the counter, making a face Cas would mistake for jealousy if he was any dumber. "Your, uh, buddy over there thinks you saved his life."

Cas ignored the bartender cupid's intended, instead looking at Dean and the bottle in his hand. He seemed to be barely out of it and slightly woozy, the light in his eyes glossed over a bit. Cas may not be human, but he knew that being drunk meant disorientation and lack of abilities. It also meant Dean was trying to drown himself in his sorrow. Cas wasn't sure if it was because of the trials, him, or life, but one of those deemed sufficient enough to drink at 4pm.

"Do you really think it's wise to be drinking on the job?"

"What show you been watching?" Cas just looked back at the bar, at the wood and grains underneath his palm. As if Dean not ignoring him or trying to kill him wasn't enough, he suddenly opened his mouth and said the three words that surprised Cas more than anything Dean had done yet. "Talk to me. Are you sure about this? I mean, it's one thing me and Sammy slamming the gates to the pit, but you -- you're -- you're boarding up Heaven, and you're locking the door behind you."

Dean...did Dean care? He actually cared? He had asked Cas...the last time Dean had sat Cas down with his talk to me had been ten minutes after they had been kissing in a bank. And now Dean had spent the past few days pretending Cas didn't exist, which was something Cas was still trying to come to terms with. It wasn't easy though, and neither was the sudden change in attitude. He couldn't tell if Dean was curious, if he cared, or if he was intentionally setting Cas up for rejection and heartbreak as revenge.

But Dean did have a point. Locking up Heaven, it affected Cas the most since it was his home. Well, used to be his home. For a very long time.

"Yeah. I know." Dean was still looking at him, all open and unafraid of Cas for the first time in a long time. He looked relaxed, maybe even too much so. Was he actually a little intoxicated? What had Sam called it once..."drinking away the pain?" Dean looked like he might be headed in that direction if he wasn't already on the path lately. Was Cas really that awful? Had he pissed Dean off that much? Let him down that intensely?

"You did a lot of damage up there, man." How much did I damage you, Dean? "You think they're just gonna let that slide?" Will you ever? Will you ever forgive me? Dean may never forgive, or maybe he would. Maybe it would be better if he didn't. Cas had a nasty habit of letting Dean down in a lot of ways. And there were consequences to that. Dean wasn't the only one quite pissed still him right now too.

"Do you mean do I think they'll kill me? Yeah, they might." Cas wasn't sure how hard he'd fight for them not to if it came down to it. If Dean wasn't mad at him, if Dean could forgive...Cas still had so much to prove to Dean though. He didn't want to die until he had reached redemption from his best friend. But maybe he never would. He had to try. That's why he had to do these angel trials. Besides, wasn't the whole point Free Will anyways? If the angels were spilling fighting into earth, everything Dean had fought for would be in vain. Cas couldn't let that happen.

"So this is it? E.T. goes home." Dean shot him a side glance, a sad and reminiscent smile on his face. Castiel didn't know how E.T. was, but was Dean actually smiling at him? It wasn't even just a gentle or normal smile, it was...dare Cas even think, but. Was Dean was looking at him with affection?

Cas felt a little dizzy, the warmth of Dean's gaze washing over him and making his neck and cheeks hot. Dean hadn't looked at him like that in so long. And he didn't smell strongly enough of alcohol to just be wasted. But he looked like he was waiting for Cas to do something, say something. Cas was frozen and pretty sure if he moved it would end in the disaster of his mouth over Dean's smiling one.

The door at the other end of the bar opened and Dean put on a face, a playfully exasperated face, rolling his eyes and making a soundless huff. Because they got interrupted? Because Cas had been frozen? What was Dean looking for from him? Thankfully Cas had a minute to think as the woman entered with a beer delivery.

Dwight, Gail, and Rod carried out conversation, occasionally interrupted by lighthearted commentary from Dean. Cas watched the scene with observant eyes, pinpointing the exact moment the two men were pinned with the bow.

In a bout of amused angelic irony and boredom, the Cupid sent a bow to the TV, drawing back the spring as the four men in the bar watched. The arrow flew from the bow, shooting rapidly off the screen. Dwight and Rod both exclaimed their awe in unison, but Castiel was too busy staring at the screen.

The arrow, from the ironic Cupid's bow on TV, had shot at them. The bow was aimed at him and Dean. Angels didn't do things on accident. It was a subconscious message she was sending their way and Cas would probably fall off his barstool if he didn't have celestial balance overruling his spinning head right now.

She'd shot a metaphorical arrow at him and Dean, as a message. And being a Cupid meant that message was love. That they should be together. But Dean hated Cas four hours ago, even if he was being loose and happy now. Had she shot it because she could tell Cas was in love with Dean? Or had the affectionate smile thrown her off too?

There was music playing in the background, some song of cheesiness as the other two men in the bar stared soulfully in each others eyes. The looks in their faces really did match the one Dean had on earlier.

They had to get out of here before Cas lost his grip on reality.

Cas got off his chair and started for the door Gail disappeared through. Despite the mess of confusion in Cas's head right now, Dean responded faster to touch than words. So Cas got a hand on Dean's elbow as he passed, tugging lightly at the fabric of his clothes and signaling he come along. Dean hopped down off the barstool and caught up next to Cas with just a few long strides.

Their shoulders brushed as Dean fell into step beside Cas. Cas's heart was pounding out of his chest. They hadn't been this close, this physically intimate in what felt like years. As they neared the door, Dean took a step ahead and swung it open wide for Cas, a softer, more timid version of the affectionate smile on his face.

Cas couldn't meet Dean's eyes, he just needed to get that bow from Cupid as soon as possible and get on with the trials, before any of this got even more heart wrenching and confusing than it was. Why did it have to be a Cupid?

~*~*~*~*~

Sam made his way over to Crowley, who was bloodied up a bit in his knocked over position in his chair. Knights of Hell intrusions sure could do a number on a guy. He straightened Crowley back up to upright and took a stumbling step back. Wow, the room edges were getting blurrier and the world was spinning a bit. He had to get a handle on this because Sam still had plenty of work to do.

"You did good back there, Moose. I'll deny it if you ever quote me, but I'm a proud man. I'm proud of you."

Sam picked up Dean's spray can and shook it. It felt heavier than the one Sam usually used. Maybe for a reason. Or maybe Sam was getting weaker. Neither sounded good.

"Thanks." Sam said absentmindedly to Crowley's weird praise. He bent down to position the nozzle over Dean's lines, praying his hands wouldn't shake badly enough to ruin everything.

"Hold on. Uh, w-what's that?"

"It's what it looks like." Sam sprayed the paint out, and the smell hit him like chloroform. Unexpected and potentially deadly. He fought the urge to cough or water his eyes against the burn of the chemicals. They were just so strong. The faster he got this devils trap painted, the better. But if he went too fast, his shaky hands would show. It'd be pretty stressful if it weren't for Crowley's antics. Originally, he'd been driving Sam crazy, now he felt like the touch of light humour was keeping him from drowning.

"Are you joking? I just saved your life." He just - what? Sam couldn't help but laugh at the incredulousness of it all.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously? Me, seriously? We just shared a foxhole, you and I. We beat back the Tet Offensive, outrun the --the Rape of Nanking together! And still you're gonna do me like this?!" Sam ignored the ranting because he actually didn't know what Crowley was referencing. Sam caught all of Dean's references, but that was because they saw all their movies together. Dean. Sam shook his head and forced himself to drop the topic because it was too much to think about right now.

He just walked over to Crowley and tilted his big head to the side, jabbing the needle into the side of his neck. Crowley hollered in pain and started spurting off nonsense, his mouth moving a hundred miles an hour and sounding increasingly less British. That was odd.

"Aah! Aah! "Band of Brothers"? "The Pacific"? None of this means anything to you? All those motels, you never once watched HBO, not once? "Girls"? You're my Marnie, Moose. A-and Hannah -- she just --she needs to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all -- you, me -- we deserve to be loved. I deserve to be loved! I just want to be loved."

Did Crowley just --

"What?" Sam said, looking curiously at the blabbering demon. Crowley looked just as confused as Sam.

"What?" Crowley replied, asking the same question Sam was. Okay, weird. Sam just made his way back to his chair for the next forty five minutes. Now here came the real torture.

Unfortunately Sam's mind didn't have much to think about besides Crowley's outburst. It was either think about that, or the pain inside him, or the mess with Dean. So his mind settled for the lesser of the three. Which was still a really traumatizing thing to think about.

Don't we all -- you, me -- we deserve to be loved. Did they? What on earth had Sam done to deserve love? He'd jumped in a pit once, but that was the only thing he'd ever done to out weight all the evil. And there was so much where Sam had gone wrong.

Between getting mom and Jess killed, leaving Dean alone to go trapezing off to college, fighting with his father the day he died, his premonitions and the demon blood, dying so Dean had to sell his soul, Ruby and the apocalypse, losing his soul and running rampant for a year, taking Lisa and Ben away from Dean, killing Dean's monster daughter, having hallucinations that Dean had been forced to give up the sanity of his best friend to get rid of, quitting the job and almost jumping off a bridge, not looking for Dean when he was in Purgatory, letting Kevin get captured by Crowley twice, lying to Dean about coughing up blood, making Dean behead his other best friend to save Sam, being so sick that Dean was losing sleep with worry, and pushing Dean away without explaining why, Sam had the biggest list of screw-ups of any human being ever.

Why again did Sam deserve to be loved?

Especially not by the person he'd done wrong so many times. Everything awful Sam had done had directly affected Dean. Actually, everything Sam had messed up was directly about Dean. And for some stupid, unexplainable reason, Dean loved Sam. Or at least he thought he did. What if, deep down, Dean didn't love Sam at all? He just didn't want to hurt Sam so he forced himself into pretending to love him.

Sam had done nothing but mess up, and there had been consequences every single time. When Sam abandoned Dean in Purgatory, for example, Dean had come back vicious and crazy. And best friends with a vampire. When Sam told him he had to break it off with Benny in order for Sam to climb back in shotgun, Dean said he couldn't and then slammed the door in Sam's face. Choosing Benny over Sam, (Benny's been a better brother to me than you ever were!) then running straight back to Cas. That was another consequence from Sam's decision to not look for Dean. When Cas finally got back from Purgatory, Dean was in love with him. Dean kissed him and pushed Sam aside for his love of the angel. Even now, where was Dean when Sam's knees were wobbling and his head pounded so bad he couldn't see straight? Dean was off with Cas. The second Sam gave Dean an okay, Dean dropped his 6'4 baggage and ran towards the angel. Like he'd been dying to get out of here all along. He ran to Cas even when he was pissed as hell at the angel.

And all that was just because Sam hadn't looked for Dean when he was in Purgatory. Dean chose people who fought for him over Sam and his abandoning ways. Even when Cas ditched, Dean still find it in himself to forgive him. Sam, he could glare at for weeks. Months. Once Cas was back for more than two days, Dean was embracing him with open arms. Sam didn't get that kind of forgiveness retention rate. Sam didn't deserve it.

His head was spinning by the time he got around full circle to that thought, and twenty minutes of brooding had already passed after the time Abaddon left. Well, burnt. So Sam had about fifteen minutes until the next injection. The church was tipping around him and it was getting harder to breathe. His skin felt too tight on his bones, and his hair was so heavy on his head he just wanted a razor to shave it all off. Instead he paced, back and forth behind Crowley's chair. Crowley was quiet, maybe humming something under his breath. Sam was just trying to breathe in general.

His eyes were cast to the ground, and the sharp recognition of colours was the only reason he saw it. The floor was dirty and blurry and instantly jumped all over the place to throw Sam off balance. And now there was the increasing river of splatters, stark red against the grime and white. He watched it slowly grow, little splatters jumping into dots, then little puddles. Following Sam around in the strangest way. Then one of the puddles bounced when Sam was looking at it. Like something dropped from above. Sam paused his pacing for just a moment, looking curiously at the puddle. What had it dropped from...then another. Just beside him. Like it was coming from Sam.

Sam held out his hand and looked at it curiously. There was a little river of blood that traced all the way up to -- oh god. The hole in his arm where he had been drawing blood from was dripping, all the way down his arm and passed his fingertips. That had to attribute to why Sam was so damn lightheaded. And it certainly explaining the splatter red river on the floor.

He stumbled over to his supplies, nearly tripping twice and getting a worried sound out of Crowley for the second one. Then he was wrapping a piece of cloth over the hole. Veins were not supposed to do that. They weren't supposed to just let all of the blood out of your body. Sam had seen a million blood drives at school. He'd always volunteered to work at them because he was one of the few kids who weren't squeamish at the sight of blood. And no one bleed out from a little needle wound in an arm vein.

Now properly bandaged, or at least good enough for now, Sam looked at the time. Three minutes. Okay. He sucked in a breath for courage, trying to fill his brain with the oxygen he'd lost to the puddle of blood on the floor. He felt like he'd been drained dry, but he was still moving so he obviously wasn't dead. Besides, Dean wasn't here and Crowley was so it wasn't heaven either. He stuck the needle in his fragile skin, sucking more blood out of himself. He winced at the sensation, at the pain that sparked through him. His body was not going to be able to do this much longer.

"Would it be possible, Moose...I'd like...to ask you a-a favor, Sam." Sam had been around Crowley for a long time. And in all of that time, Crowley had never once called him Sam. He felt inclined to listen. It had to be important as hell with the sound of Crowley's voice and the lack of the snarky nickname. "Earlier, when you were confessing back there...what did you say?"

Sam -- Sam couldn't. He couldn't confess that to Crowley. No one could know. Not even Dean should know. It was Sam's greatest sin, and it was haunting at him for all of eternity. Sam had to live with that and he couldn't let anyone else. Although Sam wasn't sure why Crowley would want to know. It wasn't like he could torment Sam with it, nothing could be worse than the confession itself.

"I only ask because, given my history...it raises the question... Where do I start...to even look for forgiveness? I mean..." Crowley sounded desperate and Sam actually wanted to help. But Sam didn't know how he had even gotten forgiven in the first place. Although, honestly, just confessing in there didn't relieve him of his sins. Because the first time, when Sam had gone to confession as a teen, it had done jack squat for him.

His first confession was nowhere near the gravity of the second, but it had shaken him at the time. But it was water compared to vodka on the strength of importance scale.

He could still remember that church he went to. It was an orangey-tan colour, not white and pristine like this one. The inside had been vibrant, stain-glassed windows and dark wood pews. There had been a huge cross at the front, white and immense and intimidating as hell. Sam had basically shrunk himself as small as possible and snuck over to the side of the church, peeking out from his 16 year old bangs and doing his best not to draw attention to himself. He was a little tall for his age, still shorter than Dean though. Sam figured he always would be, and he'd always measured his height that way. He didn't have a closet wall to make little pencil marks on with his age and height, so he just mentally categorized himself by Dean's height.

7, he reached up to Dean's elbows. 8, Dean's chest. 10 Dean's shoulders. 11, Dean shot up and Sam was back to chest height again. By the time Sam was 14, he was practically at Dean's elbows again. Now, he was back at sternum. Specifically, about the manubrium of his sternum. The only problem with measuring himself like that was the fact that he was comparing himself to Dean's body. And Dean's body was something Sam was avoiding thinking about very much.

Dean was 20 and golden and strong and beautiful according to the girls. And Sam was 16 and lanky and growing and stuck in high school while Dean was spending his days working. Sam hated being apart from Dean, even though Dean took him to and from school, and snuck into the back lot to eat lunch with Sam most days. It was just that no one else around him understood him besides Dean. But things were changing, Dean was changing, and Sam wasn't sure he understood himself anymore.

So that was one of the biggest reasons he found himself in this church, sitting in a dark wooden box with two screen windows and not enough space for his growing legs. Sam had never done this before, but being 16 and going to public schools meant he had a pretty good idea what was supposed to go down.

"I don't even know where to start," Sam huffed to himself. He pushed a sweaty palm through his hair and tugged at the getting-too-small tshirt tight across his chest. "Well, um. Father, I-I know that I haven't ever done this before, but it says in the bible that everyone is god's children, so. So I guess I'm just hoping you'll listen more than my actual dad. Because...because he doesn't understand me. Not at all. Not like Dean does."

Sam paused then, looking down at his clasped hands. He had no idea what possessed him to come in here. Really, like saying his deepest horrors out loud was actually going to make them go away? He sighed and closed his eyes, deciding he might as well do this since he was already in here. And Dean thought he was still at school, or else he'd kick Sam's ass. Or ruffle his hair and call him a girl.

That was half the problem, actually. Dean was constantly touching him, full of sweaty muscle and wicked grins and pats to Sam's head. Dean had a habit of wearing sleeveless shirts and working in the sun, his kind of longish hair lightening in the sun. To a sixteen year old, Dean vaguely resembled a Greek god. And it was starting to put butterflies in his stomach. Sam had caught himself staring on more than one occasion, and it was starting to scare him. Dean was beautiful, and Sam's entire body had decided to find that out and then gravitate towards it. Which was not healthy or normal or okay in any way.

But Sam could deal with that, if it was just that. But it was so much more. They'd pull in to a parking lot for a new motel and Dad would grumble something about being low on funds. Then Dean would pipe up with "Sammy and I can share a bed, cut down on the room price. Right, kiddo?" Then there was the infamous smile and a playful tap to his arm and suddenly there wouldn't be enough oxygen in the car for all three of them. Sam would nod tightly, swallowing and trying to get a grip on his lungs and racing heart.

Little things like that happened all the time and only seemed to be getting more frequent. John didn't even ask if they wanted to share anymore, he just got a two-bed room and Sam would spend his nights with the hard muscles of Dean's back pressed against his spine, Dean's feet tangled up in his. And he'd lay awake in the dark wishing his heart would slow down and wondering what the fuck was wrong with him.

He chalked it up to sixteen year old hormones and living in each other's pockets and Sam's unfortunate luck to have an attractive twenty year old for the same brother who had cared for and looked after him his entire life. Dean was already the most important thing in the world to Sam, so when these uncomfortable feelings started in, Dean was suddenly the sole focus of everything, all angles covered. And Sam may have different ideas of right and wrong than the general public, but that was one thing that was indisputable. You just don't feel that way about your brother.

So that's how floppy 16 year old Sam ended up in the confession booth, hands clasped and looking hopelessly at the worn and faded roof. He was starting to tear up, but he managed to not let the tears fall past his lashes.

"I...I read once you're supposed to confess your greatest sin. And I've killed, Father. I've taken life from monsters, I've dug up graves and lit someone's loved one on fire. I've lied, cheated, ran away from the cops, and stolen but. B-but I don't think that's why I'm here. I'm here because Dean...well Dean, see. I uh."

He had to pause and suck in a breath, try to get his voice to stop shaking so much. With his head hanging, the words came out barely more than a whisper.

"I think I have feelings for him. Non-brotherly feelings. Or maybe it's just stupid teenage hormones or something. But I...I don't know what to do." He sniffed and wiped a hand across his watering eye, closing them both and taking a deep shaky breath in attempt to settle down.

"I guess that's where you come in. I said it, and so I guess you decide if I'm worthy of forgiveness. Then it goes away. Right? And we can go back to normal, and everything will be okay. Please, just. Make it go away."

Sam sat in the booth for another ten minutes after that, in perfect silence save a couple of sniffles. He finally found the courage to lift his head and walk back to the place he never called home, looking at the sky and the array of clouds and wondering if it worked. The next time he saw Dean, his stomach did a sickening twist, and Sam had pushed it all down. It hadn't worked, Sam's faith hadn't been rewarded with redemption. Fine. He'd make it go away on his own.

After his confessional failure, Sam dived into school stronger than he ever had, using it as an out. After a few months, Sam didn't look at Dean with the awe and longing he did before the confession. He pushed it so far deep and down in the darkest place of him, even he started to forget he had ever felt that way. Subconsciously though, he remembered and was starting to work on a permanent solution. With school his priority right now and Dean taking a backseat, Sam started to see a path out. A path out of this miserable life, out of the pain and the lies and the freak he was. Normal, safe, far away from the few months he'd been confused about Dean.

The awe and affection Sam used to look at Dean with turned into anger. He bottled it up inside him, every time Dean flashed a smile or a patch of golden tight skin, Sam got a little madder. Not at Dean, not really at himself, more at life. At the world, for making him like this. And he never really admitted it, but it was one of the reasons he tried to get out of the life. So he didn't have to face it anymore, the anger. But it started shifting, getting mad at John and at moving and hunting and their lives, forcing the anger away from its origins until the origin didn't matter anymore. Until the origin didn't exist in Sam's head.

By the time Sam applied for Stanford, he forgotten about the episode with the confession entirely. He'd forced it to go away, making it invisible in his mind and body. Maybe his subconscious took those months into consideration as Sam filled out his application and packed his bags, but it was so long gone in the distant parts of his head he didn't even realize that may have been a factor for running off until now, standing in another church some fourteen or so years after his first confession. Even when he and Dean finally admitted their feelings for each other, even the first time they'd kissed, Sam still didn't remember he'd ever felt a fraction of those feelings in his past. He fell for Dean all over again and had no memory of having done it the first time.

Until Dean had asked the question earlier. Then everything Sam had forgotten he'd ever gone through with the first confession all came flushing back. He'd honestly blocked it out of his memory so far that Sam was pretty sure the weirdly enhanced trials rememberance skills had been the only reason he'd even been able to bring it back. His constantly new old-memories in tandem with Dean's question had triggered an automatic response that surprised even Sam. He'd said it before he even thought about it, but now between blood doses he had plenty of time to think about it.

And the first confession, he had failed. He hadn't fixed what he had begged to be forgiven for. He'd just forgotten his feelings for Dean, which had given him no redemption. Relief, maybe, but not redemption.

What he'd confessed this time was so much more intense, so much a greater sin than simply getting butterflies at Dean's laugh. His hours-recent confession was a deep-rooted, honest, unbreakable cry for his wrongs, all of his evil wrapped up and sorted, the great sin of all standing out high and axiomatic above the rest.

And Crowley was sitting here before him, asking for forgiveness that Sam knew from past experience wouldn't come. Maybe that's why the trials had brought that memory back, to shatter all hope for his confession changing anything. Just because he asked God for forgiveness didn't mean a single thing would be fixed. So there was nothing Sam could offer to Crowley for a sort of condolence. No comforting promises of what fluffy future they had. The only thing Sam could do for him was make him one of them: human. Desperately emotional and horribly guilty human.

So Sam held out the needle to him, filled with blood that was the poison of Crowley's cure.

"How about we start with this?"

Crowley looked at him and the needle for a moment, then tilted his head to the side in submission. Sam slid the needle into Crowley's exposed neck, injecting the only hope either of them had for forgiveness into the demon's bloodstream. Crowley didn't shout in pain this time, he just sat and took it with a sated and contented look on his face.

If Sam could finish these trials, maybe there was redemption for them after all.

 

~*~*~*~*~

Strapped to a chair in the same room that Naomi lay bloody and brutally murdered, Cas was doing everything he possibly could to stall time, to get the hell out of this situation. He struggled uselessly against the bonds binding him, finding he didn't have the slightest bit of wriggle room. And with Metatron looming above him, Cas felt like he was reliving every mistake he made all over again. How stupid had he been?

"Metatron, you don't have to do this. Revenge is not the answer." Cas squirmed and Metatron grinned that creepy smile of his, his voice soft and affectionate like he was speaking to a child.

"Well, of course revenge is the answer. I was hoping you might agree with that when I choose you. Unfortunately not. But it doesn't matter anyways, because that's not what I really need you for." Metatron and the creaking creepy side smile again.

"Why do you need me then? Why me? Why drag me into the middle of all of this? There had to be some other rogue angel to help you destroy heaven." Cas spat out the last words accusingly, but Metatron just leaned back and chuckled.

"It had to be you, Castiel. I told you from the start, you're the only one who can do it."

"Why?!? Why me?"

Metatron leaned back in, hovering just six inches from Cas's face with a wicked grin. Why was he always smiling and acting so happily creepy? The look on his face made Cas freeze though. Metatron was looking at him like he could see right through him, like he knew every secret and thought that pulsed through Cas's body.

"You're the last ingredient, Castiel. The last piece of the spell." Cas searched Metatron's eyes. There was no clue to what that meant.

"Unfortunately, you're the only angel that fits the book. Don't you think I would have picked an angel that's a bit easier to manipulate if I could? You have a reputation for being wickedly stubborn and breaking the rules, two things that make you quite hard to contend with. Other angels you can just buy off nowadays. I heard there are angels stooping so low as to work for the King of Hell, of course I could get one to work for the Scribe of God. You see, I need the grace of an angel for the final ingredient, but unfortunately, it has to be the grace of a very special angel. Specifically, an angel in love with a human. Which are much harder to come by. So when I heard of a rogue angel with a tainted heart, well. That's where you come in."

Cas's heart was beating out of his chest. Metatron knew somehow, he knew and he took that power and was somehow going to destroy heaven with it. The entire universe was spinning and swirling in chaos in Cas's head. No, no, no.

"No. I'm not in love with a human."

Cas's head sent him back to just ten minutes ago, dropping Dean off outside the church, saying goodbye as Dean called his name into the sky in desperation. Rewind another ten minutes and Cas had been verbally battling Naomi, when Dean had suddenly started to listen to her. Cas had lunged for the angel, stepping forward with deadly intent in his eye and his angel sword in hand. Then Dean had grabbed onto his arm, calling out "Wait!"

And Cas had stopped. He was an angel, and a strong one at that, but the soft grip of a single man could tear his mind apart. Castiel hated Naomi with every ounce of him, wanted to kill her a thousand times over to make her pay for making Castiel kill Dean half that many times. For forcing him to pummel Dean until he was raw and bloody, for making Dean hate him. Well, Cas was the one who mostly made Dean hate him, but still. Even with all that rage, a single light touch from Dean was enough to make Cas freeze, abandon all thoughts of killing Naomi. All from a single touch.

"Even -- even if I was," Castiel figured there was no point in flat out denying it. Not when it was commonly whispered in the garrisons, and there was enough proof of it everytine he saw Dean. "Why would that be the ingredient? It doesn't make any sense. It can't be."

"Oh of course it makes sense, Castiel. I need the grace of an angel in love with a human because it has enough power when combined with the other ingredients to take down all of Heaven. You hadn't picked up on the pattern yet? It's quite obvious with the first two things I made you do."

The pattern? There had been a pattern to the other ingredients. And if Cas had figured it out, if he had been able to find out the pattern, he could have predicted the last ingredient. And stayed the hell away from Metatron. And possibly saved Heaven. Cas refused to let the choked sob out of his chest, just clenching his teeth and trying to glare instead.

"First, the least guilty of the three offenders, a Nephilim has to die. They are the product, Castiel, of the abomination between an angel and a human. It's not their fault, but they still walk the earth in eternal shame, having broken one of God's most treasured rules. After the product, the next in line is the cause. A Cupid's bow forces people to fall in love. So, if aimed purposefully incorrect, it could be the cause of a human loving an angel. The bow must be destroyed as well.

"But the worst criminal in all this mess is the angel who dare fall in love with a human. They use love to their own benefit and end up destroying everything, creating Nephilims and shining a disgraceful light on all of angelkind. You see, Castiel, it all reads from the same story. The product of an angel and a human's sexual endeavors, the cause of an abominable connection, and the source of all the trouble in the first place: the angel who dare defy God and their own kind by loving a human. It's all about the product, cause, and the source. The least guilty first, ending the spell with the one who deserves to pay. And the beauty of it is that without your grace, you'll turn exactly into what you loved too much.

"Where did you think all those ingredients came from? Every spell has a purpose behind it, a reason for its power. There is no greater power than love, Castiel. You just have to know how to...use it to your advantage. If you can harness the product of an angel and humans love, the cause of it, and the grace of the very sinner angel himself, the kind of power you can get with that? Incredible. Three keys to an unimaginable door. And we all have you to thank!"

And again, for the thousandth time over, Cas's heart is the reason for destruction. From the moment he laid his hand on Dean, from the second those terrified green eyes opened to his, Cas had doomed the world. Everything that had ever gone wrong, every soul and angel and mistake Castiel ruined was because he loved Dean. The angel who dared defy God and his own kind...abomination. Abomination. It was too much, Cas couldn't take the consequences of loving Dean anymore. Not when loving Dean meant thousands dead.

Heaven had used him, Crowley had used him, Naomi had used him, Metatron had used him. Plucking strings on his heart because they knew, because Cas had a weak spot that was weak enough to bring down the entire world.

The millions Cas had slaughtered because one way or another, he'd fallen in love with a human. And every second Cas spent with him was another hundred people or angels potentially slaughtered because of it.

If through some gruesome twist of horror Cas lived through this as a human, he had to break it off. Cas couldn't be with Dean, never again. He'd run fast and as far from Dean as possible, hopefully getting enough distance that he wouldn't bring the other half of the universe down with him because he was in love with Dean Winchester.

And again, Castiel managed to destroy the world with just a pair of green eyes and a leather jacket as the fuel to feed the fire.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean barged in the doors like the church was on fire. It might as well be, Sam had nearly died that way twice. Ans now he was nearly about to die for a third time, and Dean had to save him. It was the singular, only thing he could think about. The second the doors swung open, Dean's eyes found Sam. He looked like a skeleton, hunched and sunken and pale as a ghost, save for the brilliant red dripping steadily from his hand as he lifted it to place over Crowley's mouth. As he lifted his hand to let himself die. Forever.

"Sammy, stop!"

He turned his head in surprise, seeing Dean in the doorway. Sam's whole body was shaking and his cheekbones were so defined they looked like they might cut through the thin, nearly transparent layer of pink and white skin covering his features. His eyes were wide and wild like a wounded animal's, and the look on his face made it seem like he barely recognized Dean.

Dean put his hands up in a symbol of peace, and to maybe settle Sam down from the shaking and the crazy look. He approached his broken and dying brother slowly, each footstep careful and deliberate, even though Dean was dying to just sprint over there and pull Sam away to the ends of the earth with him, leave this all behind them. But Sam looked so god damn fragile he'd probably shatter before Dean could drive out of this miserable state.

"Easy there. Okay. Just take it easy. We got a slight change of plan."

"What? What's going on? Where's Cas?!" Sam looked around the church frantically, his hands shaking so much that little droplets of blood were flying in all directions from the dropping slice across his palm. God, Dean really had gotten here just in time. Another minute, and. And Dean couldn't even think about what that would've meant.

"Metatron lied. You finish this trial, you're dead, Sam." Dean was keeping it together so far, his adrenaline kicking in and making everything ultra sensitized. He managed not to flip out from skeleton-Sam's state of...well, everything. There was not a single thing okay with Sam right now but Dean pushed that all aside, he could deal with it later.

The only thing that mattered right now was getting Sam out of here alive. And now that Dean just dropped the you're-dying news, Sam was looking around the church like he was searching for something important. A missing piece of information maybe, maybe just soaking it all in. It was a lot to take, Dean knew, but now that Sam knew, they could get back in the car and figure this out some other--

"So?"

It took a few seconds for Dean's brain to register that two letter word. What it meant. The look on Sam's face. It all came crashing down on Dean in one instant and he was shattered in a millisecond, a fraction of time. Every ounce of that word, of what Sam was saying. What his eyes so clearly backed up. So.

So what if I die?

It was a good thing Sam decided to keep talking after the pause, because Dean didn't have vocal chords for a moment. His elaboration was just as passionate, as heated and sure and suicidal as the two letter word that broke every bone in Dean's body.

"Look at him. Look at him!" Dean spared a single glance Crowley's way and saw nothing worth losing Sam over. Sam was nearly delirious as he stepped out from behind the chair, pointing at the demon and trying desperately to relay it all to Dean. "Look how close we are! Other people will die if I don't finish this!"

Sam sounded desperate, desperate to die. Dean couldn't let him. Dean couldn't let him. He found his strength in the wonder struck eyes looking up at him, from those hazels Dean had looked into since Sammy was just a baby in his arms. That hazel light that had smiled and laughed and grew and researched and saved the world and would apparently give his life to save again. That hazel light that would be gone forever if Dean couldn't get through to him. Sam was a logical thinker, right? Dean just had to show him the pros list for not finishing the trial. For not going through with this versus dying.

"Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a Hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here." He'd stepped closer, closing some of the miles between him and his hurting baby brother. Dean melted a little bit and almost had trouble getting out the next words as tears threatened to build in his eyes and throat at the mere thought. "But I can't do it without you."

It was true. Dean couldn't function without Sam. He couldn't go on, couldn't hunt or save people. Dean couldn't even live without Sam, how was he supposed to save the world without him?

"You can barely do it with me." Sam shook his head, the rest of him already trembling and unfocused. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, not seeing what Sam was getting at. They were stronger together, they'd proven that a million times over. Sam knew that. "I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?"

"Come on, man. That's not what I meant."

"No, it's exactly what you meant." Sam slowed down his crazy talk just enough to draw out that sentence, to dig the words deep into Dean's soul. Sam honestly believed Dean thought he screwed up everything he touched. Dean didn't even know where to begin. How could he even start to make Sam understand? He was silent though. His insides were burning with the same fire that had rolled flames across the ceiling and ruined their lives, but Sam was breaking and Dean had to listen. He had to try to understand where the hell all this was coming from because he had to fix it. He had to.

"You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was?" Sam had slowed down, the crazy shaking and wild eyes had subsided and now he was Dean's brother again, dying and hurting and losing it, slipping through Dean's fingers before his eyes. Somehow that made it worse. Because it wasn't some episode Dean could fix with the help of some angel mojo, or a crazy outburst Dean could talk down with soft music and warm blankets and a kiss to Sam's forehead. This was real.

It was his Sam, his baby brother standing in front of him and hurting so much. Dean looked at him with all of that pain reflected back in his eyes, hurting for Sam and for all of this. For Sam thinking he had a great sin that was so bad he deserved to die over it. Dean stood frozen and listened, but nothing could have prepared him for what Sam was about to say.

Nothing could have saved him from the shock of those shakily confessed next words. Nothing could have helped him through the break in Sam's voice, the choked up tears at his own words. And the honesty and truth and pain between that sentence. Nothing.

"It was how many times I let you down."

The world caved in from above and it all hit Dean like a tidal wave. Sam actually thought -- Dean's thought processes stopped working. Dean's lips parted to fill his lungs with oxygen but his body rejected any sort of attempt to keep living. Sam's confession sunk in like a massive nightmare, worse than the worst thing Dean could imagine. He never had before and never would again know a pain so heavy, words so altering.

It was all for him. Sam was willing to give his life, throw away his everything, because he thought he had let Dean down. It was like everything else that had ever mattered before was all blown away right now as it sunk in and he realized, truly realized, for the first time, what he meant to Sam. What Sam had been holding as his gospel all of these years. All of this time, all building up and all ignored all pushing towards this moment when everything was frozen and timeless but seconds away, three grains of sand left in the hour glass from eternity.

"I can't do that again." Dean didn't-- where could he start? Sam was shaking again, trembling in front of him, the words barely able to come out. Sam would rather die then let down Dean again. It was too much. All this time when Sam had been dodging him, avoiding him, feeling guilty and worthless. Dean had been dying to know why and now that he did it hit him like a bucket of ice water to the face. Wake up. How had he...how had this ever happened? How had Sam crumbled to shambles before Dean's eyes and Dean never noticed? It had to have been for so long now, if it had gotten this bad. Taking his own life. That was never the way out, never, and Dean couldn't let Sam do that. Even if Dean hadn't been madly in love with his brother, even if Sam hadn't been Dean's entire world. There was no one more worthy of being saved.

"Sam --"

"What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again? I mean, who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel..." You were gone, and I needed someone. You weren't there, and Cas was, Sam! I need him, Sam. I need you to understand I need him. "...Another -- another vampire?" Benny's been a better brother to me this past year than you've ever been! "Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just –"

"Hold on, hold on! You seriously think that? Because none of it -- none of it -- is true." Sam paused, he stopped and looked down as Dean lost it. Dean couldn't take anymore, he couldn't hear another word of what Sam believed to be the truth. He couldn't listen to Sam give Dean the reasons he wasn't worthy of living. Of what it was like to be set aside for someone else. Which Dean had never, ever...he just-- how could Sam even think that anyone, anything ever was more important than him? Dean would be haunted forever by Sammy's cried words, by the ripped apart expression on Sam's face. Dean had seen him through every moment of the worst pain Sam had gone through in his life, and everything else was so paled in comparison to the way Sam was feeling right now that Dean didn't know how Sammy hadn't collapsed over yet.

The part of Dean that he kept numb was awoken for the first time in decades. Dean hadn't let himself let go, hadn't let everything he felt inside out before. He'd been trained, raised as a soldier. Soldiers didn't have emotions. Sam had taught him some over the years, what it was like to remorse and learn and love and accept and cry. But Dean had never let anything like this inside him, never let anything like this consume him. And consume him it did, every milligram of what was Dean Winchester pouring out in a single moment in time, in the little church that felt like the only place in the world. Sam was fading, fast, and Dean had to tell it to him straight, everything he'd never said because he assumed Sam just knew. And here was Sam with a suicide ransom hanging over their heads because he had no idea. No idea.

"Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy..." Dean said Sammy in that moment with more emotion and more passion than most people said I love you with on their death beds. Dean broke on that word. He broke over that name, Dean's and Dean's alone, his own little claim over his brother. His entire world. Lookin out for you's my job. More than that. It's kinda who I am.

"Come on. I killed Benny to save you." The blade had been cold and sharp in Dean's hands as he sent his best friend and comrade back to the one place he deserved so much better than. And it had tortured Dean, like a twisting blade to the heart, burying the body he'd spent the better half of a year trying to save. And Dean would do it again in a heartbeat. He'd do it again a thousand times over. There was not a single creature on this earth Dean wouldn't sacrifice to save his brother. Maybe that made him Heathcliff instead of Edgar, but Dean wouldn't regret it for an instant.

"I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed Mom walk because of you." And that was far greater a sacrifice. His entire life, Dean's purpose was to stop the evil that had taken Mom away from them. Away from Sammy, because he'd never even gotten to know her. And away from Dean, the only selfish thing he ever wanted besides Sam. And Dean would throw it all away, even justice for Mom, for Sam. And Sam thought Dean would be better off with Sam dead. Sam didn't know he was everything. Everything.

Dean couldn't even try to stop it now, it was pumping through his veins and everything Dean was was pouring out of him and Sam had to know that. Sam had to know.

"Don't you dare..." Sam was in shambles, wrecked through his soul. Sammy, who thought -- "...think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you. It has never been like that, ever." Dean was nearly crying in his effort to keep it together. He wasn't keeping it together. He was shaking with the emotions of letting this all out, much too little much too late but everything Dean had to give.

"I need you to see that."

Dean could see it, could see Sam. All the way back to the first fire. Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back. Now, Dean, go! That little weight, so heavy in a four year old's arms. From that moment on. From the very first moment he'd taken Sam's life and tied it eternally to his own. Dean never had, and honestly never would, even be able to have the ability to deem something more important than the man in front of him. The one who was breaking down and shaping out, staring at the ground and shaking, shaking so much he was nearly stumbling to the ground.

"I'm begging you."

Sam didn't look at him. He looked at the ground, his eyes shifty. His entire body was heaving with the effort to support his brain with oxygen. Dean could see nothing else besides Sam, not the church or the King of hell or the blood on the ground pooling beneath Sam's hand. Dean couldn't breathe either, and he didn't try to. Not til Sammy got it. Not til Sammy heard his I love you loud and clear.

It was so much better than those three clichéd, overused words. Screw Romeo and Juliet, screw the love stories of all time. This, right here, right now, him and Sam. It was the purest damn thing the earth would ever see. There was nothing more potent, nothing more real than his love for Sammy. No one and nothing would ever compare.

"How do I stop?" The words stayed suspended in the air for a moment before the hope sunk back in and Dean melted in those words. Sammy was gonna be okay. He was gonna be fine. He held out his bloody hand, squeezing it as more drops of blood splashed in the little pool at Sam's feet. The terrifying glow in Sam's arms flashed brighter, but it looked a little like it might be fading. Dean could get them through this.

"Just let it go." Dean took a step closer, the warmth buzzing between their bodies as 6 feet became two.

"I can't." Sam's words broke again but Dean could fix this. Then he was reaching out for Sam, always reaching out for Sam. He stopped just as he realized that reaching for Sam wouldn't do anything, he had to stop the bleeding. Had to bandaged Sam up.

"It's in me, Dean. You don't know what this feels like." Dean retracted the hand automatically reaching for Sam and put it in his pocket instead, pulling out a bandana. He took Sam's hand, took it like the promise they were making. Dean folded the cloth and wrapped it over Sam's bleeding hand, carefully, deliberately. Bandaging it up like the confessions they'd just made.

"Hey, listen. We will figure it out, okay? Just like we always do." There was nothing they couldn't do, not when it was just him and his Sammy. Dean looked at Sam, really looked in the shattered hazel eyes, and he'd never looked at anything with more love in his life than right now in this church. A promise of forever. Always, just like we always do. "Come on."

Dean took Sam's shoulders in his palms and pulled his brother in. Held the love of his life in his arms. The most important life Dean ever saved. The one that saved his every day. Here, nestled safe in Dean's forever embrace.

"Come on. Let it go, okay? Let it go, brother." And never was a more powerful word spoke from Dean's lips than the words that saved Sam. Sam had given it up, he'd given up all of those lives. He could've saved potentially millions today, but he'd listened to Dean instead. He saved Dean instead. Sam had a chance to avenge Jessica's death, their mother's death, the destruction of their lives. And Sam let it all go for Dean.

Sam was sinking into his body and Dean held him. Dean took it, let Sam's breath steady back out from Dean's arms around him. They clutched each other for dear life, for the only tie either of them had left in this world. Then Sam was pulling away much too soon but Dean let him, felt there was more of a purpose to letting go than just because Sam wanted to. No, Dean could feel inside Sam, the way he wanted to hold onto Dean forever. And Dean would have let him, except now Sam was holding out his arms, looking captivated.

"Hey, Dean." Dean leaned back and unwrapped his arms, never stopping touching Sam. His hands supported the weight of Sam's forearms, holding him upright and afraid to stop touching as Sam looked down at where they were still connected.

Dean looked down at the disruption too, watching the morbid orange glow trapped beneath Sam's skin fade to nothingness. It was gone. It was over. They'd won, they actually won. Dean had talked Sam off the ledge and now he was alive. He was alive and he was okay and there was nothing else that mattered.

"See?" Dean was radiating joy, until he met Sam's eyes and saw that pain again. The hurt wasn't over. Sam's breathing was shaky and it was getting worse. What in the world--

Sam doubled over suddenly, crying out in pain.

"Sam?" Dean asked shakily. Terrified. No no no. Dean's hands slid around to support his doubled over brother, taking him for the door of the church as quickly as possible. They burst through in a slamming of doors and violent moans from Sam. Dean held him, was never letting him go.

"I got you, little brother. You're gonna be just fine." Sam was too heavy for Dean to carry but he'd do it anyways. The strain of just half carrying Sam was taking all of the energy out of him. This was going downhill fast and Dean suddenly had no idea what to do. He didn't even know what was hurting. Just that there was a lot of hurt.

The car was parked just outside thankfully, and Sam collapsed against the side, sinking to the ground in severe pain with Dean's arms still wrapped securely around him. He was getting worse. Sam was already dying and he was somehow getting worse.

"Sam, Sam?" Sam's head was rolling on his neck, his body falling apart. Dean kept a sturdy hand on Sam's shoulder, could feel the rapidly beating heart beneath his thumb. Dean couldn't do this alone. Dean couldn't do this.

"Cas?!" Dean called desperately to the sky.

Sam started wheezing, no oxygen getting in his lungs as he sucked in loud, pointless breaths. Something was blocking his windpipe. Or by the sound of it, his esophagus got ripped in half. Sammy wasn't breathing. No no no.

"Castiel?!" Dean screamed to the sky. How could Cas be gone now of all times, when Dean needed him more than ever? Something had to have happened to him. Dean might be losing the only two people he had left in the same moment. "Where the hell are you?"

Sam was still fighting for air, gasping and choking over oxygen Dean couldn't just breathe into his mouth this time. "Sammy!"

Then a flash of light caught his eye and Dean looked up. A spiraling gold firey shape was soaring towards the ground, crispy black wings attached to its back. Then another. And another. The entire sky lit up with a whole species, falling to earth in balks of burning flame.

"No, Cas." This was going to destroy him. Unless Cas was one of the ones falling...no. No, Cas wasn't going to die, not now, not in Dean's lifetime. Then Sam was looking up at the sky too, and the shower if morbid fireworks over their church bound promises.

"What's happening?" Sam gasped through the pain. Dean's eyes were fixed on the clouds, his hands fixed on Sam's clothes. Naomi had been right. Sam had almost died and now the angels were all skydiving to earth.

"Angels. They're falling."

There were a few more moments of awe, like staring at the sun, when Dean decided he couldn't wait for Cas any longer. The angel was clearly a bit preoccupied. He better be okay, or Dean was kicking his ass later.

Then it was the rush to get Sam into the backseat. Sam grabbed onto Dean's arm as Dean picked him up the best he could, and Dean wasn't sure if it was to stop Dean or to grab ahold of him tighter. But Dean got him into the car, pulling Sam from the third metaphorical fire of his life. He laid Sam out in the leather as another huge fireball exploded behind them. Angels, falling. Sam was shaking and trembling still, but Dean didn't let go of his life. He would never let go.

"Sam, I got you. I got you, you're gonna be okay. I'm here, Sam. I got you, brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That episode seriously. It's like Swan Song level of mental destruction. But thank you thank you for still reading. xx
> 
> The end is a quote from the Pilot because I thought it would be fitting.
> 
> http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com/
> 
> you guys should go check it out. You don't have to follow it or anything but it's pretty rad I figured you'd all appreciate it
> 
> I promise, I have HUGE plans for season 9.
> 
> Huge.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Saba:
> 
> "Hi! Ok I've read every single chapter and I love the way you write!! Can't wait for your huge plans!<3<3"
> 
> FlyByNightGirl:  
> "Thank you sooo much!! It's so nice to see people comment lovely things like this. Season Nine is going to be crazy, but I really plan on bringing the story to life. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading and the lovely compliments. xx <3"
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~
> 
> Kirlena:
> 
> "I can't wait for new chapters with season nine (:"


	13. Provident (I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here 09x01)

It might have been more rational for him to run inside and grab a nurse and a gurney, probably would have saved some time, but Dean could not and would not leave Sam alone. Even for the five minutes it took to run into the building and alert hospital staff.

When Dean had first lifted Sam into the backseat, Sam had been gasping and moaning. Dean had laid him down and hovered over him, checking his vitals and soothing him with words and fingertips. There were still explosion sounds and streaks of light outside, the falling angels making quite a scene for the world to see. After determining what was happening, and making a mental note that Cas had better be damn okay, Dean had abandoned the angels and turned his focus solely on Sam.

It was hard, not being able to get through to Sam. Dean was doing his best to soothe the pained noises and breathing, but nothing seemed to be working. Sam was dissipating in front of him, slipping out of Dean's fingertips. This couldn't be happening. Dean thought he had just stopped this. Hadn't he just stopped this? Together, they'd pulled Sam back from that ledge and he was supposed to be better now, not this pained, breaking mess.

After a few minutes, the wheezing subsided and so did the noises, Sam's eyes beginning to fall shut. Dean started flipping the fuck out.

He grabbed onto Sam's shoulders, shaking them lightly.

"Don't you dare leave me." There was no response. His body was like a rag doll in Dean's hands. An ignored tear slipped out of Dean's eye. His voice was hoarse, throat scratchy and rough.

"Sam? No. No....SAM!! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE. YOU CANNOT LEAVE ME. DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE LEAVE ME. SAMMY!!"

Dean was sobbing and screaming, clutching desperately to Sam's jacket. His body curled in over Sam's from where he was sitting on the edge of the backseat and Dean's head landed on Sam's chest, tears wetting his jacket as Dean shook with tears.

"No. No. You are not. You can't. You can't fucking leave me Sammy." The hoarse whisper was ripped from Dean's chest and he could taste blood in his mouth, copper mingled with the mix of salt from his tears.

Then Dean's hand repositioned over Sam's jacket, fingers curling into the edges of Sam's tattoo and palm resting flat over where his baby brother's heart was. Dean's body was already strung out and wasted, his body racking with silent sobs and a flow of tears that were already starting to dry out. This couldn't be happening. Sam couldn't be-- Dean couldn't even bring himself to finish that thought.

Dean kept sobbing and choking through the silence until finally, finally, underneath his palm, finally, Dean felt a tiny, faint heartbeat. Sam was alive. Sam had stilled and shut his eyes but he was somehow still alive. Dean gasped and lifted his head, looking at Sam's still and complacent face. Dean had to get him to a hospital, now.

He pressed a few rapid fire kisses over Sam's face, squeezing his hand and whispering a few more promises that Sam was gonna he okay. He was alive. Barely so, but alive. Dean had a chance to save him after all.

And now that he was at the hospital, Dean wasn't leaving his unconscious and barely breathing brother in the backseat alone. The whole drive over here Dean had spent just as much time looking in the rearview mirror at Sammy as he did at the road in front of them. It had been dangerous to drive so blind, but hell if Dean cared. And he sure as hell wasn't letting Sam out of sight now either.

Thanks to a lifetime of military training, the adrenaline rush Dean's body had kicked up, and his stubborn, unabiding love for Sam, Dean was able to wrestle Sam out of the backseat and lift him up in a bridal carry. He stumbled and staggered all the way to the hospital doors, but Sam remained safe and tucked in his arms. By the time Dean burst through the doors, he was already yelling for a doctor.

Maybe it was the fact that he had a 6'4 grown man in his arms, or maybe it was the way he was yelling, but the nurses rushed out a hospital bed pretty damn quick. Dean jogged alongside the bed down the hallway, holding Sam's hand and occasionally brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

When they reached the operating room doors, a hand landed on Dean's arm. He turned his head, eyes wild at being interrupted. The doors slammed shut behind Sam the moment Dean spun around. His brain recognized the double click of an automatic lock slipping into place. He didn't need to try the silver handle to know the door was unopenable.

"Sir, you have to wait out here." A small, 30's something brunette with a nurse uniform and name tag that said Nancy with a smiley face was looking at him sternly.

"No, he's not going anywhere alone." Dean gave her a fleeting glimpse and turned back to the doors. Sam was on the other side of those locks with just doctors to look over him. Dean could at least still see what was going on, thankfully. These doors had glass windows in them with etched black parallelograms obscuring just a millimeter of the view.

Her petite hand tightened on his forearm and yanked backwards, doing nothing in the grand scheme of things but making Dean turn his head with a vaguely pissed addition to his worried expression.

"Sir, your husband will be fine. He's with the doctors, they just need to run some tests. And they need you to stay out here."

Dean looked back to the window and tugged his arm back, easily freeing it from the soft fingers. He was not letting Sam die at the hands of some doctor while Dean stood idly by, white shiny doors separating them in the moment Sam left the world because some hospital regulation didn't want Dean at Sam's side. I'm not leaving my brother alone out there...Then I'm not letting him die alone.

"Brother," Dean muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"He's my brother." Dean spun around again, one hand subconsciously pressed to the heavy, locked white door. Like his body had to be as physically close to Sam's as possible. "Why can't I go in there?"

"They're doing tests. Which includes X-Ray examination, something your body isn't protected against." The nurse was speaking in a patient voice, especially considering she was so small her head only came up to Dean's sternum.

"So?"

"So you'd end up sterile if you took a single step inside."

"I don't care." Dean turned back to the window. He could only see Sam's feet from here, his Sasquatch feet Dean always made fun of him for. The feet Dean knew from childhood experience were ticklish as hell, and from adult experience were warm and fit perfectly tangled up with Dean's.

"So he is your husband then."

"Look, lady, I don't have time for this. Either you open this door, or I break it down with my foot." Dean's overly calm demeanor slipped for a moment, and the volume of his voice raised a bit. Nancy looked at him with cryptic eyes, squeezing her clipboard a little tighter to her chest.

"You do know gay marriage is legal in New York now, right?"

Dean sighed and wiggled the handle impatiently. It wasn't budging. If he got thrown out of the hospital, he couldn't see Sam at all. He was already going against all hospital protocol he knew. Get in, give your information, don't make a scene, get out. You don't want to be memorable. And if it comes down to it, nurses are more easily persuaded than doctors.

He held his breath for a moment, counting to five and trying to unclench his hands from the solid iron fists he held at his sides. Either he tried to bust down the door right now and got dragged off by security, or he compelled to the nurse's rules. After glaring down the door for another moment or two, Dean finally sighed again.

"When can I see him?"

~*~*~*~*~

Dean managed not to freak out about some stranger handling Sam's delicate body and stripping him down to shove him in one of the awful hospital gowns. He only ended up glaring at Nancy a few more times before she was on her way, off to some other patient now that Dean wasn't trying to break down the door anymore. The security detail at the end of the hallway had taken a casual curiousity in him though, and was staring at him relentlessly while Dean stared through the widow with a gaze a hundred times more intense.

The door finally swung open again and a few doctors came flooding out, nurses amongst then like minnows in a pool of coy. A cot was wheeled out by three nurses, and Dean was started in that direction the moment he saw Sam. A pale, bald man in a lab coat pointed an accusing finger in his direction.

"What is that man doing back here? This is a restricted area!" Dean didn't even hear him; he wasn't talking about Sam, it didn't matter. He brushed past the lab coats and found Sam's hand again, fingers entwining with the cold, pale ones. Sam was in blue now, and the white pillow under his head made him look terrifyingly sick.

One of the doctors put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and he snapped his shoulder out of the way, keeping up the brisk walk next to Sam's bed. No one tried to touch him after that.

They finally got Sam into a room, a pretty spacious room that was bigger than most apartments in this state. Dean dragged the metal chair from the corner of the room, creating a loud screeching noise that had the nurses covering their ears. He propped it inches away from Sam's bed and took Sam's hand again, turning to face the only doctor that had followed them in.

Dean's thumb ran circles over Sam's skin as he spoke, not wanting to know the answer but knowing he needed to.

"What's wrong with him?" The doctor was dark-skinned and built enough to not be entirely afraid of Dean. He was still much smaller, but he kept a confidence stance as he met Dean's eye with his calm and composed voice.

"He's in a coma. We're processing the test results now, so we'll know more in an hour or so-"

"He's in a coma? As in, dead to the world living inside his head coma?"

"Well, there is a medical definition that states that technically -"

"I don't care about the medical definition. When is he waking up? What can I do? Can I bring him back in any way?"

"Sir, I'm asking you to calm down. There is nothing anyone can do for the time being, I'll have the x-ray scans and the rest of the tests in for you to look at as quickly as possible. Until then, I suggest you rest. You look like you've had one hell of a day."

Dean didn't bother answering and just turned back to Sam, excusing the doctor and the nurses with a wave of his hand. He wasn't resting until Sam woke up. Period.

He plopped down in the chair next to his comatose brother, clasping his hands in desperation and scanning over Sam with his eyes. There was a breathing tube in his nose and a monitor attached to his arm. All wires and tubes and hospital covered. This wasn't supposed to happen. They stopped the trials so Sam could live, if he died anyways...No. Sam wasn't dying, Dean wouldn't let him. Dean couldn't let him.

It wasn't in him.

~*~*~*~*~

God's hands. God's hands. Dean would no more put Sam's care in the hands of a three year old than in God's hands. He was the reason Sam was dying right now in the first place. The whole "God wanted there to be the ultimate sacrifice" crap. It was his fucking fault Sam was dying because he rigged the trials that way. It was Metatron's fault too, for not even making a sidenote of "hey, yeah, if you do these, the last trial is your life, so if you want to live, don't." Yeah no one thought of that.

God's hands.

"That's not good enough." God's protection over Sam wasn't good enough. No one's protection over Sam was good enough. The only person who Dean even came close to trusting to keep Sam safe was himself, and even he fucked that up enough times to not quite trust Sam was ever really safe. Dean's entire purpose and reason for living was to keep Sam safe and he still botched, so how could God, the uncaring, absent father, be expected to take care of Sam when he had billions of other things to worry about that he was - wait that's right - still ignoring. No, God was not good enough for Sam. No one was.

He had to get out of that room before he killed someone. It wasn't the doctor's fault, but Dean's temper knew no bounds. So it was cool down in the hallway time.

He stormed out of the room and sucked in a breath, looking up at the sky. Fuck, why? Why did this always happen to them? A sign caught his eye as he looked up, a little sign hanging over a door. The one place found in every hospital, more frequented in this building than in the elaborate temples built for it.

His feet took him there before his brain did, but he knew he'd end up here eventually. Well, not here specifically, but every time it got like this with Sam, anytime there was any sort of trouble, Dean found his way to his knees. Metaphorically, of course. Dean didn't stoop to pray.

He sat down in the booth of the Chapel carefully, looking around him. It was small and desperate in here, but Dean felt that odd familiar sense of comfort that he was in a friend's foyer or driveway, about to reach out and ring the doorbell of that BFF you couldn't wait to see. The anticipation of the comfort, that's what churches gave him. Because praying meant Cas, and that's what Cas was. Comfort.

When he wasn't being a back-stabbing bitch who ditched Dean's ass. But honestly, fuck all that because Dean needed him and Sam was dying which meant Dean was dying too and Dean couldn't do any of this shit without Cas. He was dependent now, dependent on the wings he leaned on. And now that Cas was trying so hard to prove to Dean that he wasn't going to leave, that he cared, now it was time for Dean to accept that apology and for Cas to make good of his promises. Because all that domestic argument shit could wait when Cas and the angels were falling around him, when Sam was hooked up to a heart machine.

Dean's hands kneaded together, clasped in prayer and wishing it was someone else's hands holding his. But all he had right now were his own fingers overlapping each other, channeling his energy and his everything to reach out, to touch the one who could save him from this. Could save them all. Dean's salvation. It was as hard now as it was every time, to put his love and his heart on the line, whisper words he prayed would reach celestial caring ears. His hands didn't stop rubbing over each other, a mimicked cry for the touch they longed.

"Cas, are you there?" Dean's eyes looked back and forth, not expecting to see the angel but always hoping. Then it sunk in, the chapel around him. Smack dab in the center of a hospital. This hospital, where Sam was dying. No bouncing back. Coma.

"Sammy's hurt. He's hurt, uh – he's hurt pretty bad." Dean shifted his weight in his seat, pursing his lips to keep from crying. He wasn't going to cry. His eyes didn't see the chapel around him anymore, just that face. That perfect, sunken, pale face lying against rank white hospital pillows.

"And, um... I know you think that I'm pissed at you, okay?" Dean's eyes shot up again, seeing the ceiling, seeing Cas in his mind. Cas, who only wanted Dean's forgiveness. Who'd called on Dean for help even when Dean was pretending to hate him. Who never lost faith. Prayer is a sign of faith, Dean. Faith in who, Cas? Faith in God? Faith in you? Faith in me? If Dean were ever to learn to have faith in himself, it'd be the angel who instilled it in him. His eyes cast back down, the ceiling disappearing for the dirty floor. Then it was hazy again, Dean's mind taking place of his eyes. "But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter."

"Okay? We'll work it out." That was the best promise Dean could give. We'll work it out, you and me, we can get through this. Just like we always do. Those could have been some of the last words Sam ever heard. No, Dean had never even gotten the chance to say...he couldn't. Dean couldn't lose Sam. He couldn't watched Sam die in front of him. He'd shatter. He couldn't do this alone. "Please, man, I need you here."

I need you. I need you here.

His lips trembled as his eyes lingered shut for a moment. Every ounce of him called for Cas, reached out and begged and tried not to bawl. He needed his best friend right now. Sammy was dying and Dean needed understanding blue eyes filled with love. He needed to be held in capable, warm arms, imagine the wings wrapping over his back and encasing him in a bubble of safety and promises.

Hopeful green eyes scanned the church, counting the same six people and the absence of one angel. The hole Cas left behind got a number for itself. And the big, empty spot was still there, the lack-of-Cas vacuum. The silence was deafening, no angel wing rustle or deep voice to interrupt halfway through Dean's prayer.

Cas wasn't coming.

It was heartbreaking a little. Cas wasn't coming, and that meant a couple things. First, Cas's could definitely be in trouble. Dean sent up a temporary note that Cas had better freaking be okay or he was kicking that round ass to next Tuesday. Second though, was trouble. Dean needed help for Sam, period. But if Cas wasn't coming...Dean didn't have time to wait. He needed angelic assistance now. Just because his favourite angel was preoccupied didn't mean Charlie was closing the doors.

He'd never done this before, but Sam had never been in a coma before. Now was not the time to get all squeamish about the details. Dean had done much worse, much more dangerous things then calling for help from a ton of dickwads. They were manipulative, backstabbing bitches too, but you know what?

"Screw it." Dean rubbed his hands together. He had to word this right, but with Sam's life on the line his brain wasn't guareenteed anything beyond its current state of scrambled despair. "Okay, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on. This is Dean Winchester... And I need your help."

"The deal is this – Linwood Memorial Hospital, Randolph, New York. The first one who can help me gets my help in return. Hell, it's no secret that we haven't always seen eye to eye. But you know that I am good for my word. And, uh, I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't needing, so..."

Needing. God, Dean was needing. His voice trailed off, his prayer sealed and delivered. If someone couldn't help Sammy...Sammy. His Sam, seconds after giving up his everything, collapsed and hurting and crying out and trying to breathe, now comatose in a chemical-smelling hospital room laying underneath the cold white walls on that cold white pillow, the pale face above the hospital blue matching the same frigidity and cold white as the rest of the room.

That face that used to light up with laughter, so long ago. The one who stared at him from the other pillow, hands cupping cheeks and just looking, soaking in each other's everything. Now silent and half dead, unable to do anything but breathe through the machines. Sam may never do anything again. May never open those eyes again. May never get the chance to hear Dean say...

A tear slipped down Dean's cheek. He couldn't lose Sam now. Dean couldn't wake up every morning with Sam gone. He couldn't do it. Not anymore. Never again.

Sam couldn't leave him. He couldn't. Not like this.

~*~*~*~*~

"Look, just because you're dying doesn't mean you're dead – not yet, okay? We've jimmied ourselves out of worse. We're gonna fight this. I got the plan. You just got to hang on. You hear me?" Sam shot an attemptedly-unamused glance in Dean's direction, but he was pretty sure Dean could see the laughter in his eyes anyways. Sam wasn't sure what game Dean was playing at, but staying serious when Dean was spouting off random nonsensical things was kinda impossible.

"Absolutely," Sam said, only trying a little to be convincing. Even if he wanted to be convincing, Dean could see through the most elaborate of Sam's acts.

"You think I'm lying?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Sam snorted. He wasn't sure when Dean had banged his head and decided to go all Girl, Interrupted on him, but Sam could deal. So long as Dean didn't drive them off the road, a little crazy talk wasn't much to be worried about. Besides, they could crash in a motel room soon, get them both some rest and spend some time...retaliating before they had to go fix this angel crap.

But then Dean just fixed him with a look, his deadpan serious look that was saved for very rare, special occasions. It was only in Sam's nature to instantly listen.

"You understand that we're not really in this car right now. We are in your head, and you're in a coma and are dying." For the first time, Sam actually heard the words. Looked out the window. Saw a blur, some unrecognizable highway illuminated by the cars headlights and sheltered only by a rare scattering of trees on either side. There was nothing outside to either confirm or deny Dean's statement. So either they were in the car and Dean was losing his marbles or Sam was in a coma and somehow seeing this all in crystal clear HD full colour.

"How do you know that?" Even if what Dean said was true, how was Coma-Sam getting informed of it? Was this the real Dean, talking to him from outside his coma? Or did they seriously need to stop the car sooner before Dean lost it entirely?

"Because I'm you and you're you. All of this is you. We're in your head!"

If that was true...Sam's head was one clear, single-pathed street. Every single freckle, crease, and colour on Dean's face was practically perfect. Sam's mind had memorized Dean's image so clearly that he'd even constructed little tells and emotions only Sam could pick up on in real life.

Earlier, when Dean had first been trying to explain this all to him, Sam had instantly known something was wrong. It wasn't the quiet, or even the facial expression. It was like Sam's entire body could radiate with Dean's emotions. Dean hadn't looked upset, hadn't sounded upset, but even his mind-version-Dean was flawlessly connected to Sam's radar.

"What's going on, man? You okay?"

"Me? Yes. I'm fine. It's just –"

"It's just we got a major freakin' crap fest on our hands. Yeah, tell me about it. Thousands of superpowered dicks touching down, and we got no idea where to start."

"Angels aren't our problem right now, okay? Or demons, or Metatron, or whatever the hell happened to Cas." Even Dream-Dean had said Cas in his special little way that made Sam swallow back envy. But Cas was Sam's friend too, and Sam did care about whatever the hell happened to him. He just didn't swoon at the name.

"Why? Because we hugged it out in that church and – and now we're gonna go to Disneyland? Dean, you said it yourself – we're not gonna sleep till this is done."

Sam hadn't intended to undermine the power of hugging or whatever, especially since it had saved his life, but it wasn't like Dean to act all mushy about it. Yeah, they were technically dating and everything, but that was normally all set aside when they had apocalyptic level shit go down.

"I know."

"So, what's the problem?" The beat of silence and shifty side glance already had Sam worried. When Dean opened his mouth and spoke though, it was like an a arrow to a glass heart.

"You." His breathing stopped for a moment as his mind instantly went to the first awful possibility it could conjure up. Dean was breaking up with him. They were going separate ways. How many times had Dean said "you're the problem, Sam" and then proceeded to walk away? Sam couldn't take that again, not when he'd just spilled his soul to Dean. Not when he'd just given up his everything with the promise to stay by Dean's side.

"Look, there's no easy way to say this, okay? But something happened back there in the church." Yeah, I gave you all of me and you filled my head with a promise of forever. If Dean was taking it all back...Sam would collapse to shambles.

"...And I don't know what. I don't know why." Another torturously long pause while Sam just stared numbly at the Dean who might break his heart with the next words.

"You're dying, Sam." It took a few seconds to sink in. Once it did, there was this rush of relief, even an exhale of laughter. Dean wasn't taking back their promises, he was just...being crazy. Overly worried. Really really strange. Sam could handle that.

So if Dream-Sam was instantly worried that Dream-Dean was leaving at first opportunity, it was clearly still a bit of an issue in his head. But, Sam still did know Dean better than anyone in the world. And Dean, he had been 100% legit in that church. And that was Real-Dean. That wasn't just going away. So if Sam had been that convinced and that worried Dean would leave him...maybe this was a dream.

There was no way Real-Dean would go back on that. Hell, he'd never even scare Sam like that. Dream-Dean may be flawless in appearance and emotions, but the Real-Dean knew Sam too well to scare him with wording like that. This was a dream. It had to be.

"You're serious." Sam exhaled a heavy breath, partially a disappointed sigh and partially trying to get a grip. This was actually happening. He was in a coma, and dying. Dying. But wasn't..."The whole reason I stopped doing the trials was not to die."

"And the next time we see Naomi or Metatron or whoever is to blame for this, we will get some justice, but for right now, we got to fight this, man." Sam tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was having a conversation with himself in his own head, but still constructing perfect Dean-like sentences and faces with his subconscious. It didn't surprise Sam that the person by his side in his mind during a coma was Dean. Although, probably, the Real-Dean was at his side right now too.

Oh god, Dean must be so worried. In real life, that is. This had to be killing him. Sam would fight, absolutely, no questions asked. He couldn't leave Dean alone out there, worried and panicked by a hospital bed. Dean would lose his mind if Sam didn't snap out of this. And there was no one better to snap him out then the pretty boy in the imagined driver's seat.

"Okay. All right, what's the plan?"

~*~*~*~

There was some small, sick part of Dean that was actually holding onto the hope that Sam would be sitting up, cranky and complaining about hospital smells and food when Dean walked back in the door from the chapel. He'd stopped in the bathroom on the way, splashed some water on his face to rid the traces of tear-tracks on his cheeks and to shock some sense into his head. His reflection stared back at him, not rugged or tired or as pale as he felt inside. His outsides looked fine, and that was worse than if he'd had purple and black under his eyes and depressed scruff on his jaw. His body looked unscathed, uncaring that Sam was so pale, sunken, dying. Dean was just praying Sam's insides and outsides were as mis-matched as his.

Dean had no way to tell what Sam was dreaming about in his coma, or if he was dreaming at all, but Dean prayed to the moon it was something sweet and innocent. Maybe an early hunt, just the two of them and the car and no worries. Or maybe just a slow day at the bunker between cases, a day filled with movies and good food and couch make out sessions. Dean just wasn't sure if he could handle it if Sam was going through hell mentally too right now. Again.

Once he'd managed to glare at his reflection and get himself under control, he made his way back to Sammy's room. He was torn between sprinting there and walking backwards, unable to be apart for Sam for much longer but afraid of never recovering if Sam was still lying half-dead in the stark white room. He paused and sucked in a breath before he turned into the doorway, getting the extra oxygen in his lungs that he knew would deflate the moment he saw Sam like that again.

His heart skipped a beat or two with stupid, useless hope, then he rounded the corner. Sam was lying against the white, skin nearly the same colour, eyes shut and cheekbones like knives underneath the thin layers of his face. Pale pink lips in a frozen, straight line, closed eyelids and a veil of dark, wispy hair surrounding him like a crown of silky thorns. Just like he anticipated, his breath caught in his throat and tears threatened to well up in his eyes. He shoved them down, all of his emotions locking away in an impenetrable box somewhere dark inside the blackest corners of him.

Dean's feet lead him numbly into the room, no sound in his ears but the beeps and tones of the machine. The machine keeping Sammy alive. The closer he got to Sam, the louder the machine was in his ears, deafening and blinding all at once. His feet carried him to the other side of the room, past the machine and Sam. Dean couldn't touch him now, couldn't kiss his head and pretend he was okay. Sam's skin would either be fire or ice under Dean's lips and Dean wouldn't be able to hold it together then. Sammy burning like either Lucifer or Hell, extreme and painful and Dean was absolutely sure he wouldn't be able to hold it together then. And he'd end up crying all over Sam and making a mess of everything. He still had a gun on him, and Dean was afraid of what he'd end up shooting when he lost his sanity.

Hopefully, not anything living. Including himself.

Leaning again the window frame, Dean let himself totally check out. His mind drifted off somewhere it wouldn't twist in shards of pain by recognizing every inch of the comatose man in front of him. His body just stayed frozen and stiff against the window, unmoving and numb to the world. There was only the beeps and that was it. Nothing else.

Patience was not a virtue of Dean's, but there was nothing he could do except wait. Wait for the help he'd called, for the angels he was praying would come his way. He wasn't sure what he'd do next if the angels didn't come. He was fairly sure no one was in need of the soul of a once-righteous man who'd already wasted that get-out-of-jail-free card. And if Cas wasn't himself, or he was gone, or...or worse, Dean...Dean had no idea what he would do.

The thought of those blue eyes, coming to save him. Wrapping him up in warm arms, draped wings circling them both in a bubble of friendship and that bond. Dean could see himself now, sinking into Cas and totally losing his shit, fisting the trenchcoat and bawling into Cas's shoulder. Just letting it all out, letting himself go. All of the emotions, pouring them into Cas and lifting some of that weight off of his shoulders. Cas could fix it. Cas always found a way if Dean couldn't. They always found a way. That wouldn't stop now.

Another short brunette woman walked in the door, but she was probably a little younger than the Nurse Nancy who had been bothering him earlier. If this one was here to make more gay jokes about him Dean was just leaving. Well, or making her leave. Without getting kicked out so he could resume his wait for an answer to his prayer. Unless...wait. That could definitely be a vessel instead of a nurse.

"Hi. I'm just gonna break the ice. Are you an angel?" The woman put on a sympathetic face at the words that made Dean's heart sink. That wasn't a very common expression on an angel.

"Sometimes I wish I were. My name is Kim Schortz, and I'm a grief counselor here at the hospital." Dean blinked a couple of times as the words sinked in. His head came back a little into himself, only enough to tell what's going on but not enough to fully recognize the pain and worry searing through him. Grief counselor. She wasn't here to help Sam, she was here to help...him?

Grief counselors weren't normally sent in unless by doctor request. It wasn't like they had a counselor available for every patient all the time. So somebody had deemed Dean as unstable and worthy of a shrink. He probably was unstable right now but he wasn't going to talk to a shrink about it.

"Right. Yeah. Uh... Sorry. I'm just tired." Tired. Not broken, not dissipating and dying like my brother in that bed. "Well, all due respect, but, uh, I'm not grieving –" Not grieving. Just numb, irreparably numb. It wouldn't be that easy forever though. If the angels didn't come through and a Dean couldn't find another way...he wasn't even sure you'd be able to call that grieving when it rolled around. "...Not yet at least, so –"

"I'm afraid, as hard as this may be, this might be a good time to talk...about the inevitable." It wasn't a good time. And it wasn't inevitable. And even it it were both, what the hell would they talk about? What words of wisdom could she give him to ease the way? It was nothing Dean hadn't heard before. He'd been coached in "dealing with Sam's hurt" - by Dad, hospital staff, Bobby, Pastor Jim, even Cas - since the beginning of his life and none of it had ever made it an ounce easier to see his Sammy in pain.

"Look, I'm sure you're a nice person and that you mean well, but "inevitable" – that's a fightin' word where I come from. There's always a way." Dean said it as much for his own ears as hers. Just because he'd never rest a day until Sam was back didn't mean it didn't scare him at the possibility this was the end. He'd make a way with a pickax if he had to, but that didn't help any of the fear of losing Sam.

"And I am a prayerful woman who believes in miracles as much as the next, but I also know how to read an EEG." People really needed to stop bringing up how bad Sam's injuries were before Dean lost the thin thread of humanity he was holding onto. Dean had seen the x-rays, he'd analyzed the medical paperwork, explained away the carvings in Sam's ribcage. He knew how bad it was. He knew. That's why he sent out that open prayer. "And unless you're telling me you have a direct line to those angels that you were looking for..."

He did. Well, past tense apparently. Dean had had a direct line for so long he could barely remember the days before there was an angel to turn to. Dean used to have a direct line to the most hopeful, faithful angel in the damn sky but here he was now, alone and shaking with fear for Cas too. He wasn't thinking much about that though. It was too many things at once. He'd explode.

The shrink was looking at him with skeptical and attemptedly amused eyes that just looked kinda pitiful. She probably thought he was crazy, the way he was looking down and not bothering to hide the deflation and disappointment in those words. Those angels you were looking for...

"Yeah, no, I, uh... Guess I don't." Dean didn't have anyone in his corner right now, just an MIA best friend, comatose boyfriend, lots of fallen angels, and a blabbering demon stuffed in the Impala. Crowley and those stupid injections. He should be the one to fix Sam since he fucked all this up. Wait... "But I might have something better. I got the King of Hell in my trunk."

Dean didn't waste another second before he was brushing past the ignored shrink. He was lucky he even remembered to pack Crowley. It was after he got Sam in the backseat but before Sam stopped breathing. Crowley had been whining and moaning the whole time, some rubbish nonsense about redemption. Dean had entirely ignored him then. But now, now Crowley could start his path to redemption with one simple task.

Fix Dean's brother.

Dean was definitely not anticipating being grabbed from behind as he went to open the trunk. He normally was really alert and careful, especially in shady parking garages. He'd had enough close calls and bad experiences to know you can't bend over in public places, especially dark ones, and not have something nasty happen. His head was so one-track mind right now with Sam and a damn cure he was totally screwed for common sense.

It just ended up being a lucky break that it was an angel who grabbed him, because that could've ended a lot worse. But regardless, one moment he was planning a negotiation with Crowley and the next there was a blade against his throat. He could still breathe against the sharp cold metal, but the strong sweaty hand gripping the back of his neck was not pleasant at all. It wasn't a position Dean could get out of without some serious damage, so he didn't bother fighting and just listened because most times talking into a different position was the safest bet.

"You prayed?" hissed a low and pissed voice in his ear. Well, angel normally meant good news, or at least if it wasn't some dickbag, which knife-boy here clearly was. Or maybe he was just uncultured in the ways of helping people without stabbing their necks and sneaking up on them in parking garages.

"Yeah, for help," Dean sassed back easily. The pounding heart slowed a bit as he realized that celestial stuff usually gave him a free pass to live. Which meant he could help Sam. Well, this angel probably wasn't the type Dean was looking for help from, but still.

"Yes. You'll be helping me," the angel corrected. Well that didn't sound good at all. Then Dean was being forced down onto the car's trunk, and this was turning out a lot less pleasant than he was hoping for. The metal was cold and hard underneath him and he felt vulnerable as hell like this. Dad would kill Dean himself if he saw him now, how easily he'd been taken down like that. He was basically powerless like this until he got the upper hand in some sort of creative fashion. Which would be nice sooner than later, because the pissed angel was not getting any less pissed.

"If you lie to me, Dean Winchester, I will rip your throat out." Well that sounded pleasant. Not. "Where is Castiel?"

Hell if Dean knew. Actually, Dean would give almost anything to know that right now. But if that was a negotiating point for healing Sam, Dean would gladly take it and send Mr. Blade off halfway around the world with fake coordinates and a map of the Ukraine. Unless he was just as desperate for Cas's help as Dean was. In that case, then...

"Who's asking?"

"Try every angel who was ejected from their home." Oh okay. So he definitely wasn't sending Cas brownies.

"Oh. Oh, well, in that case, I have no clue." Right, like Dean would give Cas up for anything. Apparently the angel could see that in his eyes, because he was suddenly lifted up and slammed against the hard metal. The car held his weight easily, but that didn't stop Dean from cringing. Besides, getting hit against the car gave him excuse to cringe. Because he could always just say it was because his poor baby was taking a beating too. That was a lot easier than admitting that slam just hurt like a bitch.

There was no amount of physical pain this angel could inflict on him to give Cas up. Even if Dean did know where Cas was, he'd die before he let this dickwad find his best friend. So he got slammed against the car again. Dean let a groan escape his throat, the pain riding sharp up his spine again. Damn angels were strong.

Then Dean's eye caught that telltale glint as the familiar angel blade rose up in the air, preparing to slam down into Dean's chest and end his life forever. Dean just hoped the doctors pulled the plug on Sam if they found him dead in the parking garage. Then they'd at least meet together again in Heaven.

Wait. There was no Heaven. Shit.

Then the blade suddenly didn't slice into his thoracic cavity, the angeldeusch's arm stopped midway through the air by a grip around the wrist. And that's how Dean met Ezekiel.

Now, Dean was eyeing him warily from the side of Sam's hospital bed. Sammy was still lying there unconscious and bringing a stranger in to stand over him felt weird, personal. This guy better be legitimate. Dean didn't even try to hide how provident he was being about this. They were in the middle of a war, and this was Sam's safety they were talking about.

The angel reached out and placed a hand on Sam's chest. Dean watched on, a hundred things rushing through his head. God, this better work. It was certainly not good circumstances, but Sam didn't look like he was gasping awake any time soon. Even with Ezekiel's hand on his chest.

"You still able to cure things after the fall?" Dean asked, ready to be disappointed by the answer because it sure as hell didn't look like it.

"Yes, I should be, but..." The gravely voice took a pause and Dean nearly died from the two second delay. "He's so weak."

Dean was still processing what that meant for the next move when a vibration and unexpected sound pierced the air. Who the hell was calling him? Now was so not a good time, but Dean pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered it anyways.

"Who is this?" Dean spoke into the receiver, his patience wearing thinner as Sam kept not getting better. He was worried and pissed and scared out of his mind for Sammy, and the collapsing world around him kept throwing him curveballs.

Then a voice Dean would recognize anywhere flooded from the other line and Dean's heart jumped in his chest and skipped a few beats.

"Dean."

Clearly, not an answer to his question, but absolutely the best damn word he'd heard all day. The relief that washed over him felt palpable, and he didn't even know if Cas was okay yet. He was alive though, and they could work everything out from there.

Dean waved at Ezekiel a universal (and hopefully unispecies) symbol for hold on, I'll be back, stay here. Then his feet were taking him out of Sam's room in a blur, the little electronic in his ear suddenly consuming his world. Now that he was in the corridor and it was safe to talk, Dean turned back to his best friend in the world and let the emotions all rush out in that first exclamation of his name.

"Cas, what the hell's going on?" Dean's hurried feet took him to the end of the hallway, a window covered in cheap plastic blinds landing in front of his face. It was like when he looked outside, he could imagine himself one step closer to being by Cas.

"Metatron tricked me. It wasn't angel trials. It was a spell." Dean absorbed that information fairly quickly and categorized it in shit that sucks right now. Then Cas's voice came over the line again sounding softer, apologetic. "I wanted you to know that."

As much as Dean would have loved to dwell on that last sentence and pick it apart and fangirl over it, there were much bigger things on the plate right now then some cherry-sweet phrase that melted Dean's insides a little. He could go over all that gushy stuff with Cas later, when Sam wasn't comatose and alone with a stranger.

"Okay. That's great, but we've got ourselves a problem." Dean basically cut off Cas's train of thought, but comatose-brother, so.

"What's wrong?" So Cas hadn't heard Dean's prayer after all. It was still good to hear the concern in his friend's voice. If Cas had been here, he'd have helped instantly. Which just gave Dean another reason to hate Metatron.

"Sam. He's, um –" Dean's throat closed up for a second and he pushed the tears back down. He wasn't sure he could say it. Dean didn't think he could actually mutter the words Sam is dying. Cas needed to know the gravity of this though, so Dean sucked it up and tumbled out an alternate way of saying it instead. "They say he's dying.

They say, not he is. Dean wasn't sure he could take it worded any other way. They say left room for doctor error, room for hope. There better freaking be a way.

"What happened?" Dean sucked in a breath at the question. So much, so fucking much. The entire scene threatened to run in front of his eyes again, but Dean was going to try to not cry on the phone to Cas, so he blocked the images out.

"I don't know." Sam, letting Dean hold on to him, a weak smile of hope on his face that suddenly distorted to agony as he slumped to the ground with a scream. Instantaneous and scary as hell. And Dean had no idea why. "I mean, first he was okay, and then he wasn't."

"And I – " I've been fucking losing it man, I need you here. Dean cut himself off instead, the words he was about to say feeling so goddamn big. Instead, he lighted on a lesser plague. "Have you heard my prayers? I've been praying to you all night."

Prayers was plural because after that first time in the chapel, Dean had gone back six times. Not to mention the uncountable times he'd sat at Sam's bedside, squeezing that too-cold hand and his eyes shut, mumbling to Cas some sort of plea for help. Salvation.

So if Dean sounded a little pissed for not getting an answer til now, that felt fair. The way Cas said his name, though, Dean's heart fluttered in worry. Dean knew that tone. It was his please don't hate me for this and that was never ever good.

"Dean, Metatron – he – he took my grace."

"What?" Dean wasn't even sure he heard right. He better not have heard right.

"Don't worry about me. What are you doing for Sam?" He had heard right. Cas didn't have his grace. That bastard. Dean took the news as numbly as possible, he was already getting swung at with a thousand punches today, he couldn't process what that meant. Didn't even register what it meant. Just moved right on to Cas's question.

Maybe, through the phone, Cas could tell. Maybe he could hear the desperation and pain and torture in Dean's voice through the metallic, electronic filter and maybe he knew Dean couldn't take this right now. He moved on smoothly and calmly, keeping his voice even and his reassurances there but not enough to coddle Dean into scaring him.

"Uh, everything I can. There's actually another angel in there working on him right now."

"What other angel?" Cas sounded skeptical and Dean totally didn't blame him. Considering the fact that more angels have screwed them over than actually helped them, he was pretty skeptical too. But so far, the guy seemed to have good intentions. Well, good enough to heal Sam. Clearly, Dean was either more trusting today or entirely off his rocker for leaving Sam alone with the angel. Maybe both.

"Um, his name is Ezekiel. He's cool. I mean, I think he is." If Dean was wrong about this...he didn't even want to think about what kind of trouble that would cause.

"Ezekiel. Yes." Cas paused and Dean felt his heart grow a little warmer. He could feel the smile in Cas's voice at the "yes" and he could picture him now, trenchcoatted and in some phone booth, grinning over the line at Dean. For some reason, it calmed a few of the nerves bouncing off Dean's skin. Just for a moment. Dean shut his eyes as he felt Cas smile, soaked in the temporary bond and connection they had, the brief moment of joyful memory. It wasn't Dean making Cas smile but it didn't matter, it was Dean that Cas had dialed. "He's a good soldier. He should be able to help until I get there."

The seconds of relief were shot dry at Cas's last second. Dean's eyes darted open in an instant, suddenly picturing the storm if Cas came. The first angel that had come to "help" had nearly slaughtered Dean in a moment just because he knew Dean and Cas had a thing. That wasn't even cool. Dean couldn't imagine if Cas was actually here. Then Dean would have more than just a comatose brother to worry about, he'd have to keep an eye on Cas's ass the whole time too. Well, not literally. Or a little literally. But that wasn't the point, the point was that Cas could not freaking come up here.

"Wait, no, no, no. No, hey, that's not an option." Not an option was a final and as clear as Dean could damn make it. It was as close to a direct order as he could get without actually making it an order. Which he would totally do if he had to. Dean knew that Cas was always looking for a leader, for some sort of guidance, and Dean hated to step in and play General and take advantage of that and Cas's affections for him just to get his way. So it was mostly avoiding direct orders.

"It might be a few days, but –" Cas continued, clearly paying Dean no heed. Great. Dean just interrupted his refute.

"Hey, Cas, listen to me. There are angels out there, okay? And they – they're looking for you, and they're pissed." Dean said it as straight as possible (not in a non-gay sense, but as in a veryseriousaboutthisshitCas sense) and maybe he was getting emotional and kind of yelling into the phone in a hospital hallway but hey times were hard and his best friend was thinking of doing something very stupid that could get somebody killed.

"Not all of them, Dean. Some are just looking for direction. Some are just lost." Okay, not really the time for weird-self-healing-yoga crap. Dean knew Cas was into all that spiritual stuff, but that wasn't stopping anybody from trying to angel-blade each other's backs. Although Cas sounded pretty convinced, like it actually might.

"What are you talking about?"

"I met one. I think I can help her, Dean." Great. Just great. Cas was being hunted and he's still trying to help out everyone else.

"No, Cas, I know you want to help, okay? I do, but helping angels is what got you in trouble in the first place. Now, I'm begging you – for once, look out for yourself. Until we figure out what the hell is going on, trust nobody." Dean had actually said I'm begging you out loud but Cas just breezed past it. Didn't even notice.

"And do what? Just abandon them all?"

"Damn it, Cas. You hearing yourself? There's a war on, and it's on you. There's thousands of them out th–" That could kill you, angel blade to the throat. Wait, no, Cas didn't have his grace anymore. That meant angel blade anywhere. Any blade anywhere. Cas could die. Finally, legitely, he could die. For good. Dean's heart was pounding but Cas probably didn't even see it that way.

"You said you lost your grace, right? That means you're human. That means you bleed and you eat and you sleep and all the things you never had to worry about before." All those things I never had to worry about before. This is exactly what Dean did not need on top of Sam's coma.

"I'm fine, Dean."

Yeah, maybe, for now. Dean opened his mouth to rant about how "fine" or not, Dean could not afford to lose Cas right now. Dean needed him here, just like he said in the prayer Cas never heard.

His chance to speak was interrupted by a sudden rumbling under his feet, the walls and floor shaking, the liquid in an IV bag jumping like crazy. Shit. There was only one thing Dean knew of that made an entry like that. And based on the current circumstances, that wasn't good.

"Whoa." Dean almost stumbled and had to focus to keep his balance. He was weaker than usual...when was the last time he ate? He'd had coffee at breakfast a couple days ago. He hadn't even thought about food since. But if he got dizzy, he'd be useless. Dean inwardly cursed himself for not keeping his body in fighting shape. Neglecting food was the dumbest way to let your guard down.

"What's going on?" Cas's concern warmed Dean again, maybe because he sounded like a worried boyfriend. It was just good to have people who cared.

"I think we got more company. Look, get your ass to the bunker alone. You hear me?" Direct order but fuck it. They were past negotiating time and Dean meant business.

"Dean," Cas protested. Dean was having none of it.

"Go, Cas!" He shouted into the phone, praying Cad would listen to him just this once.

"Dean." Cas started again, but Dean was already ending the call and rushing back down the hall to Sam's room. Cas had better fucking listen to him. He had better. Dean's internal organs would collapse if he had anymore bad news today.

When Dean skid into the room, his eyes landed on Sam first, who was still silently mummified. Another pang of pain at the sight. Dean was never going to get used to seeing Sam like that. He looked angelically beautiful, at peace and simply pretty against the white sheets and pillow. Dean tore his eyes away.

Ezekiel was looking out the window, body tense and fists clenched at his sides. Dean was fairly sure he already knew the answer, but he asked anyways.

"One of yours?" Ezekiel turned around with a look on his face that confirmed Dean's fear. Not the angels they were looking for.

"Trying to secure a vessel. We need to move." At least the man was blunt. He didn't waste anytime trying to sugar coat things. Only problem was, they couldn't move.

"No, no. If we move him, he dies." Dean hated hospitals, even more than the average joe, but comas were not something you could snap back in place or sew up in a motel room. Comas were one of the few exceptions of actually requiring a hospital, and there was no way in hell Dean would blow that one just because a couple of vengeful dickwings were looking for Cas.

"If we stay, we could all die." Ezekiel looked at him with a serious, level expression. Maybe the angel did have a head on his shoulders. But there was always a way out. Always some other way.

If they couldn't move, they'd have to protect themselves. First rule in battle against an advantageous army - if you can't move to a better position, set up a barrier in the shitty one. Dean picked up a whiteboard marker and scrawled out a protection symbol on the wall. They may not be able to stop the bastards, but Enochian sure as hell could.

~*~*~*~*~

"You have to go. When are you gonna realize it's over?! There's nothing to fight for!" Sam practically screamed it in Dean's face but he just stood there, a stone wall of broad shoulders, slim hips and eyes on fire. Even Dream-Dean could be fucking terrifying if he wanted to be. He just glared at Sam, like Sam was the goddamn antichrist again. His voice was just as level and infuriating as the rest of him.

"No, see, I know you don't believe that." His words pissed Sam off too, how he said it like he knew Sam better than Sam knew himself and that there was no way Sam was getting to decide for himself here. They'd gotten over the whole "little brother" thing but Sam felt smaller than Dean when Dean looked at him like that. And getting angry wasn't going to get Dean angry because that's what he wanted. So Sam took the only route that would really piss Dean off.

"Really? Then what's your plan, Dean?" Brutal sarcasm.

What Sam didn't exactly see coming was the brutal retaliation.

"My plan?" Calm, wavering like the eye of the hurricane. And then it hit, literally, Dean's body coiling then a fist landing straight on Sam. The punch reeled Sam backwards and everything went blurry and sideways for a moment. Dream or not, Dean hit hard as hell. Sam was surprised he hadn't passed out with that. Sure felt like he might.

"My plan is to fight!" Dean's big, strong, healing hands were on Sam's chest but there was nothing soothing about them now as he shoved Sam backwards, making him stumble again. Then came another punch, just as honest and painful and shocking as the first. Dean really didn't hit Sam that often, Sam was pretty sure it hurt Dean to see his little brother hurt more than the actual physical pain on Sam. But right now Dean didn't seem to care because the punches kept coming and so did the pain.

"My plan is to try! My plan-" Dean interrupted his own torturing words with another punch. Sam was barely standing now, stumbling all over the place and trying to stay upright enough to not fall on top of Dean. The pummeling was actually making the words seem louder, and they were dancing sparks in Sam's head, angry streaks of red everywhere and bright yellow flashes of disappointment. "-is to give a damn!"

Then Dean was pulling him in, hands tight in the lapels of Sam's jacket, holding him upright and close, their faces impossibly close but so far away. Dean's eyes were full of deep, green fire, like burning pennies but brighter. He looked so upset, Sam just wanted to close the rest of the distance between them and close his lips over Dean's angry mouth, promise it was going to be okay. But Dean was talking and when he was this close Sam couldn't help but listen.

"Are you telling me there's nothing? Huh? You telling me there's nothing to fight for, that there's nothing to hope for?!"

Sam heard it. Dean was asking if he was nothing. Sam always fought for Dean, hoped for him. But now Dean was asking if this was it, if Sam cared of him so little that he was willing to leave forever. But that was the exact opposite of what it was supposed to be. Dean was everything.

"No. I'm telling you there is." It's you, having a life. Up in the real world. I'm done with it all now, but you don't have to be. "You might not like it. You might not accept it, but it's in there. It's in that house."

"You know what's in that house!" The end. "Now, I can't help you if you ain't willing to fight for yourself!" His beautiful brother looked like he was a mix between crying and screaming more. Sam couldn't let that happen, he couldn't watch Dean fall apart. That would make this too hard.

"I know." Dean had taught him everything he ever needed to know. And Sam had finally had the chance to tell Dean everything in that church. Dean knew how Sam felt and that was all that mattered. Now it was Dean's turn to let go. Sam wrapped his fingers over Dean's arms, gently easing them off his jacket. His words were soft and soothing, what he would say to the real Dean right now too, if he could. "It's okay. It's what I want."

Sam couldn't fight the urge to not touch him one more time, but if he kissed Dean he'd never be able to let him go. Instead, his hand came up, the skin of Dean's perfect, worshipped face under Sam's palm. He patted him twice on the cheek, a mix between their brotherly pats on the shoulder and their boyfriend relationship of cupping each other's faces. There was nothing else Sam could think to do. He couldn't think at all, not really, not when he knew he'd back out. The last time you'll touch him. The green eyes and spiked hair and sloped chest all vaporized, disappearing like someone was turning down his opacity. He was gone.

He was gone.

Sam could feel his body heaving, unsure how to breathe for a moment now that Dean was gone. Or maybe from the violent punches Sam could still feel aching in his body. Whatever it was, it would go away as soon as he saw what was in that cabin. So he spun on his heel and took the last steps on the spungey grass towards the wooden walls ahead.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"I am sorry, Dean."

"No. No, no, no. No, we had a deal, okay? I fight. You save."

"I wish that I could. I'm just afraid it's too late."

"Are you kidding me? Are you saying there's no way to save my brother's life?"

"No good ways, I'm afraid."

"Well, what are the bad ones? We're out of options here, man. Good or bad, let me hear them."

"I cannot promise, but there is a chance I can fix your brother from the inside."

"From the inside. So, what, you gonna open him up?" Ezekiel his head. It took Dean a second or two to figure out what he meant. "What, possession? You want to possess Sam?"

"I told you."

"No way."

"Understood. It's your call."

"No, it's Sam's call. There's no way in hell he'd say yes to being possessed by anything."

"He would rather die." It was half-question half-assumption. Dean just nodded his head ruefully. He'd give anything if it weren't true. Ezekiel stood up and waved a hand at the monitor. The room suddenly fell silent and the walls got closer, everything got smaller and the oxygen was heavier and it seemed deadly and final.

"I'll leave you two alone, then." No. No, no no. No fucking way. That meant...that was what doctors said to couples that had one significant other about to... that was saying goodbye stuff and Dean was not going to say goodbye to Sam. No. That wasn't happening. The angel headed for the door and Dean could see it now, collapsing next to Sam, those last few minutes alone with his brother before-

He couldn't do it. He couldn't. No. Not like this, not in some shabby hospital bed without being able to let Sam even here his last words to him. No.

"Wait."

Maybe he'd live to regret that word but if it meant saving Sammy Dean would do anything. There wasn't a fiber in his body that wouldn't do anything in the world it took to get Sam out of this. There wasn't a shred inside Dean that could let go of Sam like that.

"If I consider this – and I mean just consider it – I need something, man. You got to prove to me how bad he is."

Ezekiel put his hand to Dean's forehead and then he could see it, could see everything inside Sam's head. There were in some sort of cabin, a log one in the woods from the look of it. There was a fire going with a few armchairs around it, red and orange glow flickering off the wooden walls. And there was Sam, sitting in a chair actually big enough for him, facing. Death. Death was in Sam's head right now. Dean wasn't really in his body or in the cabin, but he had the distinctive feel of choking regardless.

"I must admit, when I heard it was you...well, I had to come myself." Sam was glaring at Death which was, for once, a sign of relief. He didn't look so pleased to see him as Dean was afraid Sam might be.

"I bet you get off on this." Sam retorted, kinda angrily.

"Perhaps. But not in the way you assume. I consider it to be quite the honor to be collecting the likes of Sam Winchester. I try so hard not to pass judgment at times like this – not my bag, you see, but you... Well played, my boy." For once, Dean agreed with the old bastard. Sam certainly deserved the praise, but he did not deserve to die.

"I need to know one thing." No, Sam, you could not agree to this. How had it gotten this bad? Dean had spent so much time, so many words in that church talking Sam off that ledge. And here Sam was, dangling at the edge of it again and ready to jump. What in the world could have unraveled all of the don't-die-Sam Dean had stuffed in his head?

"Yes," Death replied calmly.

"If I go with you... can you promise that this time it will be final?" Dean could do nothing but stare. This couldn't even be real.

"That if I'm dead, I stay dead. Nobody can reverse it, nobody can deal it away... and nobody else can get hurt because of me."

Nobody can reverse it, deal it away. Dean had reversed it. Dean was the only one who had dealed it away. Dean was the "nobody" Sam was referring to, which meant. Which meant Sam thought he was hurting Dean in some way. He didn't want Dean to be hurt anymore, that's why he was still doing this. Dean may have reached him in that church, but now Sam was letting that all slip away and he was just giving himself up.

"I can promise that." No. Death looked at Sam with this intense, soul-eating stare and Dean could not- Sam could not-

He was suddenly opening his eyes to the hospital room again, looking down at the fair body lying on the bed. The one that was currently making a deal with Death.

"What the hell you doing, Sam?" Dean wished to god Sam could hear him. If only Sam could hear him.

"As you can see, there's not much time." Ezekiel's words brought back some snap of reality, but his options here... Sam would hate him for it. Sam would hate Dean for taking away his free will. But it wasn't like Dean had a night to think it over, Sam could be getting out of that armchair and walking over to Death right now.

"I know. Damn it. I know." Dean looked down at his hands. There was a cold feeling between his fingers, where Sam's would entwine when they were in bed together. God, Dean was a total girl. He flipped his hands over, rough, calloused hands greeting him. Hands that held a gun a comfortably as a fork, hands that had taught that little Sammy how to hold a gun too. Nothing girly about that and it hit him just as hard. He had to swallow a few times before he managed to look up and speak.

"How will it work?" Dean hated himself for saying it but he wasn't losing Sam.

"Mutual benefit, I suppose. I heal Sam while healing myself." Based on the way the angel was clutching his side, he was pretty in need of healing as well. But if he could heal Sam while he was at it...

And it wasn't like Dean was afraid Sam would explode from the angel-juice or anything, he was Lucifer's goddamn vessel overall. Besides, if he ever needed to overcome Ezekiel, Sam could just overpower him. All he had to do was fight back and kick Ezekiel out. So, really, there was no problem once Sam knew what was going on. He wasn't going to take it well when he woke up and Dean told him why he was alive, but they could get through it. They could work it out, they always did.

"And when he's healed?"

"I leave. It's the best of a bad situation, Dean." The angel was right. Dean hated when angels were right.

"Even if I said yes, it doesn't mean squat. Sam will never say yes – not to you." He was expecting Ezekiel to slump in defeat at his words, but he straightened instead, looking at Dean with a spark of danger in his eye.

"But he would say yes to you."

Dean hated that. He watched Ezekial touch Sam's forehead and knew exactly what he was going to do. Using Dean to get to Sam. Like every other angel ever. But this time, to save Sammy's life. Dean wondered what he was saying. How much did Ezekial know about their relationship? Probably everything if he was inside Sam's head.

But Sam would only say yes if it was Dean asking. And Sam had to say yes, or he would die. There really weren't any other ways out of this. So Dean would be as damn patient as he could.

~*~*~

Death stood up, seeming emmintently taller than he was. Sam was watching with his heart thrumming in his throat, a fast pattern that was making his hands clench and unclench with nerves. But he had to do this. He was ready to do this.

"It's time, Sam. Shall we?"

Sam stood up, taking a step towards Death. This was it. Finally, peace. After all this time, all the pain and the struggle and the fighting and the disaster, it was finally all over. Sam was going someplace beyond, someplace where he'd see Dean again one day. Just without all the crap on Earth trying to tear them apart. Literally.

"Hold on!" Sam's body started to turn before his mind even registered the words. His body, his head, his entire being knew that voice and responded to that voice automatically, no matter the circumstances. Even in his head, apparently.

"Dean." Sam was stuck between confusion and temporary happiness and being quite upset at why the hell Dean was here.

"It's okay, Sam." Those three words, probably the first words out of Dean's mouth to him, had this annoyingly perfectly calming effect. Then the bright eyes and intense face turned to Death, lips parting to address the horseman instead of Sam. "I, uh, would have brought cronuts, but time is short, so..."

"By all means." Death waved his hand, as though giving them permission to talk. He didn't even look surprised that Dean was here. Sam wondered if Death was ever surprised by anything anymore.

"What's going on?" Sam looked about the cabin, to Death and back to Dean, trying to figure out what the hell was happening and drawing up blank.

"I found a plan."

"It's too late. I'm going."

"No, no. No, no. Listen to me." Sam had been listening to Dean for practically thirty years and it was time they both moved on. Sam was not listening to Dean's next argument to get him to "fight." Sam was okay with it now, he'd come to terms and Desn fucking should too. Wait, this was Dream-Dean, but that made no sense, because Sam thought they were past this.

"Why are you even here? I'm not fighting this anymore!" Dean didn't even flinch as Sam raised his voice. He just stepped closer, the air between them hot and buzzing.

"You have to fight this! I can fix this, okay? But not if you shut me out." Dean turned to Deaty again, somewhere between chillingly threatening and wild pleading. "It's not his time."

Death just kept that same, emotionless visage, looking at Dean with a total deadpan.

"That's for Sam to decide." The words were smooth and articulate and like the least helpful thing ever. It spurred Dean on though, making him step closer to Sam again and start in on his convincing-speech. Sam was still trying to soak this all in.

"Sam, listen to me. I made you a promise in that church. You and me, come whatever. Well, hell, if this ain't whatever... But you got to let me in, man. You got to let me help." Bringing up the church tore at something in Sam's heart, but when Dean worded it like that...we made a promise in that church: you and me, come whatever. They had. They'd made a vow to each other on holy ground and there was something so official, so final out that that it was making Sam's head spin. He'd promised. He'd promised.

Sam was running through thoughts and scenarios as fast as he could in his head. He'd come to terms with it, but now Dean was here and he brought up the promise and hell if Sam could just ignore that.

It wasn't enough for Dean though, because he stepped closer again, his voice raised and his features vulnerable and honest and verging on heartbroken.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

It was the clearest, most desperate, I love you Sam had heard in a long time. But it wasn't even just a display of Dean's deep love for Sam. It was true. Sam could see it, could hear it. Dean wasn't going to ever he okay if Sam died.

Sam had been counting on Dean moving on, but looking between a Death and his desperate brother now, Sam could see clearly that that was never an option to begin with. If Sam died, Dean was following. Either his soul or his spirit or his body would die with Sam, and he would be gone. Dean had tethered their life forces together, which meant the promise Death had made Sam could never be true.

If Sam died, Dean might not be able to bring Sam back, but he would follow in one way or another. Sam would be signing both their death certificates with this. And the whole point in dying in the first place was to give them both some peace. Clearly, Dean felt quite differently about that.

"What do I do?" Sam finally caved, turning to Dean. He still felt flummoxed and cheated but the way Dean was pleading, begging, Sam couldn't turn his back now.

"Is that a yes?" Dean's voice had a tinge of hope in it, like this all might be over soon. It was a weird question to ask because Dean usually didn't need confirmation and things repeated, but Sam could dwell on that later. He looked at the old man who'd been planning to take Sam away one more time. Death, who was relatively impressed with Sam, who had come to carry him away of his own accord. Well, apparently he'd just have to wait til next time.

"Yes," Sam said, turning back to Dean. Sam had no idea what he'd just gotten himself into, but it was Dean and that meant they could figure it out. Just like we always do.

"Come on." Dean closed the gap between them and put a familiar hand on Sam's shoulder. As Sam looked at Dean, his features suddenly began to shift. Sam drew back automatically as Dean's face morphed into another man's he'd never seen before. What the hell--

Then a white light flooded the room and Sam's worry slipped away, along with everything else. There was just white.

~*~*~*~

Dean was almost in Illinois by the time Sam awoke. It had surprised Dean a lot, because there had been a long time with just Dean and the road and his passed out baby brother in the passenger seat. Sam had blinked himself awake, so Dean didn't even know he was up until he spoke in the vaguely groggy morning voice. Even though it was nine at night.

"Where are we?" Sam shifted in his seat, and Dean's eyes shot over in surprise.

"Whoa. Sam?" If it was real Sam, actual Sam and not Ezekiel, it would have been the first time Dean had heard him speak since the church.

"What?" Sam asked, a mixture of confused and annoyed at the question. Dean let an exhale whoosh out of his body, the relief flooding through him like crazy. It was Sam, his Sam, and he was okay. Cranky, sure, but okay.

"Okay, take – take it easy. How you, uh – how you feeling?" Dean could attempt to make his worry less obvious, but compared to the wreck of emotional terror he had been earlier, he figured he was being pretty plaintive.

"Tired. Like I – like I slept for a week." He said it with an adorable stretch and it was all Dean could do not to pull the car over right here and pull Sam into an embrace. He just needed to hug Sam and never let him go. But it wasn't safe here, wasn't safe anywhere besides the bunker, really. So Dean pressed the pedal a little harder and took them back home a little faster.

"Well, try a day. You've been out since the sky was spittin' angels." Dean couldn't believe it'd only been 24 hours. He felt like he dived a lifetime with Sam in that hospital bed.

"What the hell happened?" Sam looked at him, that same trusting, quizitive look. Dean just wished he could tell Sam everything, how he'd broken and damaged himself in so many ways just by seeing Sam in that hospital bed. Dean wished he could explain to Sam what he'd had to do, and why. Originally, Dean had just been counting on Sam being able to kick Ezekiel out if things went sour, but Ezekiel said he couldn't tell Sam. Not yet. And Sam couldn't kick him out if Sam didn't know about him. But Dean also wadnt going to risk Sam creaking trying to die again, so he kept his mouth shut from the things he wanted to say and carefully worded a question in Sam's direction instead.

"What do you remember?"

"The church, feeling like crap, the angels falling, and that's it." Dean was pretty sure Sam could hear how loud Dean's heart was beating. But Sammy really didn't remember wanting to die. Again. More relief flooded Dean's bones.

"But you're feeling good?"

"Yeah. I mean, I just, um..." Sam kind of lost track of what he was saying, looking out the window and around the car as he processed his thoughts. "You've been driving around with me passed out in the passenger's seat for a day?"

If only. Dean wished that's what he'd spent his day doing. No, he'd been in hell. But Sam could never know that. Sam would never know that.

"Oh, I mean, I stopped, you know, let a few Japanese tourists take some pictures. Nobody got too handsy." The joke didn't pull a laugh from Sam, probably because he knew Dean would never let anyone touch him ever, let alone when he was unconscious. The lightheartedness made Dean feel a little better though, like things were almost back to normal. His attempted smile straightened out though, because there were still some very important things Sam needed to know. Or he reminded of. Because the way he was acting in his coma meant he clearly didn't get it.

"I knew you'd pull through. I meant what I said at the church." There was something about saying it that way that made it feel real, powerful, more intense than any other confession they'd had together. And it had been, real, powerful, more intense. In that church. "You're capable of anything, Sam, and hell if you didn't prove me right."

Sam looked Dean over for a moment, contemplating his words. Then with a slight nod, he turned to look out the window again as he closed the conversation. Dean wasn't sure he'd heard a phrase that made him more relieved in his life.

"Good. 'Cause we got work to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Saba:
> 
> "Hey this chapters was AWESOME!! And I'm physically in need of the next chapter! Seriously can't wait?"
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> Sarah:
> 
> "Beautiful! When will you upload the next chapter!? I'm looking forward!"
> 
> FlyByNightGirl  
> "Thank you so much! I really am trying to update as quickly as possible I'm just very sick right now and sleep has kind of taken priority. It should be out by Wednesday at the latest! Sorry for the wait :(  
> Thank you for reading!! xx"
> 
> Sarah: 
> 
> "Oh I'm sorry to hear that and no problem your works are just too good! No rush honey just concentrate on getting well soon!:X"


	14. Apt (Devil May Care 09x02)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know if this is kinky but if it is then consider yourself warned
> 
> xx

It wasn't until they got to Missouri that Sam made Dean pull over. They'd been driving all night - wait, no, just Dean because he wasn't letting Sam out of the passenger seat - and the sun had already risen three hours ago. Dean was getting shifty like how he always did when he'd been driving too long, his hands sliding across the wheel every few miles and his shoulders readjusting against the seat. Every time Sam opened his mouth to offer taking a turn at the wheel, Dean snapped that he was fine, that Sam should just rest. Sam felt like he had been resting forever and he just wanted to stretch his legs. Dean clearly needed to, too.

So a few miles before the Missouri-Kansas border, Sam finally insisted on a restroom stop, because Dean wasn't going to stop otherwise. They'd pulled over in some ridiculously green spot, one of the nice rest stops that tended to scatter the south, anywhere near borders between states. Sam could still remember asking Dean as a kid why the rest stops were always by the borders, but Dean had just shh'ed him and gone back to whatever he had been doing. Staring at his reflection over one of the small sinks into the bathroom mirror, Sam realized he had never really found out why.

Once he'd splashed some water on his face and decided that his cheekbones looked a hell of a lot less hollow than the last time he'd been in front of a mirror, he ventured back outside. It was super green since it had just rained, and it was finally spring. Amongst all the green, Sam could see his favourite beauty, out by the gazebo. Dean was laying on two juxtaposed picnic tables by the grass, a little ways off from the car. His eyes were shut and his arms were crossed over his chest, long legs stretched out over the length of the two wooden tables. He looked fairly comfortable, and he definitely needed the sleep since he hadn't gotten a wink since before the final trial. But odds are, he wouldn't actually fall asleep on that table, not when Sam wasn't accounted for and safely tucked away from harm. So there wasn't much point in letting Dean stay there.

Sam wandered over, considering for just a moment to lay down next to Dean. There probably wasn't enough room for both of them, though. Besides, Dean wasn't into that "girly" stuff and would probably either bitch or just get up and let Sam have the whole table to himself. So when Sam reached him, he just sat down next to Dean and tried to fight the urge to touch him. He just picked up from their previous conversation in the car, instead.

"So, what, Cas is human?" Dean opened his eyes and sat up, not bothering to use his hands and just relying on his abs. The basically adorable abs that Sam hadn't seen in quite some time. Hell, it had been so long since Sam had even felt well enough to want to be with Dean it felt like just a distant memory. Things used to be so easy between them, then it all built up and went crazy with the trials and Sam's sickness. Now that they'd had that scene in the church, things felt different.

Dean was eyeing him warily, almost distrustfully. A little more cautious than Sam would have thought based on what happened in the church. He wasn't going to overthink it though, Dean was probably just still scared Sam was going to throw himself over the next cliff. It had never been like that though, and now with everything Dean said...it wasn't ever gonna be like that again. Sam had chosen to live because of Dean, and he wasn't forgetting that. Ever.

The conversation about Cas was easy, now that Sam had been reminded so recently that he was Dean's first choice. He'd always be a little jealous that Dean loved Cas too, but Sam cared about Cas enough as a friend to never want any harm to come to him. Just because he didn't stare at the angel like a dog in heat didn't mean Sam wasn't worried as hell now that Cas was human. Besides, if Cas died...Sam didn't even want to think about what that would do to Dean.

What he did want to think about was what he was going to do to Dean now that they were over with this whole distrusting-confusion crap. It was just the two of them again, that and the shit with the fallen angels, and they had a lot of lost time to make up for. Well, after they handled getting Cas to the bunker and dealing with Crowley and the now freaking out Kevin.

They made it all the way to the bunker without even a single kiss. Sam could be patient, he really could, but he felt like he'd been away from Dean for so long and he just wanted to pull that tight little body up close to him again. First, though, Sam had to drag the tied and bound Crowley into their dungeon. And then they'd surely have to subdue the freaking out and clearly pissed off Kevin Tran.

Sam had chained Crowley to a chair in the center of a Devil's Trap. Dean came in, and with a simple glance at Sam, pulled off Crowley's hood and ripped the duct tape off his mouth a bit violently.

"Ahh!" Crowley complained. Sam had a pencil in hand for Crowley, but he stood a few steps behind Dean, like he always did. Crowley looked back and forth between them both. Then he fixed his gaze on Dean and grinned mischievously. "Hello."

Before Crowley could get another word out, Dean reeled back a fist and snapped it in Crowley's face, probably breaking every bones in his nose and possibly his maxilla as well in the single hit. The sound ricocheted off the dungeon walls. The demon's body bounced back into a sitting position as Dean lowered his hand calmly, then Crowley was blinking his eyes open, the irises crossed together in a dazed bout of pain. Sam didn't even flinch at the hit. He could name another thousand reasons for Dean to do it again.

"Never get tired of doing that." Apparently, so could Dean. He wiped off his hand on a rag, tossing it to the side of the dungeon. Sam couldn't even comprehend that this was real, that they had the King of Hell in their basement. Talk about the upperhand for once. Crowley grunted in response to Dean's comment and looked about the small room. His eyes lit on the wall of torture implements, and Sam could practically see the gears turning and categorizing the instruments in the demonic little mind.

"Homey. Where did you get this fantastic little treehouse?" Crowley had the same wicked look on his face and that same predictable ability to make everything entirely off topic. But Sam finally was back to feeling like himself again, so he was laying down the law and he wasn't going to budge about it.

Crowley, of course, mouthed off. But Sam had leverage now, leverage that he could absolutely use on the demon. It wasn't every day you had the King of Hell and a weakness on him. And being sensitive and breaking down and nearly turning human was absolutely a weakness. Although Crowley didn't seem to be going for that either.

"Blah blah, boohoo. Done? Good. 'Cause this is what I know. I'm not giving you anything. Why would I? You have no leverage, darlings. You're not gonna close the gates of Hell, because you didn't, you're not gonna kill me, because you haven't. So what's left?"

"We have a few ideas," Dean replied, his voice low and a little scary even to Sam. Sam hated every time they - well, Dean - had to resort to torture. It wasn't fair to Dean, to the literal Hell he went through during those forty years and every year and innocent blood spilt since then. Sam would do anything he could to prevent Dean from having to torture, just the very idea of it made him cringe. But when push comes to shove, they didn't have a lot of options. Besides, Sam could always take a knife and torture too. Although he had nowhere near the skill Dean did. Which was scary to think about.

"Torture. Brilliant. Can't wait to see Sam in stilettos and a leather bustier, really putting the S-A-M into S and M." The glare Dean shot Crowley made Sam shift his weight. If Crowley kept it up, there wasn't going to be a live demon left to torture. Dean looked way more offended by that comment than Sam did, which wasn't that surprising, but still. It wasn't worthy of that murderous of a look on Dean's face. They were dating and all, but this was Crowley. Nothing he said came as surprising or offending anymore. To Sam, anyways.

"Honestly, boys. What are you gonna do to me that I don't do to myself just for kicks every Friday night?"

Well that put a kink in the plans. Literally. Crowley would totally be the type to not respond to physical torture. Although, maybe this was good. Because if they couldn't physically torture him, that meant Dean didn't have to lose that little piece of his sanity. There were plenty of other ways to torture people. And based on the look Dean was giving him, they were thinking the same thing. A demon like Crowley could definitely benefit with a little more creative version of torture.

Sam was just about to turn on his heel and leave Crowley there to rot when Crowley cleared his throat and drew both of their gazes back to attention again.

"Besides, why should I be afraid of you two? You did invite me to your wedding after all. You can't hate me that much." They did - what? Crowley sat there with the smuggest look on his face, and Sam was surprised Dean didn't punch it off again. He turned to Sam instead, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Sam shrugged and looked back at Crowley with a matching expression to Dean's half-offended half-confused one. Neither of them had a clue what that was supposed to mean.

"What in the world are you talking about?" Dean glared and took a step closer to the chained up chair, which made Crowley's smile expand even wider.

"Oh, you two don't know? Your wedding, dumbasses. In the church?" A brief pause where Crowley looked back and forth between them and waved his hand. "Two, three days ago? Ring any bells?"

Dean snorted a laugh, which surprised both Sam and Crowley as they turned to look at him. It was short and abrupt and definitely disbelieving, but those green eyes still lit up with humour. Sam raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend, and Dean kind of stilled in silence. Dean looked down and cleared his throat, turning his head back to Crowley. Sam turned back to the demon too and spoke aloud what they were both thinking.

"Are you talking about stopping the third trial? We didn't get married--"

"You pledged your eternal love to each other, no?" Crowley interrupted and Sam shot Dean a look. Dean just shrugged, his face reading I don't know what the hell he's getting at too. "In a church. You made vows, and then you sealed it with a band-"

"Sam doesn't have a fucking wedding band-" Dean started to interrupt, his hand thrown up in the air with a crazy exaggerated motion towards Sam. Crowley just interrupted right back, his British accent cutting Dean's sentence in half.

"You tied up his hand, didn't you?"

"That was a bandana, not a ring," Dean hissed.

"Cloth was the original silver, back in the old days, and it absolutely counts. Wedding rituals used to use it all the time, cloth tied to symbolize union?" It took a moment or two for that to sink in, then Sam was just staring at Crowley, his eyes wide. There were a ton of different wedding rituals across the globe, cloth ties was not a long shot. In fact, it was probably a pretty legit ritual.

"And you had a witness - me, of course," Crowley continued, the British words cutting through as the only sounds in the dungeon. They were both just staring at Crowley now, in perfect stillness and silence. Crowley looked back and forth between them both, throwing up his hands and making the chains on them rattle.

"You can't seriously deny that you're married now, morons." The final word seemed to snap Dean out of his trance, and he went into defensive mode in an instant.

"No, see, asshat, we're brothers and can't get married. Even if we wanted to, which we don't-" Dean shot a look over at Sam, clearly looking for backup but just seeing Sam's bewildered expression. Dean faltered, the words he just said sinking in. His eyes got big and he looked down at his hands, at the ring he always wore on his right. When he spoke again, his words were weak and more of a question than a reassurance. "Right? I mean..."

Dean trailed off, kind of just staring at Sam. Sam looked back with eyes just as wide. He had thought about it before, probably a thousand times, but he never expected them to talk about it. Especially not like this. And not when they might be...were they...?

"You're brothers who fuck each other's brains out. Not exactly your average set of bro-boys. So you might as well admit it, you're married." Crowley was looking at them expectantly, and it took a few blinks from Dean and a very awkward silence before he finally spoke again.

"You know what, we don't have to listen to this crap. Screw you, Crowley. Sam, let's get out of here." Dean crossed over to his side of the room and took Sam by the elbow, leading him away from Crowley and out of the dungeon, letting go of Sam to lock the heavy doors behind them. Sam just followed kind of numbly, still trying to process the argument between Dean and Crowley he just witnessed.

"Have fun!" Dean shouted in defiance at the closed door as he flicked the lights off. Now they were in the hallway alone, only the two of them. Sam was just staring at the door, not seeing it or even the demon and the room behind it. Were he and Dean...married? Husbands?

"Helloo, earth to Sam. We gotta go talk to Kevin, yeah? Handle this later, okay? Sam? Sam!"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, later." Sam shot another glance at the door and followed Dean down the corridor. Followed his husband. Maybe? Sam had no idea what was going on.

He was going to have to pester Crowley about the details of that old ritual with the cloth thing he was talking about. Because what he'd said...it had all been true. Dean had tied a band onto his left hand, they'd made vows to each other, professed their love, even had a witness. In a church. All in a goddamned church.

Sam was in a daze for at least the next hour. They seriously had to talk about this asap, before Sam ent stir-crazy trying to decipher what it all meant to Dean.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Alone at last." The female voice grated as she grinned at him with a haughty upturn of those bright red lips. Dean returned the flirty smile with a death glare. Demons who thought they were bitching enough to flirt with him pissed him off a hell of a lot more than the normal cocky sons of bitches.

Although Abaddon did have a point, they finally were alone. Which meant Dean finally got to put a knife in the bitch. Not saying he'd mind doing that in front of a crowd, or hell the Pope even, but getting rid of this bitch again was definitely something he was looking forward to. He reached a hand in his inner jacket pocket, fingers wrapping around the handle of the angel blade he carried with him. Redhead goin' down.

Dean lunged forward with the knife, aiming straight for her heart, but then his arm was suddenly twisted to the side then - fuck, twisted more. Dean's mouth let out an involuntary grunt of pain as his arm got twisted all the way around, snapping the blade out of his hand and sending it flying. The silver material clattered to the pavement a ways off, and Dean was bent backwards, his arm screaming in protest.

Red had him by his twisted arm, her body curled behind him and grip tight, forcing him to step forward. Shit, this was a vulnerable position. That made two idiotic positions he let himself get pinned in in two days. And without any sleep between. It was taking all of Dean's effort to just not scream, let alone get the hell out of here and get the angel blade and kill the knight. Great.

"I missed you," she hissed in his ear. Her warm breath ghosted over his flesh and made his skin crawl. The she-devil sounded like a damn snake. One of her taloned hands wrapped around a shoulder, then there was a loud crack and a burst of red light behind his eyes and some distant sound that probably came out of Dean's mouth as his knees collided with the pavement and his shoulder dislocated from it's socket, pressure still applied directly to the burning joint with those same red claws. Abaddon hissed again, pleased laughter in her voice this time.

"Did you miss me?" Dean really wished he had enough willpower to make a smartass remark about how much he did not miss her twisted, fucked up douchebagieness but he was pretty sure the only sound his vocal chords could make right now were whimpers or screams. Not exactly the message he wanted to portray, but the heartbeat in his shoulder was so loud in his ears he could swear even Red could hear it.she didn't wait for an answer, just smiled and spoke again, her voice sickly sweet this time.

"So appreciate you boys coming when I call." Abaddon emphasized the words with a violent, sudden twist to his shoulder. Dean's eyes saw sparks and he let out another sound of pain as something else cracked. The bright, searing pain was making it hard to breathe, but Dean's arm was starting to numb a little. Which wasn't good for fighting, but a body could only take so much pain. And Dean's ears could only take so much rambling. Abaddon continued talking though, her voice as sweet as her nails were long. "I think that's what I like most about you Winchesters. You're so obedient." The free hand that wasn't twisting his arm out of socket grazed fingernails through his hair, affectionate and annoying as hell. Then the hand tightened its grip in Dean's hair, forcing his head back. Goddamn this bitch was kinky. "And suicidally stupid. I like that, too."

Her fierce gaze shot down to Dean's lips on her last words, her voice softening in a flirty way that might have meant something if she didn't have his shoulder in a state of destroyed joints and flayed tendons. It was numb enough now Dean could probably grate out a response that didn't include a whimper of pain. So he took the temporary pause in her annoying monologue to interject with as much sassed up hate as possible.

"Are we gonna fight or make out? 'Cause I'm getting some real mixed signals here." Dean managed to get the words out through the pain somehow. He figured he might as well address the sickl affection she was lauering over the torture. Anything to throw her off her prolonged game of cat and mouse.

Although, seriously, if she kissed him, Dean was gonna throw a bitchfit. Just having her hand possessively feathered through his hair had him pissed, but no one got to force him into cheating on Sam. Regardless of the relationship-disaster of a mess they were in right now. Between Crowley's accusation of them being fucking married and Sam's dazed and confused reaction...Dean did not need this bitch's fucked up ways on top of that shit right now.

The demon bitch didn't get any closer though, her flirty smile sinking in replacement of a fierce frown. Both of her hands tightened their grip just a little and a fresh wave of pain shot up Dean's shoulder. So much for numb. His lungs gasped again, both for a fight for oxygen and as a response to the pain. If Abaddon hadn't been holding up his head, Dean would totally have ignored her in favour of curling on the ground in pain. But she had a grip on his scalp, too, and her words were forced into his ears.

"I want Crowley. Or what's left of him." There, that was the kind of talk Dean was looking for. Straight up negotiation that could stall til he or someone else could gank the bitch.

"Yeah? What's in it for me?" His words were punctured with enough air to make them sound weak if his voice hadn't been low and as intimidating as possible. She smiled again, not quite as coy and rueful as earlier.

"I let you die," she answered plainly. Okay, well, blunt. Not exactly the best deal Dean had been offered in his life. Although, from Red, it wasn't all that surprising. "You give me Crowley's head, and I will snap your neck, quick and clean. You won't feel a thing, trust me."

Right, yeah, trust her. Even if he did, Dean had just won two suicide battles for Sam, he was not exactly planning on embarking on one of his own. Now, a murder mission,he wouldn't mind. This bitch had to die. Because the temporary numbing from the adrenaline and overspike of pain was wearing off. Fuck.

"And if I tell you to get bent?" Dean barely managed to wheeze out. Goddamn, that was going to hurt for a very long time. If he had an arm left to even hurt, at this rate. Dean would not put dismembering him past Abaddon.

"Oh," she said, sounding a bit disappointed. "Well..."

Her gaze flicked down to Dean's lips, then down a bit further. This was not going to be good.

"You know, I've loved this body since the moment I first saw it." Dean didn't even get the chance to make some comment like yeah, most people do. The hand in his hair ran down over the curve of his head and those long red nails latched onto the front of his shirt. Abaddon moved to rip back the fabric and Dean reached up a hand to grab her wrist. There was no way in hell he was letting this demon bitch strip him. He held tightly onto the frail wrist that might have been dainty before it was the meat suit of a knight. Now it was just evil, nothing but. He didn't want the fear to show in his eyes, but he was hurting and vulnerable and god knows how Sam was holding up right now and if Abaddon really wanted to rip his clothes off, she could. It was a scary thought. And the way she was looking at him, like he was something delicious to eat, it didn't make the blood in his veins any less heated.

"You're the perfect vessel, Dean. You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas." Dean's eyes fluttered as he rolled them, faking the nonchalance at her words. He did not want to know what kind of ideas he gave Abaddon, he'd spent enough time in hell to know that none of them were the enjoyable kinds of kinks he and Sam were exploring. Even if they were, it wasn't exactly girls he'd been interested in as of late. Just Sam. He looked away, not wanting her to see that in his eyes. She knew he and Sam were together, sure, but the less information she had about it the better. Abaddon was undaunted by his reaction to her words, continuing on in that same slithery voice.

"So go ahead and play hard to get, and I'll peel off this "no demons allowed" tattoo..." She swiftly brushed his shirt aside, twisting his body at a harsher angle that made his lungs feel like they were being crushed by sandbags. Through the throbbing radiating from everywhere, he could still feel the sharp fingernails grazing over his anti-possession tattoo, tracing the ink that matched the pattern over Sam's heart. Her white teeth might as well have been fangs with the way she smiled. "...and blow smoke up your ass."

"Oh, well, I gotta tell you," Dean's voice was weak and breathy still, but he summoned up enough snark to add a bit of volume. "Between you and me, it is a horrow show up there." Abaddon just smiled at his words and looked at him with this knowing glint in her eyes. His last plea at salvation from the knight was brushed aside. Apparently, his words weren't going to make him any less desirable. She wanted him, horror show or not. Red leaned in closer, her words dropping a bit in volume to make them sound like a precious secret.

"It can get worse. Trust me. What you and your boyfriend do is nothing compared to what I've got planned. 'Cause once I'm on top, I'll make you watch." Dean was trying to shy away from the sudden hiss, but her grip was inescapable. "And I'll use your body. Have you ever felt an infant's blood drip down your chin? Or listened to a girl scream as you rip her guts out? Because you will."

Dean was in a mixture of fighting the urge to scream or hurl, but mostly his shying away had turned to doing his best to weasel out of that damn red-nailed grip. Abaddon would have none of it, and insistently needed his attention on her. Her claws wrapped around his chin and she forced his head up further, his eyes lighting on her fierce blue ones. She was everywhere, all over his vision and in the searing, ripping pain coming from his shoulder that had spread throughout his chest and up to his neck, over the surface of his knees crushed by the rubble and pavement underneath. She hissed again, a devil-snake in red over him.

"You and me, lover. We'll have a grand old time." Dean was just about to reject the name, spit in her face that he'd never be hers in her wildest demonic dreams. But his next desperate plea of anger was interrupted by a sudden blasting sound. Both demon and victim turned with surprised and wild expressions towards the diner, which suddenly lit up in a blast of white.

Dean did a double take and they both shied away from the light. The windows all blasted out in a loud rippling sound, shards of glass flying everywhere. What the-

"An angel?!" Abaddon shrieked, turning her attention back to him. Dean was just about to say the same thing, but managed not to give away that he was just as surprised. Instead he narrowed his eyes, using the temporary confusion to get the fuck out of here.

"What, you think we'd roll up to this mouse trap without some backup?" If she had thought that she was totally right because they absolutely had. Well, apparently that hadn't, but still. Not consciously, anyways.

Abaddon's hand wrapped around his throat and for a moment Dean thought she was just going to kill him right now. Then he was being lifted off the ground and soaring through the air. He barely had time to curl as he hit a wall of glass, feeling the pieces shatter around him just before his back slammed into another wall, this one not giving a fraction and dropping him to the ground instead. In the glass he'd just shattered.

The moment he was free, he only had one thought in his mind. Sam. He scrambled to his feet, temporary adrenaline making him not collapse as his bad arm grabbed the leg of a mannequin to help him out of the glass. Abaddon had thrown him into a storefront, then. Dean straightened, hormones and chemicals pumping through him and keeping him from collapsing to the ground in the fetal position and crying from pain. Sammy was in danger, and that took precedent over Dean's dislocated and twisted arm. As soon as his feet hit solid ground, he looked around for the redhead demon, but she seemed to have skipped town. Which was fine with Dean for now, he had bigger worries than getting rid of her for the time being.

Dean beelined for the diner, the one that housed an angel and had blown up in white only moments ago. He ran through the door like a bat out of hell, having no idea what the fuck was going on. Sam was standing over a dead soldier, pulling the demon knife out of the meatsuit's body. Before Dean could get a word in, Sam's voice spoke up. But, it didn't sound quite like Sam.

"They were going to kill him, Dean." Yeah. That definitely wasn't Sam.

"Ezekiel? The hell did you do?" Dean looked around the diner, taking in the wreckage. All of the demon soldiers were dead and leaking blood from knife wounds. Everything that had been glass was now in shards, and the countertop looked like someone had been thrown across it, with the way everything was tipped and broken. Serious damage, then.

"I was protecting your brother. I thought that was what you wanted." Well, it was. He hadn't exactly pictured putting blowing-up-buildings on that list, but yeah. It was probably necessary, and even if it wasn't it probably had saved Dean's life too.

"Right, yeah, no, I-I... sorry, I'm just still getting used to this whole thing." Dean stared at the ground. Looking at Sam's body, watching that familiar mouth say words that didn't sound anything like Sam, it was too weird. He just looked down instead. And listened to Ezekial talk.

"As am I."

"But Sam's okay?" It was a question that was constantly on Dean's mind, so asking it felt like it just flowed off his tongue, probably the only thing that would always be easy to say to Ezekial when he was in Sam's body.

"He was knocked unconscious. In a way he still is. Sam will not remember any of this." Well, that was good, but at the same time it really wasn't because the sooner Sam knew about Ezekial the better. Sam was gonna blow up at Dean about it, but as soon as he saw how necessary it had been, he'd forgive Dean. At least, that was what Dean was counting on. In the meantime, though, he'd have to figure out how to explain why they weren't both dead.

"So what the hell am I supposed to tell him when he comes to?" Dean was hoping for just a moment that the angel would tell him it was safe to tell Sam, that he could finally have someone to talk to about this.

"That's why I used the knife." Sam's arm gestured to the dead bodies, each with a fatal knife wound.

"Right." The angel held the knife out to Dean and he took it, looking around. This was all still so surreal. And those were Sam's fingers that just brushed his, but none of that spark was there. Sam's hand almost felt dead compared to how it normally was when they touched. Dean pushed that thought out of mind, focusing back on the wreckage around them. "Smart."

God, there was a lot of soldiers in here. Demons that should all be locked away right now, demons possessing good men who had given their lives to fight for and protect their country and instead ended up being ridden by black eyed bastards who probably made them watch as they tortured and killed things. All these men, who had started out so noble and had the worse kind of death imaginable. His thoughts were interrupted by Sam's not-voice, the deeper and confused sounding version that lacked all of Sam's vitality and zeal.

"You are troubled, still." Dean glanced at the angel but it was still too weird to look at him so he talked half to the wall, half to Ezekial. Was it angel tuition or being inside Sam that made him notice that something was wrong with Dean? Dean wasn't going to think about that either.

"Yeah, it's just that, uh... this is on me. I was the one who talked Sam out of boarding up Hell. Okay? So every demon deal, every kill that they make... well, you're looking at the person who let it happen." Dean's eyes fell this time out of shame, locking on the ground, at the place that, hundreds of miles below, there was a fire burning that had a hundred escape routes to carry that fire up here. Still. Which was all Dean's fault. All his stubborn, selfish fault. He'd rather let these soldiers, the hundreds and thousands to follow in their footsteps due to demons, all die and torture and kill than live without his brother. Stubborn, selfish.

"You were protecting your brother." As if it were as simple as just protecting Sam. No, Sam was so much more to him than just a little brother to protect now, and that attachment Dean had had turned everything sideways. Ezekial was looking at him cautiously, like he was calculating how Dean might react to his next words. The angel decided to say them anyways, after a moment of hesitation. "I am in Sam's head. Everything he knows, I know."

The angel took a step closer, basically forcing Dean to look at him. At Sam, who didn't look like Sam. Standing, walking talking evidence of the stupid places Dean would tread if it meant having Sam. Proof of his mistakes, right there talking to Dean through Sam. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the next words that tumbled out of the angel's/Sam's mouth made Dean freeze.

"And I know that what you did, you did out of love." He did out of - what?

So basically what Zeke just said was that Zeke knew that Sam knew that Dean convinced Sam not to slam the gates out of love. Because he had just gone to the length of saying that confusing thing about being in Sam's head and knowing what Sam knows and he knows and all that. Right. Well, that was a conversation for another time, with Sam instead of a stranger angel, preferably.

Dean blinked a few times out of surprise and looked down away from the angel again. This was just awkward, talking about...that, with an angel who was inside Sam's head and knew about him and Sam and just. Yeah, no.

"Yeah, uh, look, Zeke—I'm gonna call you Zeke—I'm not really with the whole, uh, love, and... love." Dean still totally couldn't look at the angel because this was the weirdest conversation he'd had in his life and why did shit like this always happen to him? He couldn't even...it wasn't like. I mean, he didn't even say that stuff to Sam and now he was all pinned up in a corner and just. He wasn't going to talk about that with the angel. No.

"But it is why I said yes." So Zeke agreed because he knew Dean loved Sam? How the fuck had he even known that, it's been before he'd even met the guy. Whatever, it wasn't like it mattered. What mattered was that Sam was possessed by an angel now, and it was because Dean and that l word apparently.

"Yeah, and if that goes sideways, that's on me too."

"That's not going to happen." Zeke's words weren't exactly reassuring, because there wasn't much else he could've answered to Dean's spoken aloud worry. Dean looked ip for a brief second, catching Sam's eyes that somehow weren't really his eyes and snorted a brief overwhelmed laugh.

"This is nuts." His eyes flicked everywhere but Sam's body, looking at nothing in particular until he couldn't avoid it anymore and shot a glance at Zeke. All of Sam's details were there, in perfect clarity, but it wasn't Sam. He didn't hold himself like Sam did, his voice sounded like it was being filtered through a box, but somehow it was still Dean's little brother. The next quick glance at Zeke showed he was quite confused as to why Dean was shifty and upset still. Dean fumbled with words, trying to explain. "I mean, you're Sam, but you're not Sam, and normally he's the one I'm talking to about all this stuff."

Sam was the one Dean talked to about everything. It was the shoulder Dean leaned on, his support system and the only thing that kept his sanity in check. But this time, Sam was out of the loop. Which meant Dean had to handle this whole mess on his own and he wasn't sure he could do that. He was putting so much on the line. So much. (finally meets his eyes. Puppy look, so light. Alive. Alive, because of that angel.)

"I'm trusting you, Zeke." Dean finally forced himself to look at the angel, to meet those hazel eyes that were still bright, just glowing differently than Sam's. He had Sam's eyebrows drawn together, curved something like Sam's puppy expression. There was so much light in those eyes, vitality that Dean had almost lost. Alive. Alive, because of the angel inside Sam. Dean had made a bargain and now he had to live with it. But it meant Sam was alive, and the two of them could hopefully handle whatever came after that. So long as the angel didn't turn against them too. "I just gotta hope that you're one of the good guys."

"I am." Zeke reassured, his expression as sincere as Sam's face could get. There was a pause where another look flashed over Zeke's emotions, then he spoke again, still as sincere as before. "But I suppose that is what a bad guy would say."

Dean made a half-hearted flicker of amused agreement, noting the humour in that statement but unable to laugh at a time like this. When Sam was being...possessed. God, Dean really hoped he knew what he was doing. Or that he could at least mop this up when it turned out he had no idea.

Zeke saw the still-present concern on his face, and made a final step forward, bringing Sam's body closer to Dean. Which normally had a calming affect, but like this it was just strange having a stranger in the familiar body of his brother. Boyfriend. And whatever the fuck Crowley had been talking about earlier that Dean wasn't letting himself think about.

"Dean Winchester, you are doing the right thing." Zeke's words were meant to be comforting, but the only thing Dean could think was I sure fucking hope so. He nodded though, to convince Zeke of a confidence that wasn't there, to convince himself there was a chance Zeke was right. Then his eyes cast away again, off the puppet body of his Sam. Dean didn't think he'd ever get used to this. He didn't want to ever get used to this.

~*~*~*~

He'd noticed that Dean looked a little stiff, but it wasn't until Dean reached for the handle of the car door and gasped that Sam saw just how stiff Dean was. Although "in pain" was a much more apt description for the look on his face. Sam stopped with his door halfway open, looking over the roof of the Impala at Dean.

"You okay?" Sam asked. Dean glanced up and quickly masked his face from the grimace he was making a few seconds ago.

"Yeah, fine. It's just, uh. Adisloactedshoulder." Dean sped through the last words, mumbling them at half volume and blurring them all into one word like it was something to just totally blow off. It took Sam a second to register, and by then Dean was already ducking into the driver's seat.

"Wait, wha- Dean!" Sam closed his door and hurried around to he other side of the car, catching Dean's door just before it shut and yanking it back open. "You dislocated your shoulder and just neglected to mention it?"

"It's not a big deal, really, I'll pop it back in at the bunker. Are you okay?" Dean was looking up at Sam with a mixture of worry and like he was on crack but Sam was not letting Dean get away with his stupid don't-pity-me act. He'd been forcing all of the attention on Sam ever since the damn trials and Sam was not going to let him get away with undermining all of his injuries and pain for whatever stupid macho reason he had convinced himself of.

"Yeah, I'm fine, and I'm also popping your shoulder back into place." Sam reached for Dean's bicep and tugged at his arm, encouraging him out of the car. Dean opened his mouth to protest but Sam just yanked harder and Dean grumbled instead, climbing out of the seat.

"You are really difficult, you know that?" Sam put a hand on Dean's arm to guide him to the hood, but Dean shook his arm off and walked over with an annoyed look on his face.

"Yeah, so I'm told. You wanna get this over with Nurse Nancy?" Sam wasn't going to respond to the jest at his coddling. It was a damn dislocated shoulder, Dean used to yell at him to hurry up and fix it, now he was doing his best to pretend it had never happened.

Sam huffed out a breath and closed up behind Dean, one hand bracing between Dean's shoulder blades and bending him over the hood. Instead of wrapping his other hand around Dean's shoulder and yanking it back like he normally did, Sam curled his fingers around Dean's hip. He leaned over Dean, lining their bodies up and bending just a bit to put his mouth next to Dean's ear.

"It's been a while since I've had you like this, hasn't it?" Sam half-whispered half-growled the words pressed up close to Dean's skin. A shiver ran down the spine that was pressed up against Sam's chest, Dean's whole body reacting to the words with the tremble. From the side view he had of Dean's face, Sam saw his eyes close and pretty pink mouth opening to respond, when suddenly a flash of concern crossed his features and his eyes shot open.

"Sam, not now, okay?" Dean's words were breathy and a little rushed, like he was nervous of something. Okay, weird. Then he cleared his throat, his voice coming out sturdier and scruff this time, although a little hesitant. "Shoulder?"

Sam straightened up, slowly uncurling his hand from Dean's hip. Okay, really weird. Something was clearly up, but Sam had no idea what. He blinked a few times, eyes still on his leather clad boyfriend bent over the hood. For a dislocated shoulder, right.

"Yeah. Okay. One-" Sam was quick to place his hands back in the right position, snapping Dean's shoulder into place with no prep or warning. Dean cried out, instantly curling his body into himself and putting all of his weight on the good arm that was braced against the car.

The palm Sam had placed between Dean's shoulder blades to balance him rubbed gently up and down the exaggerated ridges of Dean's spine. If Dean could speak, he probably would have complained he was fine and would really like to be left alone. But he couldn't speak from the pain, so that meant neither of them had to buy that bullshit and Sam was free to rub Dean's back.

Sam got about 30 seconds of comforting Dean before he started breathing close enough to normal to pitch a fit. He turned his body and swatted the hand from the non-injured arm at Sam. Sam threw his hands up in defeat and backed up, giving Dean his space. Dean grumbled a thank you and swung himself carefully back into the car, cradling the bad arm to his stomach. Sam huffed a sigh at his brother's ridiculousness and walked back to shotgun, sliding in the seat and barely getting the door shut before Dean was pressing on the gas.

He peeled out with a screech, driving one handed as he still kept that arm cradled to his stomach. For at least an hour into the ride. Sam dozed off into his own world, head on the window and watching the landscape slip by in lack of something to say to Dean that wouldn't ensure some look of worried disdain.

Once they got back to the bunker, they could sort this out there. Because Sam had not forgotten for a moment what Crowley had said this morning. Maybe that was why Dean was acting weird? Sam sure hoped not.

~*~*~

The last meeting with Crowley had been brief and worrisome, but at least they'd gotten info on demon names. And Kevin. Who Dean was currently taking care of right now. After they'd rushed out of the dungeon, Sam had considered going back and asking Crowley to explain the mess he was talking about earlier, but he wasn't going to give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much it had affected Sam. And maybe Dean, but Sam still had no idea about what was going on in that crazy mind.

He was currently doing research, a couple books open in front of him on the table. He'd already checked out the names, and they turned out to be real and in quite the position to be making deals. One was a real estate agent and another was a Hollywood talent scout. Two great places to sell your soul.

As soon as he finished researching the names and their locations, he'd closed the laptop and set it aside, heading to the stocked shelves lining the walls. Now for research Sam was actually interested in. Research he'd been dying to do since this morning. His fingers combed through a couple of old books, bringing a small stack on ancient non-supernatural rituals back with him to the table. He opened the first, Rituals of the Golden Age and set to scanning. He was going to find something on that wedding ritual.

Heavy bootsteps made Sam look up from his book, catching eyes with the very one he was thinking about. Dean entered the room looking a little less tense than before, and his shoulder looked like it was a hundred times better. Especially since he wasn't wincing or cradling it anymore.

"Kevin's passed out in one of the back rooms. He's a tough kid. He'll bounce back." Tough kid. Well that was certainly better than being a punk kid. some punk kid named Sam Winchester let Lucifer out of the cage. Tracy's whole family, slaughtered by a demon. How young was that girl anyways? And that had been more than five years ago. So she must have been barely thirteen or fourteen when she lost her entire family and got thrown into the life. That was sick. And all entirely Sam's fault.

Dean's voice interrupted Sam's lamenting, the deep voice not quite as concerned and worried sounding as earlier today. Which was good, because Sam already had a lot on his mind.

"What's up with you?" Sam looked down at the book in front of him, not seeing the pages, just some poor pre-teen watching her family die. Because of Sam.

"Nothing. It's just... what Tracy said about me, she wasn't wrong." Sam met the green eyes without concealing any of the guilt he was feeling. Dean could know these things. Dean should know. He was quite affected by Sam letting Lucifer out of his cage too.

Dean's expression was soft as he sat down a drink in front of Sam. It was sweet when Dean poured them drinks, so Sam let an appreciative mini-smile peek through at the sight. Then Dean was dragging back a chair and plopping down across from Sam, their ankles brushing. For some reason, there was something comforting about the warmth of Dean's feet tangled up with his. And Sam could use comforting right now.

"Sam, listen to me. You have helped a hell of a lot more people than you have hurt. So all of that... that was then." Dean had his best convincing voice and expression on, fixing Sam with those green eyes and sweet notions of truth.

Sam ran his finger over the circular top edge of the glass absentmindedly, watching Dean and letting the words soak in. Helped more people than he'd hurt. If Sam had said it to himself he might not have believed it. But coming from Dean's mouth it felt like the truth. After all, he'd spent some time in Luci's cage himself, and maybe that counteracted letting him out in the first place. That's what he'd told himself at the time, and with the look on Dean's face and total, sincere honesty in his words, maybe Dean was right. Maybe none of that mattered now.

Dean looked at him,still a little worried but sincere in the most childlike way. He held out his glass,lifting it up a bit to toast Sam. For a moment, he looked like a scruff, green eyed, much more gorgeous version of Gatsby. Sam met the intensity of Dean's gaze with mostly-convinced eyes, fingers curling around the base of his glass.

"Okay? Here's to now." Dean reached forward and Sam brought up his glass to clink softly against Dean's. The simple gesture almost made Sam smile, the sweetness of comraderie and a great team. Although, if they were tackling the subject of now, that was a total mess for their team. A do-able mess, but still a mess. It was absolutely going to be a crazy year, and the two of them had a lot of work ahead of them.

"So, you ready for it?"

"Hmm?" Dean looked up over his glass, his bottom lip catching some of the moisture and looking tantalizing delicious. They still hadn't kissed, not since before the trials. Sam had to look away to nit jump over the table and gather Dean's little muscular body into his arms. Instead he looked down at the book in front of him for a second then forced his mind back on topic.

"The fallen angels? Abaddon? Cas, losing his halo, Crowley in our basement?" Dean made a face and Sam couldn't help but grin.

"Crap. We're living in a freaking sitcom." Sam smiled again, even though Dean didn't seem to think his own joke was too funny. He looked a little even out. Maybe he was just tired. He still hadn't slept since god knows when. Sam was going to have to do something about that. Then Dean was looking at him over the edge of his glass, raising his eyebrows and looking generally attractive in every way possible. "What about you, how's the uh, the engine running?"

It was just like a Dean to have not slept on days and be worried about how Sam was feeling. But, for once, there was no bloody cough, no hot and tight skin, not even any sore muscles or battle wounds that stung. Sam's body felt...good.

"Honestly, um, I feel better than I have in a long time. I mean, I realise it's crazy out there, and we have trouble coming for us, but I look around and I see friends, and family." Sam waved his hand in the general direction of Kevin, but they had even more friends then that now, friends like Charlie and Krissy and other people who hadn't died because of them. Dean got another look on his face as Sam gestured to him at family, but Sam wasn't gonna analyze it until he was done.

"I am happy with my life, for the first time in... forever." That made Dean lean back and lower his eyes in scrutiny. Maybe that was surprising to Dean, maybe Sam was a good enough actor that Dean honestly thought Sam was happy when he wasn't Sam had had moments of amazing happiness, of course, but he'd never been happy with his em>life. The life he had to lead had always had some drawback but not now. There were no demons in his head or diseases in his body, he'd apparently saved more people then he hurt, he had friends that were actually alive, and he had Dean. There was absolutely nothing else Sam could ask for band on top of that all, he felt good. Really good, physically which was a major feat for him. "I-I am, I really am. It's just, things are... things are good."

Dean nodded, his face drawn and unreadable. It wasn't like he was unhappy with his speech, maybe just. Almost a little disbelieving. If Dean thought it was too good to be true, Sam had too at first. He just need some time and coaxing and maybe then Sam could wipe the worry off that face and get him smiling again.

He attempted at some sort of acknowledgement smile, nodding his head in surprised agreement. Them Dean was tipping back his chair and lifting his glass again, adjusting his nod into a nonchalant pose.

"Never better." Sam recognized the attempt for what it was and returned Dean's smile, then Dean was putting his glass back to his lips and Sam was turning back to his research, eyes scanning the book in front of him for where he'd left off.

The more he looked over the pages in this book, the less convinced he was that the answer was in here. So far, there had been no mentions of civilian rituals, nothing coming even close to a wedding. Yep, time for another book.

Sam closed the big book and scooted it to the side, getting out of his chair and turning back to the shelf behind him. Dean's eyes were in him, Sam could feel the heat of that gaze. It took all his willpower to give Dean the space he was clearly looking for. They'd gave to talk about what was wrong, soon, because Sam was going crazy. Honestly, though, Sam was pretty sure it had something to do with what Crowley he said this morning about the marriage which is why Sam had to find the right book.

Olden Religious Ceremonies. The book was red with gold lettering, and it looked to Sam like it was absolutely perfect. He grabbed it off the shelf and sat back down, shooting another glance at Dean, who wasn't looking at him anymore, just staring off in space. He looked like he was contemplating, but not necessarily upset. Again, probably about this.

Sam opened up to the first section, about Daoism marriage ceremonies. Okay, great. After scanning through the process, there was nothing in there about tying cloth. Or anything cloth really. He sighed and thumbed through another couple of pages. Dean stayed quiet on his end of the table, his glass already long gone. Sometimes Dean came and just sat by Sam while Sam researched, and nine times out of ten it was kinda nice. The tenth time it was annoying as hell and Sam would make him leave. That was the annoying-older-brother part kicking in.

"Hey, how's your arm doing?" Sam looked up from his pages and met Dean's eyes, who in turn dropped them back to the empty glass he was rolling between his palms.

"Fine." Dean didn't say the word abrupt or rudely, just kind of like it wasn't a big deal. Based on the level of pain Sam saw earlier, it looked like a big deal. But whatever. He kind of considered quoting the Italian Job back at Dean's answer, the "Fine stands for Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional," thing that they battled each other with sometimes, but Dean didn't look up to it. Honestly, it looked like Dean wasn't up for anything right now.

So Sam just nodded and turned back to the book in front of him. Hindu. Also nothing about a cloth. He skipped a few more pages, scanning the long, ancient paragraphs of text for any sort of proof he had to see how legit Crowley actually was. He never really believed Crowley half the time, and with the weirdass way he'd been acting while he was being cured, Sam trusted him even less. If that was possible.

Dean's chair scooted back but Sam kept on reading. Footsteps, the clank of the glass lid being lifted off whatever alcohol was on the shelf behind Sam. Zoroastrianism. Sam kind of had a fascination with that religion, but so far there was just stuff about religious communions. There was the slosh of the drink being poured, then Dean was back in his chair again, sitting at an angle this time and propping his feet up on the chair next to him. Okay, communion, coming of age, marriages. The bride and the groom...

"Found it!" Sam didn't shout very loud but Dean jumped anyways. He managed not to spill his drink all over himself, but it was only a centimeter from sloshing out of his glass and getting everywhere.

"Jesus, Sam-"

"Sorry. Okay, so Zoroastrianism." Sam had looked up briefly but now he was scanning through the passage, making sure he got all the details. It wasn't exact, but it was pretty damn close.

"I don't think anything good ever starts out with 'So, Zoroastrianism,'" Dean said dryly, probably giving Sam a sass face but Sam really wasn't paying attention right now. He was comparing the ceremony outlined in the ancient text in front of him from what he could remember from the church...it was all the missing pieces of the marriage band that Sam had been looking for.

"According to this, the bride and the groom have two pieces of cloth, typically green, held over their heads and then its sewn together to represent the union of the marriage. It was like the olden day wedding band, except bigger, and cloth. And then they ask the whole 'eternal dedication' question, and the bride has to wait for the question to be asked three times before she can answer yes. It's to show that..." Sam finally looked up, his words slowly fading off as he caught the look on Dean's face. Dean was looking at him with the most sassy you cannot be serious right now face Sam had ever seen. Sam had turned the book to face Dean on the table but Dean was just sitting there in silence with his glass in his hand, looking at Sam. They sat at a stalemate of silence for a beat or two before Dean finally opened his mouth, his tone just as sassy as his expression.

"You were researching that?" He looked at Sam incredulously and down a quarter of the amber liquid in his glass. Sam turned the book back towards himself, shooting an annoyed look at Dean's reaction and reading the paragraph again.

"Yeah, I am researching that. I don't trust a word out of Crowley's mouth." Sam didn't say what he knew Dean was looking for, the reason why he was researching it. Because clearly, Sam was pretty interested in it and Dean was pretty interested in pretending he wasn't interested in it which made it even more interesting for Sam because clearly it mattered to Dean if he was making that face at Sam right now. Sam cleared his throat and turned another page in the book. "Sorry if I want to know whether or not we're married."

Sam heard the sound right before he got hit with the spray but he didn't anticipate it enough to dodge unfortunately. One second he was reading and sassing Dean and the next he was sticky and covered in the alcohol Dean had just spit everywhere.

Once he was covered, the instinct reaction was to jump up, but it was too late for his shirt. And face. And the book. There was a moment of absolute stillness as Sam blinked scotch out of his eyes and Dean sat with a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and amber liquid leaking between his fingers. Apparently, Sam's words had caught Dean a bit off guard. While he happened to be drinking scotch, so fortunate for Sam. And the book.

Then Dean was laughing and wiping scotch of his chin and Sam was crossing the space between them and grabbing Dean's face, tilting it up to meet Sam as he bent in half and closed his mouth over Dean's open laugh one.

It was sudden and unexpected and Sam could swear he felt the heat of physical sparks dancing in their joined mouths as he glided their lips together. Dean's lips tasted like scotch, mixed the the underlying taste of Dean, and Sam's head spun with the tang on his tongue, the familiar taste he hadn't had in so long. He slowed the crushing movement of his mouth to drag his tongue over Dean's bottom lip, licking up the scotch that had dotted it. Sam swept his tongue back into Dean's mouth, tilting his head and moving their mouths together hungrily.

Dean still hadn't quite registered what was going on, it all happening so fast and him being so sleep-deprived and this being such a familiar thing for both their mouths that their bodies responded to each other naturally.

A moan slipped out of Sam's throat, his entire body shivering as the chills ran down his spine and his jeans got a fraction tighter. God, Dean's mouth, Sam hadn't had it in so long, and it had been even longer since they'd kissed like this. Sam's only complaint was that it was just their mouths, that he couldn't feel Dean's hot body pressed to his, couldn't run his hands down over that expense of everything he ever wanted.

Sam was just about to bend down further and lift Dean out of the chair, pull that body into his and get all the damn layers of cloth separating them out of the way. He wanted Dean, now, and so long as they got to a bedroom somewhere, or any place with a door really, Kevin would be fine. Sam was actually kind of amazed his mind even remembered Kevin or anyone besides Dean existed right now, let alone that the kid lived with them. But there were plenty of rooms and Kevin was upstairs resting anyways, and unlikely to come down for a couple days. And Sam wanted Dean pretty badly, so.

The moment Sam's hands left his grip on Dean's face, sliding down his neck and shoulders, Dean seemed to snap into reality, his mouth suddenly freezing against Sam's. Sam tilted his head in the other direction and kissed Dean harder, his hands pulling Dean towards him. Then there were two strong hands on Sam's chest and Dean was shoving at him at the same time he turned his head to break free from the kiss.

Dean had scooted back and they were no longer touching before Sam even got the chance to open his eyes. Dean had just pushed him away, again. Sam blinked and straightened, searching the pained expression on his boyfriend-fiancé-husband-nooneknows's face. Dean looked positively torn, calloused fingers coming up to brush his lips in surprise and awe, eyes terrified, and body drawn into a defensive mode, his shoulders and chest tense.

"Dean, what--"

"Sam, I just. You can't just maul me. We can't-- You're not--" No. Sam was not going to let Dean dance around this any more. Especially not when he looked as freaked as he did right now. They were talking about this, whether Dean liked it or not.

"I'm not what, Dean? The person who usually kisses you? Cause last I checked, you're my boyfriend. Or fiancé or husband or whatever." Sam took a step closer to where Dean still sat in the chair, which was now turned away from the table and was facing Sam. Dean's eyes widened at the words, his fingers curling into clenched hands that made his knuckles white and his nerves show. "Is that what this is about? Are you suddenly freaked because Crowley and Zoroastrian beliefs consider us married? Does the idea of marrying me disgust you that much?"

"What? Sam, no, it's not like that. It's not that I don't...well, I don't really know, but it's just so. So god damn complicated." Dean threw his hands up in exasperation, running one of them through his short spiked hair the way he did when he was overwhelmed.

"What is, Dean? Are you that afraid of commitment? This is me we're talking about, Dean. You know you can talk to me. Just...just tell me the truth." Sam had grabbed the back of his chair and dragged it over to a couple of inches in front of Dean's, sitting down across from him and giving him the most honest eyes he could.

"Sam, it's not you that's the problem, it's just that." Dean gestured hopelessly at Sam, his words making a tangle of no sense whatsoever. "You're not exactly you right now and..."

"I'm not me? Is that what you're worried about, that I'm still...delusional from the trials?" Sam reached forward and grabbed one of Dean's hands that was clenched in his lap, forcefully uncurling the fist and wrapping Dean's fingers around Sam's hand instead. "I promise, Dean, this is 100% me, okay? Your little brother, Sam Winchester, who thinks you're a pain in the ass and the best goddamn thing that ever happened to me."

Sam's voice softened at the end and Dean's mouth turned up at one corner into a miniature smile, but at least that was a start.

"No one else is making me say this. It's all me in here, okay?" Dean snorted at that and Sam made an inquisitive face but Dean went back to listening. "I'm the one making this decision, Dean. No delusions or bouts of crazy left, just you and me. You and me, okay?"

Sam's thumb was running circles around the top of Dean's hand, and the green eyes flicked down to watch. Sam could see the gears turning in Dean's head, his struggling to accept what Sam was saying. Apparently there was a lot on his mind because they both sat there for two or three minutes in silence, Dean convincing himself against whatever was still plaguing him. Eventually, he sighed and the tenseness in his shoulders softened out.

"Don't hate me for this, Zeke," Dean muttered under his breath, looking at their hands.

"Wha--" Sam started to say, then his word was chopped off by Dean's mouth crashing into his. Suddenly whatever the hell Dean had just muttered mattered negative amounts. He could have been praising the colour of llamas for all Sam cared, now that his lips were sliding over Sam's.

The chair slid back a few inches when their mouths met, Dean the bent-over one now with his fingers tangled in Sam's hair and that beautiful ass up in the air. Which Sam would love to get his hands on right now.

Propping his weight on the armrests, Sam lifted himself up to standing, keeping his mouth attached to Dean's as they both straightened up, hips colliding the moment they both had footing. Sam's hands instantly found their target, grabbing Dean's ass with a hand on each cheek and squeezing, pulling Dean in closer to his body. A whimper fell into Sam's mouth and he lapped up the pitiful sound, grinding his hips forward and getting some friction between them finally.

Dean nipped at Sam's mouth, tugged with pearly teeth at his lip and licked over the light and fading bite marks. Sam could barely breathe his body was aching for Dean so badly. It was like he could feel his own hammering heartbeat in every inch of his body, an intense desire pulsating from the edges and curves of the one he finally held in his arms again.

Sam's feet managed to stumble them both out from between the two chairs, backing Dean up quickly against the table. The wood edge hit the back of Sam's hands where he was still grabbing Dean's ass. Sam slid his hands further down, a bit reluctantly, tracing every inch of curve and thigh on the way down. Then he was lifting upwards and Dean's hands quickly left Sam's head in favour of wrapping around his shoulders. Sam wasn't going to drop Dean, but Dean wasn't very trusting of people picking him up. Which made sense since Sam was the first person to do it.

As soon as Sam got Dean propped on the table, he reached out an arm to sweep the books to the side. Just as he started moving them, Dean's face turned to the side, disconnecting their lips and making them both pant. Dean's ankles were still hooked tightly behind Sam's back, his crotch rubbing up against Sam's abs and making them both crazy. Sam's mouth placed a few automatic kisses to Dean's neck, open mouthed and greedy and sucking at Dean's skin.

"W-wait," Dean stuttered out between heavy breaths. Sam placed another kiss before groaning and lifting his head, quite frustrated with the second interruption.

"Dean," Sam complained, probably sounding like a whiny eight year old. Dean just shh'd him and kissed his neck quickly before turning his head back to the side and nodding his head in the direction of the books Sam was just about to clatter to the floor.

"I wanna...tell me what that passage was again." Dean still sounded breathy, but he was more intelligible than before. Although what he said made no sense.

"Now?!" Sam gave him an incredulous look, raking his fingers down Dean's spine and making him shudder. Dean dipped his head against Sam's collarbone, his back expanding and contracting with his breaths as his hands tightened on Sam's biceps.

"Yeah," Dean choked out. He took another second to calm himself down again, tapping his forefinger on Sam's bicep in a message that he better damn behave and not tease Dean again. "Yeah, I'd like to know the details of my marriage before I embark on a honeymoon."

Sam was sold on the sudden mention of a honeymoon. That meant sex and lots of it. Days, even. And with Kevin shutting out the world for awhile and nothing left to do except wait for Cas to get here, the timing was perfect. So Sam obliged and reached behind Dean to grab the red-bound book, holding it up over Dean's shoulder to read the paragraph again.

"Okay, so first the groom accepts the bride and declares his devotion, then the bride is asked if she accepts as well, but they -ugh- they ask her three times before she declares that she agrees." Sam was having a hard time focusing with Dean wrapped around him like this, but he didn't have any other options because there was no way he was letting go now. Dean snorted into Sam's shoulder at the last part, rubbing his hand up Sam's back.

"That would make you the bride then, you stubborn bastard."

"Hey, I was dying and delusional and I had no idea you wanted to marry me at the time." Dean just hummed in response, encouraging Sam to read on. Sam was curious now, about whether or not Dean had even thought about the whole marriage thing before, but now was clearly not the time to discuss that because Dean's tented jeans were still rubbing the soft fabric of Sam's shirt and they could definitely talk about all that later. Especially since Sam still had the rest of this paragraph to read.

"So after they devote their lives to each other, a cloth is sewn together over their heads and that symbolizes the modern day wedding band." Sam paused and Dean lifted his head, kissing Sam's neck before he spoke.

"I tied yours on your hand, does that still count?" Dean's face was right next to Sam's now, and both of their eyes flicked down to each other's lips. Sam turned his head just in time, figuring he wouldn't be able to stop once Dean's mouth touched his again. So Dean's puckered lips landed on Sam's jawbone instead, which he happily sucked and nibbled at. Sam tilted his head to the side with a shudder as a Dean scraped his teeth lightly from Sam's ear to his chin. His eyes drifted shut, but his voice managed to respond feebly.

"Do you...mm, want it to count?" Sam held his breath as Dean stilled in his arms. Then he was leaning back, their eyes meeting dead on, Dean being just a little taller than Sam when he was propped up on the table.

"Yes," Dean said softly, his voice low.

Then they were kissing again, just as passionately as before. Dean wrapped himself tighter around Sam and bucked lightly against his abs. Teeth clashed in their effort to kiss deeper, harder, never let their bodies be two separate things again. It wasn't until Sam started lifting Dean's shirt off that either of them even remembered they were in the middle of something. But the brush of Sam's fingers on Dean's bare skin made them both groan and break apart.

"I'm never gonna finish this if you don't behave." Sam said the words low, breathing them into Dean's skin. The bulge against Sam's stomach jerked, eliciting a quiet moan from them both. Then Dean's lips were curling over Sam's again, slow and wet glide between them as their lips tugged and popped free of each other.

"Mmm, okay, yeah," Dean said gruffly, separating their mouths and leaning his head against Sam's ear. Sam sucked in a breath and tried to calm his racing heart. God, Dean. Sam had no idea how he'd ever gotten so lucky.

His fingers fumbled for the dropped book again, finding it somewhere on the table behind Dean's round ass. He held it up over Dean's shoulder, having to look over the fabric of his jacket as Dean puffed warm air onto his neck.

"So after the cloth is sewn as one, they're considered married. And then, normally two or three days after the ceremony, there's a bigass feast and celebration that lasts up to a week of wine, food, and dancing."

"A week? Damn those Zoroastrians know how to party."

"I thought you hated that religion." Sam interjected but Dean ignored Sam's comment, nipping his ear instead.

"And it starts two days after they've been married? Let's see, so our scene in the church was day before yesterday,. Which would mean that today would be the start of said party." Dean leaned back, meeting Sam's eyes. There was a beat of tense silence where they both stared at each other.

Then the tension snapped and book clattered to the floor with a loud sound that no one noticed. Sam swung Dean up on his hips, their mouths meeting again in a clash. Dean ended up getting slammed against a couple of walls on the way to the bedroom but they eventually made it, Sam even remembering to kick the door shut behind them.

Sam dropped Dean onto his bed and was climbing over him, stripping off clothes and kissing the bare skin he revealed on his way up. Dean threw his head back and lifted his arms up against the pillow for Sam to tear his shirt off. As soon as Dean was free the fabric was thrown and Sam was kissing that mouth again, fingers running over the bare skin on Dean's chest. Dean fumbled with the bottom of Sam's shirt, pulling it up and forcing them apart again to strip him too.

"God, you're my fucking husband, Jesus," Dean breathed, looking up at Sam, his eyes sweeping from Sam's stomach to his eyes. Sam was torn between blushing and fucking the pretty mouth that just said that. Then Dean was pulling Sam to him and Sam's tongue settled for thrusting in between those pink lips. Dean moaned and writhed beneath him, bucking up without abandon and sucking at Sam's tongue. It had been way too long since they'd been like this. But it felt like the first time all over, that same exhilaration and rush but with none of the guilt. If anything, it was more exciting because they were fucking married. Well, according to Zoroastrianstic beliefs, but still.

"Pants. Now." Sam broke their mouths apart only because it'd be faster to get Dean naked that way. Dean obliged quickly, lifting his hips and undoing the zipper as Sam wrestled the button on his jeans, then Sam slid both the jeans and boxers off in a single swoosh, tossing them off the end of the bed. Dean had kicked off his boots much earlier, so that thankfully wasn't a problem.

Then Sam was taking off his pants and Dean was reaching for the nightstand drawer. Sam couldn't hear anything above the sound of his heart beating like crazy and Dean's breathing underneath him, where that body was waiting for him. Sam couldn't get undressed fast enough.

Once there was nothing but skin between them, it was easier to slow down his thinking a bit. The crazy rush to get Dean like this had finally been completed, and now as Sam slid his body over Dean's it was less frantic and much more intense, sparks shooting off from every inch they touched. Sam held himself up by his arms, so he could look at Dean for a moment. His heart was still pounding and he still wanted Dean more than anything, but he wanted to remember this moment too. Dean, his husband. Sam had thought he was never going to get married ever. Let alone in a church. To his brother.

Dean reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind Sam's ear, using the hand already in Sam's hair to tug him down. Then the few seconds of pause was over and their mouths were racing again, leaving no room for oxygen or anything but each other's breath. Sam hiked up one of Dean's legs and pressed into the kiss a little harder, taking the lube from Dean's hand and spreading it over a few fingers. The plump pink lips kept Sam's mouth quite occupied as he worked his first finger inside Dean, pushing in without wriggling any. Dean whimpered and Sam nipped him into silence.

He worked Dean over fast and rough, giving only a few pumps with each finger before adding another. It had been days, a lot of days, and Dean was virgin-tight, but he was also a pretty tough customer. He'd survive the slight discomfort, and if it meant sooner for Sam to be in him, then it was totally worth it. And based on the way Dean was attacking Sam's mouth, his blunt fingernails digging into Sam's shoulderblades, Sam would bet Dean felt the exact same way.

Sam broke their mouths apart in order to slick himself up, and Dean chased him for a moment before he collapsed back against the pillow, throwing his arms above his head and crossing his wrists, watching Sam with eyes of emerald fire. Sam could feel the burn of Dean's gaze on him as he lined them up, fingers digging into Dean's hipbones. Sam looked up and their eyes met as he tipped his hips forward, breaching Dean's entrance entirely.

The fit was tight as hell and Sam almost got dizzy by the heat crushing him, but the look on Dean's face kept Sam's eyes locked on him. Dean's eyes were closed, his mouth hanging open and head tilted back, fists in handfuls of sheets. The muscles closed in around Sam's cock were smooth and slick and Sam shuddered his way hilt-deep in Dean. He rolled his hips a bit experimentally, then Dean was biting his lip and groaning, hooking his ankles tight around Sam's back.

"Fucking move," Dean hissed. That was all it took and Sam was rocking into him as quick as the friction would allow, forcing one of Dean's hands to brace on the headboard to keep from sliding up the sheets. Curses and sounds spilled out of Dean's mouth, his eyes squeezed shut and free hand digging crescent moons into Sam's bicep. Sam had his arms braced on either side of Dean and wasn't wasting any breath on the curses running through his head because he was short on oxygen anyways.

The bed was thumping against the wall, and it was a good thing this bunker was made out of concrete and steel because otherwise Kevin would be hearing quite the show. Dean spent more time cursing Sam than praising him but that's how sex like this always turned out. And so long as Dean wasn't cursing in Latin, Sam didn't mind the insults and damnations. Hell, he'd be cursing Dean and his sweet, tight, smooth ass if he had enough air to get out words.

Sometimes they had sex like they hunted, fast and a little rough and most nearly deadly. It was all instinct and pleasure based, their bodies taking control and minds following along with the aching needs and desires. It was like that now, needy and fast enough to bruise uh the morning.

When Dean topped his back arched and his hips rolled, almost like a dance. And it was beautiful and blissful in a hundred ways. But he was born to bottom, born to beg for it and whimper and let go of the control as his ass got handed to him. In bed was the only time Sam ever got the chance to gave the control, to take the reins from Dean for awhile. Maybe that was why this was so good.

Sam pumped his hips, their bodies colliding with the sound of flesh on flesh, grunts and moans and curse words. Dean soaked it up, pretty as a picture with the sweat beading on his full, pink lips. There was something so gorgeous about Dean, something unreal and godlike in nature. And then the noises he made...wow. All of his macho rough and toughness slipped away when he had a dick in his ass, and he became this submissive creature with green eyes big enough to be a Disney princess.

Sometimes Sam couldn't believe it was real.

Only that his head could never fathom this kind of dream. His mind could never have created a pleasure this intense. The cling of Dean's inner muscles to him, the friction between their bodies magnified by the million sparks in their fingertips. Even the collide of full, heavy balls into Dean's, sending dizzying waves of pleasure into his groin. Sam didn't have an imagination this incredible. He'd never known anything in the world as close to perfection as this.

Dean's hard cock spilled precum over Sam's stomach, painting them both with small pearls and making everything that much wetter, that much stickier. With the crazy wild pace Sam was pumping into Dean, there was no way he could spare one of his arms to jack off Dean too. He needed the brace of both hands on the sheets, either side of Dean's arms. So he got the challenge of making Dean come from just riding his ass.

Sam's head was hanging, a few strands of escaped hair brushing Dean as he thrust into him relentlessly. The muscles in his arms and legs were tight and threatening to start aching soon. The arm Dean had propped against the headboard was sure to get tired too. Time for Sam to drive it home.

He swiveled his hips down in a circle after a thrust inside, forcing deeper and doing a thorough roll of grazing everything inside. Sam knew the exact moment he hit Dean's prostate, because the soft and pitiful noises took a single sudden turn.

"Sam! Fuck oh god fucking h-hell," Dean cursed, the shout turning into groaning, breathy words. Sam tilted back and drove in again, changing the angle just enough to tap that sweet spot.

Dean's back arched and his mouth fell open in shocked silence, the breath sucked out do his lungs. Sam took up the rapid pounding again, faster than before and making Dean's body spike with overwhelming sensitivity every thrust. His body became a tense, coiled up rag doll in Sam's hands, pliant to all of Sam's demands and frozen in his stiff silence.

The edges of his vision were clouding with stars, Dean's entrance tightening even more somehow abs the momentum Sam had going being the only thing not making him stuck in that vice. The layer of sweat covering their bodies was so damp that the precum Dean had leaked onto their stomachs wasn't sticking anymore.

A soft clang brought Sam's eyes back up, his head nowhere near functioning but somehow still able to recognize the sound. The hand Dean had on the headboard was slipping, his palm loose enough to smack the wood with the jerking of their bodies. Dean's ring was what made the sound, the metal sounding peculiar against the wood. It was the Sam's ring Dean had worn since forever, but rings had a special meaning today.

Maybe Dean heard it too with what little brain he had access to, or maybe it was just the stutter of Sam's hips as the spring in his belly tightened, but the moment Sam lost it, Dean's name falling from his lips as he filled Dean up with the warm stickiness, Dean lost it too. White ropes shot between their bodies and all of Dean's body tightened, squeezing Sam's orgasm out of him with a force that overruled the rest of his senses.

His body rode Dean through the climax, but Sam's mind was nowhere near and the technique was sloppy and messy. The shudders were almost violent and Sam nearly lost his ability to hold his body up. There were clouds in his head, clouds a hundred times higher than cloud nine. When he had enough brain power to think later, Sam would wonder if it was possible to die from to high of a climax. After aAll, the French word for orgasm was "the little death."

When he came to, he was collapsed over Dean's chest. His torso was rising up and down at double the intensity it normally did, so that meant Dean was breathing. And alive. Which was definitely good.

Sam lifted his head up and flicked his hair out of his vision, turning to the side to search for Dean's face. Dean lay still, with his eyes and mouth both closed, his face relaxed enough to look scarily smooth. There was not a crease of worry, not even the smiling crows feet visible. It was like looking at a perfectly smooth lake, glass reflecting the sky in an almost eerie way.

"Dean?" The word came out gruff and quiet. The peaceful visage didn't move an inch. But the hand that had been gripping Sam's arm tightly earlier, which now had a loose hold around his arm that barely counted as anything more than vaguely curled fingers, acknowledged Sam's address by a centimeter rub across his skin.

Clearly, he wasn't getting anything out of Dean until he recovered. Which was fine with Sam. He turned his head back to Dean's chest and pressed a few gentle kisses to Dean's clavicle. He didn't get even so much as a tap of fingers this time, but that was fine. Maybe if he just let his eyes drift closed for a moment...

~*~*~*~*~

"Holy fuck, Sam. Marry me."

"I did," Sam grinned, rolling up on his side to face Dean. They'd just finished round three for tonight and both were somehow still capable of words. The first one had knocked them both out for a good half hour, but the second round was more lighthearted and Dean went cowgirl for round three, which was always less likely to make them both pass out.

Dean rolled up on his side too, reaching out his arm to wrap around Sam's shoulders and bunch him in roughly for a kiss. It was sloppy and wet and short, but Sam loved it. And the tight one armed grip Dean had around his shoulders that made their naked bodies flush and warm again. There was a grin on both of their faces as their mouths separated.

"You did, didn't you? Lucky you, you get to go by Sam Winchester now and everything."

"Dean, I'm already...no, you know what? You can take my last name, asshat. Dean Winchester it is."

They were already both smiling as their mouths connected again, Sam using the momentum of the collide to roll his body up on top of Dean's. Dean let Sam kiss him like that for a moment, twisting and pressing hard. The suddenly they were rolling back in the the other direction and there was a grinning Dean on top of him.

Their legs were tangled up and Sam wasn't sure where exactly he started and Dean ended. He didn't really care either. They made out for a while, occasionally rolling over and battling out for who was on top. Dean was draped over him again when they finally broke apart for air, each of them gasping with smiles still on their faces.

"Hey husband, you up for breakfast?" Dean kissed Sam's cheek after the words, already rolling off and sitting up on the bed. Sam laughed, placing a palm to his cheek in surprise. Dean wasn't the cheek kissing type.

He looked around the room, at the dark that was only dispersed by the lamp Dean had on in the corner. Based on. How tired he was, and subtracting the soreness from a lot of great sex, it was no way in time for breakfast.

"Dean, it's like three in the morning."

"So?" Dean turned and looked over his shoulder, pulling a slipper on his foot. Sam didn't have a really good answer for why they shouldn't have breakfast at three in the morning, so he just shrugged. Dean grinned. "That's what I thought. C'mon, put on some clothes. I can't have you distracting me while I make pancakes."

"Pancakes?" Sam finally sat up at that, getting off the other side of the bed and heading for Dean's wardrobe. He grabbed a pair of boxers and slipped them on, then made his way to Dean's tshirt drawer.

"Aw, man, you're gonna stretch out my clothes and make me look like a three year old!" Dean whined from across the room, where he was tying a bathrobe over his bare chest and sweats. Sam wriggled his way into one of the Back in Black album tshirts Dean guarded like a hawk.

"It's not my fault you're not as muscular as me."

"It's not even about that, you're just tall as hell!"

"And hot as hell." Sam made his way over and pressed a quick kiss on Dean's mouth, which was open in offended annoyance. Dean leaned back and shoved at Sam lightly, but Sam just kissed him again. There was another few seconds of struggle, then Dean opened up and melted against Sam's mouth, his body relaxing into Sam's arms. Dean leaned up and wrapped his arms around Sam's neck, kissing him back full heartedly. Well that was damn adorable.

They kissed that way for a bit, then Sam's hands slid down Dean's back, sloping over his ass and stooping a bit to tuck his arms behind Dean's legs, lifting up in a swift motion. Their mouths broke apart and Dean started protesting, but Sam just traded Dean's legs into his other arm, one bracing Dean's back and picking him up in a classic bridal carry. Dean still kept his arms latched around Sam's neck, always afraid of falling.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing you can't just carry me around like a bride I'm a full fucking grown man!" Sam laughed loudly, turning sideways to fit them through the doorframe. Dean was heavy, absolutely, but Sam was used to lifting weights and he'd survive.

Sam took them down the hallway towards the kitchen, Dean complaining the entire way there.

"Weren't you supposed to be the bride? I thought we agreed you were the bride."

"If you drop me I'm so kicking your ass."

"Could you walk any slower? The kitchen is intentionally like right by my bedroom."

"If anyone sees me like this I swear I will end you."

By the time Sam swung Dean's legs back to the ground, Dean had ran out of insults and had taken to sucking a hickey onto Sam's neck. Which hadn't been distracting at all. Especially not when it was nearly pitch black and Sam was attempting to not bang Dean into any walls (that was for later) or drop him and make bruises on that round ass (that was for later too). They managed to make it safely into the kitchen though, with Dean no worse for the wear.

"You suck." Dean said, the moment he got his footing back.

"If you want," Sam teased, putting on hand teasingly across the front of Dean's robe.

"Hey hey hey, I'm making food. No distractions." Dean smiled his cheekiness smile and walk just to the right of Sam, snaking his ass as he went by. Sam made a face and sat down at the little table on the side of the room.

Dean busied himself with getting ingredients, humming something under his breath as he made the trips back and forth between the counter he had placed the bowl on and the pantry. Sam wasn't sure how Dean even knew the ingredients for pancakes, but by the looks of it he totally did.

"Alright, Sasquatch, you can come help if you want." Dean emerged from the pantry a final time, his robe discarded in place of an apron. It was wickedly cute, the lack of shirt and sweats covered by the pristine white cloth. Which meant Dean's back was entirely bare, save for the strap behind his neck and the tie around his waist.

As soon as he turned towards the bowl, Sam was greeted by the bare freckled shoulders, made glowy good by the overhead light they'd flipped on. His feet were crossing the room before his kind had decided whether or not he wanted to help. There was no way he could resist those shoulders and the little light brown dots covering them.

Dean surprisingly didn't complain as Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's waist from behind. He probably thought Sam was coming to help. Sam had quite different plans though. From this close, he could hear the dong Dean was humming. He was fairly sure it was All of My Love but it was hard to tell with Dean's humming abilities.

For risk of getting yelled at, Sam waited until Dean had cracked eggs into the bowl and was busy with his hands before he untucked his chin from where it was resting over Dean's shoulder. His lips were soft and almost unnoticeable at first, just lightly pressed to a pattern of freckles over the curve of Dean's left shoulder. He lifted his head after the gentle kiss, waiting for the outburst of complaints from Dean. There wasn't one. Hmm.

He leaned his head back down and kissed another freckle, this one by Dean's spine. Pause, no complaints. Just the occasional scrape of the spoon on the sides of the bowl, and Dean's humming rendition of Zeppelin. If Dean wasn't gonna say anything...Sam got bold. He backed up a step, sliding his hand over the curve of Dean's shoulder and kissing a trail in its wake. There were a thousand freckles over Dean's shoulders, scattering the sloped muscles and bone sporadically. Each of them was warm under Sam's lips, Dean's skin heated from their busy night. They hadn't gotten much sleep, but they'd had more important things to do. Like each other.

Since Dean wasn't stopping him, Sam kissed a hundred freckles, moving all over Dean's shoulders and mixing a combination of quick, affectionate pecks and delicate lingering kisses. Dean's humming got more distracted sounding before it stopped all together, the scrape of ingredients in the bowl and the opening of boxes to pour more the only sounds save for Sam's mouth and Dean's breathing. His bare shoulders rose and fell as he breathed a little deeper, probably in an attempt to ignore Sam's kiss attack on him. Honestly, he was quite surprised he hadn't been stopped yet.

There was another clank as Dean rested the spoon against the side of the bowl. Sam kissed across the base of Dean's neck. The sound of an opening bag, Dean's hand reaching inside. Kiss to the right edge of Dean's shoulder blade.

Then suddenly Dean was spinning around and Sam had barely begun to straighten up before there was suddenly something heavy on his head and it was raining white flecks past his eyes and brushing bits over his lips. He stepped back in surprise and shook his head, his jaw dropping open as a cloud of flour pooled off of him from his hair. The strands Sam could see were coated in white, and there were pieces in his mouth and stuck to his eyelashes. When the dust cloud of white sink and faded enough to see, Sam stood with his mouth still open, staring at Dean.

Dean, with his flour covered hand and a devilish glint in his eye. There was a single moment of shocked silence between both of them, then Dean was bending in half, laughing so hard his body couldn't stay upright. Sam wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, clearing his vision and eyelashes of the flour. Dean was dying! practically wheezing in between laughs. This was way worse than the time when Sam was covered in glitter and Dean had a laughing attack. He'd at least been attempting to hold his laughter in, then. Right now Dean didn't give a damn about not offending Sam with his laughter apparently.

And Sam had thought Dean's lack of reaction to the distracting kisses meant he just didn't mind. When all along he was planning revenge instead.

"You - you- your face," he gasped out, laughter bubbling up and seizing him again. Dean grabbed onto the counter to steady himself from falling over. Sam was fighting the urge to smile at Dean's laughter, but he had a rebuttal attack to plan first.

Dean hadn't put away the cartoon of eggs yet. Poor bastard.

Sam stepped up to the counter and snatched one before Dean could figure out his plan and block himself. Then Dean was straightening up, still laughing, and Sam cracked the egg over his head, eggshell and all. Now it was Dean's turn to stand in shock and Sam's to laugh like an idiot, not wasting a single moment before pointing at the expression on Dean's face and doubling over in laughter too.

Dean reached tentative fingers up to his hair and pulled them away with a sticky string of egg yolk. A drip suspended in Dean's face, the gelled spike in his hair dripping it just in front of his nose, then into the floor. Dean looked from his fingers to Sam then back and forth again.

"Totally ha-had that coming," Sam snorted out between laughs, brushing more flour off his forehead.

It was kind of a cliché thing to do, a lot of couples attacked each other with ingredients. Although for most people it was a swipe of chocolate to the nose or a fingerprint of flour on a cheek. They did everything more extreme though, which is how Sam had an entire handful of flour in his hair and on his clothes and the kitchen around him, and how Dean was dripping egg yolk from a whole egg smashed on his head, pieces of shell scattered through his hair. The floor was a goddamned mess, but they both still held the blunt of it in their hair.

"Yeah, well, you've got this coming," Dean took a step towards him and Sam lifted his hands to shield his head from whatever attack was next, his eyes squeezing shut. Then there was a hard, plush pressure on his mouth and Sam opened up, chills running down his spine as he lowered his arms to wrap around Dean. He left two big, white handprints in the center of Dean's bare back, and Sam was pretty sure his hair had egg in it now took from Dean's sticky fingers.

Their bodies pressed tightly, Dean backing Sam up into the counter. Sam grinded his hips forward and Dean bit down on Sam's bottom lip, bruising the soft skin. He considered sweeping all the boxes on the counter to the floor, but that'd be an even bigger cleanup. Not to mention there was flour on the counter, which would be quite uncomfortable I'm certain places. Sam turned his head a bit, forcing Dean's lips off of his.

"Shower?"

"Mmhm," Dean agreed, his mouth already back over Sam's. Sam wasn't sure they could make it all the way to the shower in the dark while making out with flour and eggs in their hair, but they sure were gonna give it a try.

It took at least twenty minutes before they were comfortably under the spray, but it was well worth the time it took for the experience on the way over there. Since Dean was wearing sweats, Sam had gotten the chance to slip his hands underneath the elastic band and get two handfuls of bare ass to himself.

They were so worked up from all the stopping and grinding on each other against walls on the way here, both of them were ridiculously hard by the time they stripped. Mouths connected and hands flew to each other's bodies again as soon as the apron, sweats, tshirt, and boxers were tossed aside. Dean remembered to turn on the water as they crashed into the shower wall, water sending more egg and flour riveting down their bodies.

Sam was too horny to care as Dean slicked up his length with egg yolk and pulled Sam down to the shower floor. Well, at least their legs were getting clean. Dean fucked into him fast and rough, which was a damn rare occasion because Dean was normally the sweetest thing ever in bed. All of that gentle sub dominance vanished while Dean pinned him down and rocked his smaller body over the top of Sam's, shower water and egg slicking the way. It was kinky, sure, but they were both just much too into each other to go get lube. There were more important things to be done.

By the time Sam came he was shouting, and what little energy they didn't have left them both half propped against the shower room's curved wall, leaning on each other as the shower water rinsed over their thighs for the hundredth time.

Once the water started getting cold Sam finally groaned and hauled himself to his feet, his hair still white with flour. They stepped under a different shower head, leaving the cold one running to clean up the mess they'd made of flour egg and other sticky white substances covering the floor.

Dean convinced Sam into a head massage while he shampooed the egg out, and Dean was eager to return the favour, so long as Sam sat down because he was so damn tall. They took their time getting their energy back, cleaning each other slowly and thoroughly. There was still a whole kitchen they had to clean, but that would probably turn out fun too. And by fun Sam meant very very sexual.

They finally stumbled their way back into the kitchen a few hours later, fresh clothes - sweats and tshirts - for both of them. No one even mentioned Jeans because they were damn hard to get off and Sam was pretty sure someone was going to be stripping soon.

They stepped carefully around the mess on the floor, Dean gingerly picking up the bowl and hearing to the other side of the room. Sam sat down at the breakfast table, watching Dean as he poured pancake batter onto the skillet. It was getting light outside by now, and Sam was pretty sure he could hear a bird chirping from the skylight in the roof. Which actually opened up to the ground outside (since the bunker was mostly underground), and was half covered in pine needles, but the sound still floated nicely into the room.

"Can you grab the syrup and orange juice, hon?" Dean called over his shoulder as he flipped a pancake. Sam snorted at the pet name but got up anyways, finding plates and glasses too, with Dean's instruction. And if he happened to smack Dean's ass as he walked by, it was purely retaliation for the pet name.

The entire kitchen smelled amazing by the time Dean walked over with a plate heaped with steaming pancakes. He sat them down in front of Sam, brushing his hands together in satisfaction. Sam looked up with a smile and Dean bent over to place a quick kiss on Sam's lips again. Then he was pulling out the chair at the end of the table, sitting in the chair on the corner from Sam's.

Dean speared himself a pancake and Sam followed suit, drizzling about half of the amount of syrup Dean did. They were both peacefully quiet as they cut a piece of their respective pancakes off, Dean with a knife and Sam with the side of his fork. Sam (a but reluctantly- these looked delicious) held out his fork to Dean, offering him the bite.

"Since we don't have wine glasses to hook arms and drink..." Sam offered. Dean snorted but held up his fork too, linking his arm around Sam's. They carefully guided their forks to each other's mouths, this being a bit more dangerous than cups due to the prongs.

Sam closed his mouth around the bite and slid it off Dean's fork. His eyed closed in happy appreciation, the pancake hot and buttery in his mouth. And absolutely nothing like the greasy bland ones he was used to eating from diners. There was a bit too much syrup on it since it came from Dean's plate, but it was still one if the best things Sam had eaten.

"Wow." Sam managed out between chews. Dean was happily chewing his too, arching his eyebrows with a grin. He swallowed and unhooked his arm from Sam's, both of them still cautious not to poke each other with their forks.

"I know. Although there wasn't nearly enough syrup on that bite." Dean sliced off another chunk of his own and popped it in his mouth. "Mm, much better."

Sam shook his head and smiled, cutting off another bite for himself. This was nice, really nice. Being with Dean like this. And not just because of the sex. Although the sex was...amazing. It was down times like these, little moments they got to share homemade pancakes with their feet tangled up under the table.

It smelled like home cooking in here, the unfamiliar and homey scent wafting over Sam. He'd smelled it in other people's places before, in victim's homes, in churches at Christmas, in friend's houses when he was younger. But never before had the smell belonged to him. It was surprisingly delightful. It was like just the scent, of wholesome good food made hurt for you from scratch, was enough to make his entire body warm. Sam couldn't help but smile.

They ate most of their pancakes in comfortable silence, the room slowly getting brighter and the bird outside still chirping away.

Sam had already scarfed down three pancakes and a glass of orange juice and was currently spearing a piece from his fourth to pop in his mouth when Dean suddenly spoke again, sawing at his pancake casually with his voice nonchalant.

"So, did you want a ring?"

Sam was really glad he wasn't drinking orange juice because he would have spit it all over Dean with a repeat episode from earlier. Instead he just froze, half chewed piece of pancake in his mouth. He stared at Dean for a moment, who forked the piece he cut off and put it in his mouth, chewing away and looking at Sam expectantly, like he was waiting for an answer. Sam swallowed his half chewed pancake and blinked a few more times at Dean.

"Did I what?" Sam was pretty sure he'd either heard Dean wrong or Dean was joking with him. Because to be married according to the Zoroastrian faith was one thing, but if they sealed their vows in the Christianity form too...

"Would you wear one? You're not really the jewelry type." Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully, absentmindedly turning the ring on his finger. Sam watched Dean's hands, the silver glinting with light. Then he looked down at his own hands, the empty, big fingers that never wore much of anything.

"I mean...I don't know. I haven't thought about it. Did you- did you want me to wear one?" Sam asked the question a little hesitantly. He couldn't believe they were just having this conversation over pancakes. Sitting at breakfast, talking about wedding rings. Was this actually his life now?

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it," Dean answered slyly, taking a sip of orange juice. Sam managed not to stick out his tongue at that but he wasn't four anymore, no matter how much Dean acted like the annoying eight year old older brother sometimes. "But you definitely have to get my name tattooed on your ass, at least."

Sam laughed, glad for the sudden swing to lightheartedness. Well, Dean had been lighthearted about it all along but this was some serious shit for Sam.

"Speaking of which, are my initials still carved into the back of your curvy hip?" It had been a while ago, but Sam still had a bit of hope in his tone. He'd liked seeing his initials like that, red and bloody on Dean, the claim Sam had wanted to make since forever.

Although now, now Dean really was his. His husband. Married. In wedlock. That was eternity. Just thinking about it made Sam giddy.

"I don't know, husband. You wanna check?" Dean practically sinked at the end of that sentence and Sam was out of his chair in three seconds flat. Turns out at they had another place that would just have to be cleaned up later.

And as Sam dragged Dean to the nearest room with a door, he didn't care about the mess at all. Not when he had good food in his stomach and the perfect person in his arms, a virtual ring on his finger, oh - and yes, his initials still carved in white on the back of Dean's hip.

Who could ask for anything more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Dragonfli: 
> 
> "I love this so much!!"


	15. Epitome (I'm No Angel 09x03)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor Food disorder triggers possibly maybe just putting this here in case

It was eight o'clock in the morning when they locked themselves in Dean's room with the projector, a six pack, and the rest of the pancakes Dean had made for breakfast. By noon, they were fast asleep and tangled up in each other and the sheets. Sam drifted back into consciousness around four-thirty in the afternoon and watched Dean sleep until he blinked awake at five. They dozily kissed for a while, Sam calling Dean husband at least four times before six o'clock. The kiss escalated, and they weren't out of the bed again for another half hour, now much more awake and blissful in their consistent state of post-sex bliss. Dean made a simple salad for Sam and burger for himself for dinner, humming along to the 50's music playing from the records while Sam sat on the counter and watched him chop vegetables.

Dean lit a single candle for dinner, placing it at the middle of a little circle table tucked in one of the corners of a research/storage room. They ate and laughed in the dim lighting, feet kicking under the table occasionally and bantering the usual competition of who was girlier--winning out with Dean at the top this time, apparently due to the candle that absolutely beat Sam's constantly-getting-longer hair. They didn't even make it out of the research room without stripping and Dean being lifted against a wall, his moans as girly as he had just been accused of.

The cleanup for dinner's dishes Dean took upon himself, after giving his body a well-deserved physical break to get back enough energy to clean. Or walk, really. Sam cleaned up the mess they made of the bunker last night and this morning, straightening knocked over furniture and washing eggs and flour off the floor. Then they walked like two grown adults back to Dean's bedroom, where they'd spent the majority of the past 24 hours. And they absolutely did not risk Kevin walking in by fucking in the hallway, because it wasn't like they were on a honeymoon or anything.

When Dean woke up the next day, he was sore everywhere. He hadn't even opened his eyes yet and he was already ready to complain. He managed to roll onto his side with just a groan, his legs feeling like hell and his ass not doing so hot either. Sam's arms had to be killing him, with the way he kept carrying Dean around and holding himself up for the four thousand rounds of sex they'd had since they were apparently determined as married.

"Sam?" Dean groaned out, reaching up a hand to land on Sam's chest. Sam grumbled something along the lines of leave me alone and turned a shoulder to Dean's face. Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. Hell, even that hurt. Kind of. He'd say he was getting too old for this but he was barely over thirty and in super fit shape, so he didn't exactly have any excuses. Except that he kept getting hammered by a thirty year old who was in much more fit shape and had an unnatural amount of stamina and energy.

"Remind me not to marry a fucking body builder next time, huh Sammy?" Dean put his hand over his eyes and leaned his head against the shoulder Sam had turned to him. He could tell by the way Sam was breathing that his eyes were still shut and he was still attempting sleep.

"You married me," Sam mumbled back without turning his head. Although it sounded a lot more like ewmarrie-ee with the amount of effort he was putting into speaking.

"You were dying," Dean pointed out, uncovering his eyes and talking to the ceiling. Sam still didn't move. Then came the next mumble, half muffled by the pillow.

"I'm always dying."

Dean made his fair enough face. Wow, for anyone else ever that statement would have made no sense. But Sam totally entirely had a point there.

"Touché." He traced his fingers over the edge of Sam's bicep, the muscle tensing and untensing underneath Dean's touch. "But I wasn't. You didn't have to marry me back."

"I didn't know we were getting married, asshat." Sam sounded a little more awake now, but no more interested and no less annoyed. Well, more like play annoyed. Or annoyed at how sore his arms were or how Dean woke him up. Kind of. Sam was already up-ish enough.

"Well yeah, neither did I. But if you did, what would your reason have been?" Dean turned his head to the side, where Sam was facing the other wall. There was an expanse of broad, tanned and muscular shoulders to greet Dean, long silky hair flopping onto the pillow beside him. Sam's body was warm, warm enough that Dean wanted to be girly (again- apparently) and curl up in Sam's arms. Well, mostly he just wanted to talk to Sam.

But Sam's breathing had deepened and it did not sound like he was answering Dean anytime soon. But Dean had asked an important question and he wanted to know the answer and he was impatient as hell.

"Sam!" Dean half-shouted half-whispered.

"Mmm, what?" The words sounded startled, like he'd just jolted out of the drift into slumber. Dean sighed, but rolled up on his hip, wrapping an arm to Sam's chest and holding himself up with it. Sam still didn't move, just letting the spread hand touch his bare skin with no reaction at all.

"If you had known we were getting married, what would your reason be for going through with it?" Dean pressed his lips to the back of Sam's neck, nosing aside the silky hair to reveal more warm skin. A shiver skid down Sam's spine, make his back flutter against Dean's stomach.

"Because you tend to not wake me up most mornings. Clearly, this morning is an exception." Sam finally repositioned his head on the pillow, turning his mouth off of the fluffy white and unmuffling his voice. Dean pressed his lips against Sam's neck again, this time lingering.

He mouthed across the skin, big open kisses across Sam's shoulders. His answer wasn't what Dean was looking for, but if he pressed it any he'd lose the honesty that came with the surprise of the question. If he asked again, Sam would have time to analyze it and sculpt the perfect answer that would end up like cryptic modern art to Dean. Then he'd wonder what the hell Sam meant by that and worry himself crazy. So he didn't ask again, just ran his hand down Sam's chest to trace his abs.

"You were mostly up anyways," Dean offered. Sam just snorted and rolled onto his back, nearly squashing Dean in the process. He had to scoot quickly to the side, soft sheets tangled up over his body and rubbing some already heated places.

The fingers tracing the abdominal muscles on Sam's stomach curled, digging into sleep-warm flesh. Sam's breath hitched and he glanced down, before turning his head to meet Dean's eyes. Dean scooted his body up on his side, tucking a leg over one of Sam's. His hardening dick was pressed to Sam's hip like this, which seemed to make Sam jump to awareness as well.

With their eyes locked, Dean ran his hand down further, gliding over lines of muscle and the faint trail of hair. Sam's lips parted as his eyes threatened to flutter closed, but he kept his gaze on Dean, watching each other as Dean's palm closed around the base of Sam's cock. Dean drank up every twitch of expression on Sam's face. It was intense like this, the light of the morning hiding nothing as they got to watch the minute details of each other's arousal.

Dean's palm dragged across the length of Sam's cock, catching skin all the way up to the head. Sam pursed his lips and they fell open wider as Dean rubbed his palm over the sensitive head. The way was eased a little bit through the small pearls of precum leaking from the dick that was now pressed against Sam's stomach. Dean used the brief moisture to run his hand back down the underside of Sam's cock, eyes locked as Sam made a quiet noise.

He stroked back up and down again, getting a proper grip this time and squeezing as he twisted his wrist down. Sam's pupils dilated and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, biting the urge to pant or groan or whatever. He pumped Sam's length in his hand again, rolling over the darkened head and collecting what small amount of precum was pooling on Sam's stomach. As much as Dean loved doing this, the intimacy of what Sam normally did to himself, Sam just wasn't wet enough to make this as easy and slidy as it should be.

So Dean, his eyes still locked on Sam's, slid further down Sam's side, looking up and kissing bits of skin on his way. Sam's hand clumsily found the back of Dean's head, holding him a little forcefully through his arousal. Dean flicked his tongue out at Sam's hip bone, tracing a wet line in the direction of his cock. He'd slid the sheets down with him as he went, so they were bundled up in his hand as he pulled down a bit further and released Sam's cock to the free air.

It wasn't too cold in here, but even if it was, the friction between them was about to be hot enough that Sam wouldn't freeze. They were still looking at each other, a thousand words and emotions passed through locked eyes. It was scarily intense, to watch exactly the affect Dean had on Sam's body. He kept looking though, even as his hand wrapped around the base of Sam's cock again. He lifted it off Sam's stomach, lowering his body down and keeping his head tilted up, to watch Sam through this.

Sam's eyes widened as Dean's mouth opened, relaxing his jaw and wetting his lips with his tongue. Sam looked like he was physically struggling with keeping his eyes on Dean's, his whole body starting to tremble. Dean knew Sam liked to watch his mouth for this, that he got ridiculously hard with the sight of Dean's lips wrapped around his cock. But Sam found the willpower to keep his gaze off of Dean's mouth and on his eyes, expression begging and pleading now.

The hand wrapped around the bottom half of Sam's cock guided it as Dean lowered his mouth, following the feeling of his hand since he was unable to look down. He wanted Sam to see this, to see the emotions in his eyes as he took Sam into his mouth. He didn't know why, but it was important.

His bottom lip pressed against the slick head first, tongue darting out to taste the pearl of precum. Sam's hand on the back of his head gripped harder, pushing Dean a little further down. This time he closed his lips over the head of Sam's cock, tongue instantly pressing to the vein on the underside. Sam cried out his name, eyes watering as he watched everything tumbling through Dean right now. It was like Sam could see him entirely, stripped away to vulnerability with his brother's cock in his mouth.

Dean reached up a hand and squeezed Sam's hip, a gentle signal. Then he lifted his head off Sam's cock, a wet noise following. Dean puckered his lips and kissed the tip, then the spell was broken and so did the gaze, Dean turning all his attention back to going down on Sam. A broken sound fell from Sam's lips as Dean looked down, then it was all soft and moans from that point on.

He'd done this enough times to know every trick to drive Sam crazy, but he always made his methods a little different. He wasn't going to go and get boring on Sam, surprising him in some way every time. Especially how that they were married. Dean had always wondered that, why someone would get married. The sex would be dull and boring eventually, wouldn't it? With just the same person a thousand times. But it finally made sense now, why some people could do it. Sex with Sam was always exhilarating as hell, and Dean couldn't imagine wanting anyone else. Dean was never gonna need anyone else.

Besides, there probably wasn't anyone else as perfect as Sam. Not just perfect in general, but perfect for Dean.

Part of him wanted to just get Sam slicked up enough with spit to lower himself down onto the firm cock he was swirling in his mouth, but this was still their honeymoon and the goal was to make Sam come as many goddamn times as possible.

So Dean worked his mouth and tongue up and down Sam's length, fingers digging absent-minded bruises into Sam's thighs. Sam bucked and carried on, fingers scrabbling for purchase in Dean's short hair. He choked out Dean's name as he came down his throat a little while later, warm bitter ropes Dean swallowed without too much complaining.

Although as soon as he milked Sam of his last drop, made him limp and boneless, he was crawling back up Sam's body and pressing a warm kiss to Sam's mouth, traces of come still on his tongue. Sam wrinkled up his nose but kissed Dean anyways, his tongue steering clear of Dean's mouth and the apparently offending taste of his own spunk. Which was understandable, but it was the little shit big brother part of him that had to laugh at the face Sam made when Dean pulled his mouth back away. Clearly, someone didn't like the taste of his own medicine. Dean didn't think it was that bad, but whatever. He wasn't gonna argue about it. Not when they had much more important things to be doing.

Dean was still mostly open from last night, which wasn't at all surprising since they'd had sex about five hours ago. He slided his body back down Sam's, stopping with his ass on Sam's stomach and reaching back a hand. Dean closed his eyes and his mouth fell open as he slid two fingers inside himself, easy and still a little slick. Okay, that was kinda gross.

Then he was scissoring himself a little wider, oxygen getting tight in his lungs as the sensations rode through him, chills running up his spine. His vocal box let out an unintentional groan, the brush of his own touch inside driving him mad with anticipation. He took his time though, squeezing Sam's sides as his thighs tightened automatically.

"Damnit, Dean," Sam finally breathed, hands latching onto Dean's hips and pushing him down further. Something warm and damp brushed against Dean's ass, making another sound fall past his lips. He'd gotten Sam all the way back to hard again, just by the little show he'd given him. The little exhibitionist part of him was kinda proud.

He finally opened his eyes, biting his lip in arousal. The hazel eyes flashed in response and Sam's cock twitched against his skin, and Dean grinned, pushing backwards and rubbing on it a bit.

"You're a fucking tease," Sam accused, lifting Dean's hips up and groaning at the strain in his already sore muscles. Dean planted his hands on Sam's abs, helping lift up so Sam could line up. Dean knew he was probably pushing it a little bit, but he threw back his head as he sunk down on Sam, filled up all the way with thick, slick cock. Once he was sitting snug against Sam's hips, so full of Sam he could hardly breathe, Dean lowered his head back down and met Sam's lustful gaze.

"And you fucking love it," he breathed, rolling his hips in a circle on the emphasized word. They groaned simultaneously, the head of Sam's cock brushing all sorts of fun angles inside him.

Dean pushed down on Sam's abs, using the tightened muscle to push himself up and slide back down Sam's length as he arched his back and rotated his hips. His arms could take this fine because he'd only ridden Sam one other time since they embarked on their crazy post-marriage sex-journey. And he'd fucked Sam twice, which took a lot of effort actually. Sam was big and muscular and damn dominant as hell - but Dean was possessive and controlling, so occasionally he won out and the little brother part of Sam made him back down.

For the most part though, Dean ended up getting his ass ridden like a bitch. Probably because he had a great ass. And maybe because he wasn't as freaky bitey growley as Sam was in bed. He tended to be more gentle and sincere, which ended up working out great because he had really come to enjoy being hoisted up and fucked against a wall. Not that he'd ever admit that, but still it was an observation.

He swiveled again as Sam bottomed out, clouding all of Dean's senses with that feeling of being stuffed so full that for once that...empty bit inside of him disappeared. Not saying sex could change the way Dean felt went he looked in the mirror, but sometimes when he was full of Sam and pleasure, he forgot a lot of that inward-turned anger. It was just that his body and his mind coincided and it felt like every hole he'd ever drilled in himself was getting filled up, tight and hot and creepily comforting. When Sam was inside him he felt whole, although that was just as likely to be confessed as how much he liked being picked up and fucked against a wall.

Dean was pretty sure Sam already knew though. Not the wall thing, but how the act of being filled ended up kind of mentally completing him too. That was probably another reason Sam was always so eager to bend Dean over. Like maybe he was trying to prove something, like if he fucked Dean enough times, Dean might start feeling whole all on his own.

Dean was pretty sure that would never happen. It was a sweet gesture, though.

"Babe?" Sam's concerned voice cut through Dean's thoughts and his head snapped up, hands that had been wrapped over the tops of Sam's knees sliding down to his thighs to support Dean's weight. Dean had kept up a rocking motion while he was thinking, but something in his face or his body had set off Sam's worry-ometer. And he'd called Dean babe which was weird, really weird, but Dean would let it slide. Once. Maybe.

"Yeah?" Dean asked scruffily, moving his hips up and down a bit more tactfully. He hadn't gotten sloppy when he wandered into lala land, but it wasn't the usual killer movements he did either. Sam's eyes fluttered as Dean picked up the pace. Sam better say what he wanted to soon, or else Dean wasn't going to be able to respond. Because the coil in his stomach was tightening and he was still impaled on Sam's cock, which automatically cut his number of functioning brain cells in half.

"You - mmm, you okay?" Sam was having a hard time keeping his cool with Dean riding him rougher. His mouth stayed open after his question, the frame of hair around his face wisping pieces across the pillow in havoc. Dean braced his weight back on Sam's knees, arching backwards and pummeling down harder.

"Never - uumff - better."

Sam didn't pester him anymore after that. Well, he couldn't even breathe right after that, so it was understandable. Very, very understandable because Dean couldn't see straight anymore either, just shut his eyes and rode Sam with what strength he had left. Sam slammed into him and Dean saw spots at the corners of his vision, cried out and pushed down harder.

He gave the last stretch all he got. Which wasn't much with as goddamned worn out as he was, but Sam's cock still ended up jerking inside him, spilling his second round of come into Dean's body in the past half hour.

Dean could still taste the remnants of Sam's come on his tongue, and for some reason that made him come even harder, his body curling forward as he covered both of their stomachs with white. He didn't scream at least, which was better than he could say for yesterday. His body shook with the waves of ecstasy and he kept his hips swiveling as the high reverberated in his bones.

Eventually there was a point when Dean's hands were braced on the other side of Sam's head on the pillow, then Sam was pulling Dean into his arms and Dean stopped trying to function. His eyes drifted closed, but he surprisingly didn't sleep. The darkness behind his eyelids was more rejuvenating than tiring. As soon as he got his strength back, and the ability to walk, he was making food. Lots of it.

When his brain sorted itself back into at least semi-functioning, he blinked his eyes open, his eyelashes catching on Sam's silky long hair. He blinked again and lifted his head, staring directly at Sam. His body was basically where he had left it, stretched out on top of Sam. His head had just been tucked against the side of Sam's face, which would be why he had opened his eyes to a faceful of girly hair.

"Breakfast," Dean declared. Sam snorted, repositioning his arms an inch. His arms that were wrapped around Dean in like the girliest hold ever. Why was it that ever time Dean passed out in his post-sex bliss he woke up being cuddled in some way? Dean looked over his shoulder, seeing Sam's arms wrapped prettily around him, feet bent around Dean's ankles.

"Dude, are you holding me?"

"Shut up, it was cold and you were too heavy to move and get blankets," Sam shot back. Right, Dean was too heavy to roll to one side but he was light enough to pick up like a fucking baby doll and carry around the house. Brilliant logic.

"Whatever, I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"Yeah, it's called being human." Sam laughed but Dean froze at his own words. Shit. Dean had totally forgot about Zeke. The angel. Who was possessing the brother he was laying naked on top of right now. With their bare stomachs smeared with come. It had been two days and holy fuck the angel had probably seen all of it.

In the rush of marrying Sam and the scare still in the corner of his brain of almost losing him, Dean hadn't thought about anything but Sam for the past however. Let alone some random angel. Who just happened to be in the body he'd had sex with a hundred times. And Zeke could...Dean had just--oh god.

"I'm taking a shower." Dean announced and rolled off Sam so fast it made his head spin. Zeke was gonna hate him. Although the angel hadn't come out to bitch yet, so...maybe it wasn't a big deal. Zeke said he'd be pretty busy healing Sam, and he hadn't shown up since he saved Sam's life in that demon soldier town. He probably didn't...maybe didn't know what Sam's body was doing anyways. He had a lot more important things to do than watch a honeymoon, right? Okay, so Dean might be freaking out for no reason. Still, Sam was supposed to be dying and here they were having a sex-marathon. Dean was not making this any easier on Zeke.

He wanted Sam healed, and now. And he wasn't leaving Sam alone with that angel. Wasn't gonna let Sam out of his sight if he could help it. Which was pretty easy when they spent most the day screwing. And sex wasn't entirely bad for your health, it did release good endorphins into your body or whatever. But still, the physical workout...ugh, this was a mess. Cause it wasn't like Dean could be a prude and close his legs now.

"And you're coming with." Dean grabbed Sam's hand and tugged him towards the edge of the bed. Sam nodded in agreement and put his feet on the floor, standing up next to Dean. He was holding his body a little stiff, like he was as sore as Dean was.

Which apparently didn't stop him from grabbing Dean's ass on the way out of the room. Dean said the customary "hey!" but Sam kept his hand squeezing the flesh as they walked, which did not make walking any easier on Dean. It was different than the thousand times Sam had walked with his hand in Dean's back pocket because this was bare skin on skin. So much more intense.

That, and his fingers brushed against Dean's crack, dangerously close enough to send sparks of arousal back to his cock. Again. But then a finger slid a little close and just as Dean was about to say something, Sam plunged it inside. The kinky son of a bitch actually dared slide a finger inside the mess he made as they were walking to the showers.

Which had gotten Sam slammed up against the wall. Because what else kind of response was Dean supposed to have when he suddenly got a finger in the ass in the goddamned hallway? His face was close to Sam's as he shoved the huge body against the solid surface, his eyes threatening because dammit he had gotten caught off guard and Dean was more than willing to yell at Sam for that.

Dean had pinned Sam to the wall in the plan of a stern talking to, but Sam just fucked his finger in deeper the second Dean opened his mouth. And joined it with another, come-soaked and screwing Dean in the hallway, again. So it was just a natural reaction that Dean's mouth ended lacing up with Sam's instead of doing the yelling it was planning. The kiss was wet and heated and sexy as hell. Sam kept his fingers in Dean and his tongue fucking Dean's mouth all the way to the shower room.

They barely made it to the floor before Sam was flipping Dean over and plunging his tongue in Dean's ass, twirling into his entrance and surely coated in Sam's own come.

"Fuck, Sam-" and just like that Dean forgot all about Zeke again. Instead he was blabbering about how Sam bitched at the taste of his come an hour ago after the blowjob but now he was licking it out of Dean's ass like a whore. Sam spanked him for that comment and Dean fell into dizzying arousal and obedient silence.

Well, except for the curses streaming out of his mouth at the curl of Sam's tongue.

They didn't get into the kitchen for breakfast for another couple of hours.

~*~*~*~*~

"Hey, has anybody seen my laptop charge--" Kevin rounded the corner into the kitchen, where he'd heard the telltale sound of pans and pots being moved a moment ago. He cut off his words in the middle of his question, mouth falling open and eyes going wide. "Oh god."

The last two words were loud enough to catch Sam and Dean's attention, and both of their heads shot in his direction, accompanied by the wet sound of their lips disconnecting.

"Shit." Sam withdrew his hands from where they were gathering Dean to him, splayed over the bare skin on Dean's lower back. They were both shirtless, just in jeans that were riding low. Dean was propped on the kitchen counter, on the edge with his legs wrapped around Sam's waist, his ankles digging into the top of Sam's jeans.

When Kevin had first walked in, they were making out hardcore enough to make the porn his friends in high school had dared him to watch once look like child's play. Dean's mouth looked swollen, and Sam's hair was fucked up enough that Kevin had a pretty good idea he knew where that make out session was headed. Oh gross. Dean's arms had been wrapped around Sam's bare shoulders but they were now retreating guiltily to his sides.

There was a pan or two and some dishes with half eaten scrambled eggs and toast that had clearly been swept aside to make room for Dean to sit on the counter. It looked like they had been left in a hurry, halfway through what probably would have been a really good breakfast. Apparently good enough to still abandon in favour of whatever Kevin had just walked in on. With the way it smelled, the conversation point that had to have lead up to just sweeping aside all the awesome breakfast plates had to have been a really intense one. What in the world could someone have said to make them ditch homemade breakfast like that...oh god. That must have been the sound Kevin heard as he was walking downstairs. And to think he thought it was someone cleaning something.

"Hey, Kev, sorry man, we didn't--" Dean started. Sam impatiently tapped Dean's leg and Dean quickly dropped his feet to the side, having forgotten to unwrap them from Sam earlier.

"You, what, forgot that I live here? Yeah, smooth." Kevin didn't speak particularly angry, because he wasn't. He was just grossed out because it was like walking in on your friend's parents or something. Just really freaking weird.

"Kevin, look, we'll pay more atten--" Sam had his best apologetic puppy dog convincing face on, but Kevin interrupted.

"No offense guys, but I think I'm gonna camp out in my room for a week. Just to, you know, avoid walking in on you two screwing on the counter I eat on." Dean started to protest, but Kevin walked into the pantry, grabbing three boxes of cereal and the basket of poptarts. He considered grabbing the pan of scrambled eggs but he didn't have enough hands left. He turned back around to the kitchen, where Dean was watching him guiltily and Sam was staring at his feet.

If this whole thing wasn't weird he'd laugh at how two grown, adult men who chased monsters and killed demons for a living were suddenly guilt tripped into quiet submission when a teenager back talked them. Besides, seeing Dean on the counter made him look like a ten year old, and the picture of Sam picking up the fierce hunter to put him there actually made Kevin smile a little. Macho Dean, being pushed around like a bitch in bed. It was pretty funny.

"If you find my laptop charger, don't bother bringing it to me, okay? Unless you guys decide to put clothes on sometime." Kevin shot them one last glance and shook his head. That could've been a lot worse, but he was still totally locking himself in his room for a week. And knocking before he entered any room ever, closed door or no.

Dean turned back to Sam, the sound Kevin's feet on the stairs echoing in the kitchen.

"Oops." Dean grimaced and Sam turned away from the doorway Kevin just left from. He didn't seem pissed, just weirded out. Which Dean could live with. And considering the number of things they'd done in the bunker without closed doors in the past four days...they'd caught a lucky break on that one.

"Yeah. Seriously." Sam's eyes met his and Dean couldn't help but smile, leaning forward and closing the gap between their mouths again. Sam kissed him back briefly, then turned Dean's cheek to the side with his nose, mouthing across Dean's jawline. Dean wrapped his legs up around Sam's hips again, grinding his erection forward in search of some friction. God, the things Sam could do with his mouth.

"It's--ahh, it's a good thing we don't have kids yet," Dean tilted his head further to the side with his words, giving Sam a bigger expanse of skin to kiss and lick. Sam greedily accepted, nosing up under Dean's jaw and pressing a line of wet nips there.

"Yet?" Sam said, pulling his mouth away from Dean's skin just long enough to say the word, then it was a few more wet kisses to Dean's neck before he spoke again. "I thought you didn't want kids?"

Dean scraped his nails down Sam's back, bucking fully against him now with the way Sam was licking and biting and kissing the sensitive spots of Dean's neck.

"I want your fucking dick inside my ass, that what I want." Dean moaned and bucked harder against Sam as he said it, his heart pounding with need and his jeans feeling way too tight.

"I CAN STILL HEAR YOU!!!" shouted a very annoyed, Kevin Tran-sounding voice from upstairs. Apparently he hadn't made it all the way to his room before Dean had just said--fuck.

They both froze, parting again and looking at each other. If Kevin wasn't grossed out before...

"Bedroom?' Sam suggested.

"Bedroom," Dean confirmed. Then Sam was swinging Dean off the counter and fitting him tight against his waist, still kissing him like crazy as he carried Dean across the bunker into Dean's bedroom. Again.

Which had become a bit of a wreck, with the projector and TV off to one side, the chair knocked over from the wicked chair sex they'd had yesterday, blankets on the floor and a pillow across the room. There was a basket full of clean rags in one corner, something Dean had dragged in here in the middle of day two, after Sam had fingered him in the hallway on the way to the shower. That was two days ago. It was just easier to have rags in here to clean up with than it was to try to make it to the shower room without some form of public sex Kevin wouldn't forgive them for.

The sheets on the bed were tangled up but Sam threw a Dean down anyways, lifting up his legs and spreading them wide. Dean moaned like a whore and let Sam take him, all of him, not even caring about the various aches and pains in his body anymore.

They'd both given each other intense full body massages yesterday, which had incredibly nice and super sexy, so by the time they actually finished the massages they'd each gotten a blowjob and Sam had fucked Dean face down into the floor. But one massage wasn't enough to fix four and a half rigorous days of crazy-person sex in every position imaginable. Well, not every, there was a lot they hadn't tried out yet because they were both too damn horny all the time to be super tactful.

They'd even gotten into a kink or two, Dean fucking Sam while he was still sleeping and waking him up halfway to orgasm and already full of Dean's cock. That had been a pretty quick finish. They'd had celebratory wedding wine with ice, and that had turned into an aggressive game of who's mouth the ice cube melted in. Which turned to Dean taking a sip of wine and Sam being the one to swallow it. And then there'd been that time with the cuffs...

Basically they'd had the craziest, most sex-filled four days of Dean's life. There was nothing better for them to do while they were waiting on Cas. He should be here some time today by the latest, based on the fact that he'd called Dean five days ago from Colorado. If he wasn't here by dinner, they might have a problem.

Dean and Sam hadn't spent longer apart than the time it took to piss, basically living in each other's laps since Sam got possessed. Quite literally, at times. At dinner yesterday, Dean had been unwilling pulled into Sam's lap, not even straddling him sexy, but sitting at an angle like those annoying couples in high school. And Sam fed him bites of fish and Dean complained like hell. And fucked Sam bent over the bathtub later as retaliation.

At least he might get some good muscle tone out of this. Sex was definitely a workout, especially when it was with Sam Winchester. He still dragged Dean downstairs to his official workout during their honeymoon, insisting he had to stay in shape. At first Dean complained that sex was definitely enough of a workout, but he eventually warmed up to the idea when it meant he got to watch Sam do push-ups. Dean never did as much as a crunch but watching Sam was preoccupation enough.

The morning of the fifth day of the crazy sex honeymoon Zoroastrian party celebration, when Dean woke up he wasn't curled around Sam anymore. Okay, weird. He yawned and sat up, shivering as the sheets slid off his naked body. This is why he needed Sam next to him in the mornings, the kid was a damn oven.

He padded over to his robe and tugged it on, wrapping the waist-tie around himself and looping it shut. Sam hadn't woken up without him since the trials, and Dean didn't like it. He was probably just working out, assuming Dean would sleep longer than he did. Which was fine, although Dean didn't really like the idea of Sam being anywhere by himself right now. Not with Zeke in him and the fact that he was supposed to be healing. They'd done anything but taking it easy, but having sex and sleeping and watching movies and making out was a much better alternative to hunting.

Dean was cold and he needed coffee. And Sam. Where the hell was his husband anyways? He smiled to himself at that thought. It felt like the word was different now, shaped a little to fit them. Dean was pretty sure he liked it.

He wandered towards the kitchen, stepping over a dish towel in the doorway. As usual, dinner had gotten an alternate ending last night. Although they actually finished the burritos Dean had made and he even managed to put the leftovers in the fridge and clean the plates before he got tackled by Sam. So sex had taken precedent over drying dishes, which is why there was a dish towel on the floor. Well, that and Dean had gotten temporarily tied up with up with it...

Wait. Dinner last night. Cas was supposed to show up by dinner last night. He still wasn't here, even this morning. Six days since the call in the hospital, something was wrong. Human, confused, hunted or not, Cas should have reached the bunker by now. He and Sam definitely needed look into that.

If Dean could even find Sam. He poured himself a mug of coffee, some sort of hope to give him enough energy to make up for the past four days. Although really a morning kiss would suffice, too. Yet another reason why Sam shouldn't ditch him in the mornings.

"Sam! You here?" Dean called out to the bunker's echoing concrete walls, wandering from the kitchen to the main room to the library. Still no sign of Sammy. Dean's heart started to pound. What if something with Zeke had gone wrong...oh god no.

Then there was a click of a latch and the front door was swinging open. The blood rushing through Dean's veins calmed as Sam stepped inside, closing the door behind him with some sort of container in his hands.

"Hey! Morning." Sam sounded chipper and energized and not at all like the tired, sore way Dean was feeling. Maybe Sam's workouts really did work. But still, that was no excuse to be that peppy this goddamned early. Dean glanced down at his watch. Yeah, see, exactly his point.

"You've been outside already?" Apparently the brief period of keeping Sam to himself in the mornings had expired. Sam was always into that whole "if you're not out of bed and being productive by 7am you're not a contributing member of society" thing. Which did not go over well with Dean's morning energy levels.

"Yeah. Woke up, went for a run - beautiful sunrise." That was a very girly, Sam sounding thing to say. And Dean's face let Sam know he thought so. "Anyways, cleaned up, went and got breakfast, grabbed you real bacon and eggs, extra grease, not even gonna argue."

Sam made his way over with the container, which Dean could smell now. And it smelled really freaking great. Especially if it meant Dean didn't have to cook breakfast. Sam couldn't maneuver a kitchen to save his life, which normally didn't bother Dean but he would love to not have to cook and clean again this morning. Especially with everything else on his plate.

Not to mention that Sam had gotten Dean extra grease and a "not even gonna argue." Dean didn't know what part of Sam thought his point was valid anyways in any of his rants about Dean's food choices because it wasn't like they were married...oh wait. No, they were. That changed things, because that was Dean's go-to argument. He'd have to find a new one.

Although, it looks like Sam decided to be a reasonable spouse and do something nice for Dean without the usual accompanying battle. If Sam was always gonna be this awesome, Dean was gonna like this marriage thing even more than he thought. Sam sat the container down on the table, leaning across to give Dean a quick peck on the mouth. Than they sat down and Dean scooted the container over. It smelled pretty great. For someone who only consumed rabbit food, Sam had an uncanny knack at finding food Dean would like to eat.

"Mm, perfect." He went to open the container when something finally hit him. "Wait. You went running?"

"What? Why do you look so worried?" Sam had that expression on his face like Dean had suddenly suggested they paint the Impala pink. But Sam didn't get that going out and running without Dean made him extremely nervous and squeamish inside. That meant Sam would be alone with Zeke, on top of the fact that he was technically almost dead. Running was for healthy people and Sam was in a coma and dying a few days ago. Not exactly the epitome of healthy.

And on top of that Dean couldn't get the nagging feeling out of his gut that something was wrong with Cas. Cross country travel was scary for people with street smarts, money, and no one on their tail. Cas was hunted and human and a total noob at everything and on the most powerful species's hit list and honestly Dean was terrified. Something had gone wrong somewhere, and god knows if Cas was dead or being tortured or arrested and rotting in jail or who knows what. And Sam was out trapezing the neighborhood. Alone. Dean had gotten jumped and almost killed in a parking garage just cause someone was looking for Cas, who knows what they could do to the almost-dying Sam.

"Let's see. There's Cas, who I told to haul ass here. That was days ago. He's still out there." Dean tried to keep his deep seeded worry at bay but he was fairly sure Sam still could at least have an idea how much Dean was freaked about the angel's -wait, no not angel- absence. And on top of everything with Zeke..."Um, there's you."

"Me? I feel great." Sam had this look on his face that meant he was referring to the past couple of days, which yeah had been awesome, but that was definitely not what Dean was talking about.

"I'm sure you do, but, Sam, you went through the trials. Okay, that put a big strain on you." Dean was being as articulate as possible without being obvious. Sam snorted.

"And the past few days have been..." Sam's face was pure sass, mixed with a bit of innuendo that Dean was achingly forcing himself to ignore or else this conversation would turn into another lip-locked race for the closest room with a door.

"That's different. It's not like spending time in between the sheets is dangerous. I just think it's better if you took it easy, you know, and didn't act like you were-"

"Possessed by an angel." Dean looked up with a snap of his eyes, and it was like he was sitting at the table with a different person. Sam was sitting up like there was a plank of wood nailed to his spine. He held his head like it was unfamiliar on his shoulders, like he was still trying to fit inside Sam's skin comfortably. It almost made Dean sick, to see Sam as...not Sam. "And he does feel better. A work in progress, of course, but I am slowly healing him."

Yeah, that was good to know, but Zeke had just taken over Sam's body in the middle of their conversation about sex and how Sam needed to be more careful and Dean couldn't even look at Sam's body right now, at Zeke who was leveling at him with Sam's eyes, speaking with that mouth Dean was just about to lean over and kiss into agreement.

"That's great. Um, but, Sam-" Sam and I were talking, and if you could seriously not just barge in and--

"I have news. I've picked up chatter among the angels. Not all are wandering around in confusion." The angels. Cas. Great, more reasons for Dean to feel queasy. And he was already quite aware that not all the angels were wandering puppies right now. He had met Zeke in an encounter with one who was definitely not wandering.

"Yeah, some of 'em are after Cas." Zeke might not catch the nickname, but Castiel was the only angel Dean talked about anyways.

"There is a faction that is rapidly organizing and finding human vessels to contain them." Well that sounded shitty.

"Led by Naomi?"

"I have not heard that name, no. But it is this faction's leadership who want Castiel found. You see, Dean, I can be useful." Zeke had this look on his face like a puppy searching approval mixed with a punk teenage kid threatening their high school teacher. And as useful as angels could be, no one in the world had a brain like Sam's. So.

"So can my brother. So, why don't you go check your e-mail, and if I need your help, I'll let you know." It was blunt and rude and absolutely an invitation for Ezekiel to fuck off. Dean couldn't have worrying about Zeke popping up on top of everything right now. It had to be clear that unless he was summoned, he should keep the hell away from the surface and stay deep and healing and not at all paying attention to anything happening between Sam and Dean because Dean was super not into having an angel creepily watch from the inside of Sam and just...no. No no no.

"Dean." Maybe he was trying to reason with Dean, not make it so extreme. Or maybe he was going to comfort Dean and tell him he wasn't watching, but either way Dean didn't wanna hear it.

"I said I'll let you know." Some part of Dean wondered if maybe he shouldn't be a total dick to celestial beings who could smite him, the bunker, and his brother in less than a second but the little part of him that wondered that was squashed out by the rest of him that didn't give a fuck, so long as Zeke was healing Sam and listening to Dean. Besides, he had a good handle on things. He was pretty sure he did, anyways.

Then there was a flash of brilliant blue and Sam was leaning back in his chair, throwing an arm up casually.

"I mean, you know, Cas is human now. It's gonna take him a lot longer to travel." The voice had changed, the demeanor, the way he was looking at Dean again. It was two entirely different people, different species. And the seam was flawless, one second didactic angel and the next, Dean's logical flirty husband.

"I'm gonna get whiplash," Dean muttered to himself. It felt like that, like a car slamming its brakes too fast and fucking everyone up. Dean didn't want to get used to it. He didn't want Zeke showing up to be a thing. At all.

"What?" Sam asked with his big confused ever-observant and curious doe eyes.

"Nothing. Um, all right, so, I was thinking that if the angels are organizing, then that makes them a lot more dangerous than we thought." Organizing meant the chaos they were counting on to fix this was going to be fighting back. In numbers. They'd be facing angelic armies instead of wandering puppy nukes. And most importantly, Cas was out there without training wheels or a helmet on, up against the armies that had been formulated to hunt him down and kill him bloody.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, looking at Dean funny. It was a mixture of confusion and concern, and Dean had gotten a lot of funny looks in the past ten minutes. Between the angel and Sam and the varying degrees of sass on the way the two held their faces, the whole thing was a mess. But it was just about to get even more complicated, apparently.

"Why do you think they're organizing?" Shit. Sam didn't know because he wasn't here for Zeke's speech, which meant Dean had to come up with a way to tell Sam stuff without telling him where the hell he got it. It was just like in the dinner a few days ago, when Dean had ended up looking like a total badass when in fact he'd shown up too late with his arm twisted out of socket by a girl who wanted inside him.

Yeah, he totally didn't deserve credit for half the important things going around right now but there was no other way to get the info to Sammy. He had to pause, running ideas through his head and trying to quickly think of a way to cover his slip up. He ended up just kinda shrugging and blowing it off as axiomatic because there really wasn't any other way.

"It makes sense. My point is, is that the more of them that are after Cas, the worse it is, so... we gotta find him." Dean was sure about one thing, and that was that making sure Cas was okay was higher than everything else on the totem pole. Besides Sam's roller coaster of health, of course.

He hadn't been worrying about Cas too much over the past couple of days, but he had had plenty of distractions. And Cas had supposedly been on his way here. But he wasn't here and it had been too long.

Sam was looking at him a little skeptically, but he still readily agreed they needed to find Cas. It was a little strange, that there was this big lack of arguing between them. Ever since the whole marriage thing, they just. Were on the same side. It wasn't like walking on eggshells or wanting to please each other, they were just united in opinions for the first time ever.

It was nice. Weird as hell, but nice.

There still was a tension between them though, the sparks that had ignited earlier and returned the moment Zeke skipped town. Sam was looking at him with hungry eyes, but Dean really did not want to put off finding Cas. Well, besides breakfast of course. So he shot Sam a glance and opened up his wonderful smelling container.

"You want some?" He slid the open box at Sam, who wrinkled his nose a bit but smiled.

"I'm good." Dean nodded and forked himself a bite.

"You did eat breakfast, though, right?"

"Oh! So I was thinking, if Cas was going to travel cross-country he probably doesn't know anything about public transpor--"

"Sam."

"I wasn't hungry. I'll have a burrito later, okay?" Sam looked at Dean sideways, gauging his reaction. Dean sighed and speared another piece of bacon. Sam's not-eating thing had started again. Sometimes he was great and ate like he was supposed to, and other times he couldn't stomach anything.

Sam'd been that way for as long as Dean could remember. Well, actually more like when Sam was eight or nine. He'd skip a few meals here and there, lie that he already ate. Most of Dean figured it was his fault in some way shape or form, but part of him figured it was also Sam's intelligence trying to make the food on the table last longer. Like Sam would rather skip breakfast if it meant Dean occasionally got to have a breakfast.

Then, once money wasn't as much of a problem, Sam would just forget. He'd been doing hours of research and not bother to get up for food, successfully skipping meals then too. It wasn't healthy and Dean yelled at Sam every time it happened, but it had become so frequent with the trials Dean didn't bother reacting as much anymore.

Sam couldn't keep most of anything down during the trials. But he had been fine over the past few days, all the homemade food Dean was cooking actually getting eaten. For the most part. A lot of their meals only got half way through before they were bending each other over the nearest hard surface and entirely ignoring dinner or lunch or whatever.

Dean would be more worried about Sam if it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't entirely him right now. Having an angel inside you couldn't be pleasant, and if it was subconsciously curbing Sam's appetite, so be it. Zeke was keeping Sam healthy, so for once Dean didn't have to worry. He'd retain his watchful food regimen when the angel skipped town.

For now, they had Cas to worry about. Finding an angel who was suddenly no-longer angel wasn't going to be very easy. But with Sam's research skills and Dean's acute knowledge of all things Cas, they should be able to find him.

Finding him would change some things. It meant their honeymoon was coming to a close, but there was only so much Dean's muscles could take. The way Sam was looking him up and down said Sam was thinking the same thing, except instead of being sore he had that "one last time" look on his face. Dean put down his fork, looking up at Sam with exasperation.

"Sam, we gotta find him."

"Fifteen minutes won't make a difference." Sam reached out a hand and stroked his thumb along Dean's arm, forming goosebumps on Dean's skin. Dean bit his lip, looking from his food to Sam to the sky. They weren't gonna have another chance to do this in god knows how long...and maybe fifteen minutes wouldn't really make a difference. Dean could make up for it by speeding on the road there. He sighed, pointing a stern finger at Sam.

"You have exactly fifteen, you better be damn quic--" Dean's words got caught off as Sam dived across the table, mouth landing on Dean's and big hands pulling Dean to his feet. Dean stumbled but caught his footing, kissing Sam back eagerly as shivers ran down his spine at the way Sam just initiated that so desperately.

Slim fingers popped the button on Dean's jeans, sliding down the zipper and tugging the fabric down in the same handful as his boxers, freeing Dean's hardening cock and exposing his ass to cold air. Holy fuck. Then the sound of Sam's jeans followed, both of them barely undressed, just enough for Sam to get comfortably inside Dean. That thought made Dean hotter, his dick threatening to leak precum onto his shirt.

Then Sam was breaking their mouths apart and spinning Dean around, one hand forcing his shoulder blades down over the table. Dean got his palms on the hard surface in time to brace himself, then Sam reached a hand around Dean to grab the mini lube he had in his jeans pocket. They'd probably had sex less then eight hours ago, so Dean wasn't in need of a lot of prep, thankfully.

Apparently, Sam was thinking the same thing, because it was only a few seconds later that he was nudging the head of his cock into Dean's entrance. Dean hissed at the stretch, he wasn't that open, but Sam pushed in harder. He let out a cry, the sensation dizzying and a little painful. It wasn't that bad, especially compared to the fact that Dean had been in a lot more pain for a lot less pleasure at least a million times in his life.

Once he made the pained sound, though, Sam's hand reached around Dean's side, curling over one of Dean's where it was braced against the table. It was kind of sweet, Sam holding his hand in comfort and apology for the initial discomfort. Dean wrapped his thumb up over one of Sam's fingers, holding on tightly as Sam slid out and thrust in again, already picking up speed as Dean's body stretched to accommodate.

After three or four solid rockings of Sam's hips, the painful stretch started becoming a sweet burn of arousing heat. By the time Sam was fucking into him fast and deep, the pain was all gone, jaw dropping pleasure filling every crevice instead. Sam's hand stayed overlapping Dean's anyways, support for them both as Sam threatened to dislodge the table from its position in the room.

His free hand wrapped around Dean's cock, pumping in time with the collide of their bodies. Their still basically dressed bodies, in the middle of the bunker and totally exposed if anyone were to walk in. Like, say, Kevin. It's a good thing they scared him enough earlier to make him lock himself in his room, because this was a hell of a lot more traumatizing than making out shirtless.

Between the potential publicity and the clothes and the hand Sam was jacking him off with, all overpowered by the insistent, deep screwing from behind, well. Sam managed to make the fifteen minute mark.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean always made it look so graceful. He was beautiful, peaceful, enchanting. Even though you couldn't see the intensity of his green eyes, there was something mesmerizing about Dean when he was asleep. And as Cas lay alone in the dark of the bus, he had a feeling he looked nothing like that. The seat was cold and vaguely crunchy when he shifted his weight. The jacket he was using as a pillow had a zipper that kept stabbing his neck with its teeth. The overshirt he was using as a blanket felt itchy on his arms.

But worse was how scared he felt, alone here in the dark. He didn't have a home anymore and he'd lost both of his chances at family too. Dean wasn't here. Dean was never going to be here. Sleeping was a new thing to Cas and the only thing he knew of it was what he'd learned watching Dean. He was fairly sure he understood now why Dean didn't like being watched. Sleeping was vulnerable, open to dangers in the dark when you are the least prepared for them. Unconscious, defenseless.

He'd give anything not to have to sleep alone.

But he couldn't go find Dean, not now. Not when there was a trail of carnage in his wake. Not when Dean had a chance to be with Sam, a chance to be free of all the trouble Cas makes. Cas expelled all of the angels from Heaven, locked the gates, all because he was so stupid. And because he was in love with Dean. The grace of an angel who dared love a human. Dean was his weakness and it had ended up hurting them both, hurting humanity and angelkind so many times. He couldn't go back to that, he couldn't do it again.

How could he walk, ragged and broken, into the bunker and expect Dean to run to him with open arms? Even Sam didn't deserve Cas's company. He'd messed up, so badly. Abomination. He was in exile and he deserved it. Again. Maybe this was counting sheep. But it felt a lot more like counting demons. And green eyes. And freckles.

There was blood on his hands, figuratively, and blood on the road he'd taken so far. Even if Dean wanted him back, even if Cas deserved another shot - which he didn't - he couldn't put Dean and Sam in danger. Angels wanted him dead and they probably wouldn't mind having the Winchesters dead too. If they ever used Sam or Dean to get to Cas...he'd stick the angel blade through his heart himself. He wasn't going to put them in danger. He couldn't. Not again.

Eventually his body started feeling like it was wilting, his vision blurring and eyelids dropping closed. The stark vinyl smell of the seats was the last thing in Cas's conscious mind, but his dreamworld smelled like leather and whiskey and gunpowder.

~*~*~*~

When April first pressed her tiny smooth lips to Cas's mouth, Cas had been quite surprised. The only person he'd ever kissed before was Dean. Well, and Meg. And he'd been an angel then. And both of them had been absolutely nothing like this. Dean kissed him rough and passionate and meaningful, Meg kissed dirty and desperate, but April's small kiss felt tentative and delicate and strange. Cas hesitated, thoughts of Dean flooding his head.

But his body, his new human body, it felt tight all over. Especially his stomach. He felt his lips wanting to kiss her back, despite how delicate she seemed. He tentatively pressed his lips back to hers, his moment of hesitation closing. Cas was never going to have Dean, was never going to get to kiss Dean again. Dean didn't want him.

Cas had to...what was the word? That's right, explore other options. Besides, how many women had Dean kissed? Dean was suave and experienced, while Cas was a blushing virgin with no candle to hold to the fire. If by some lucky chance he ever saw Dean again, at least Cas could change that. After all, it had been Dean's goal at one point to get Cas to embrace sexual endeavors. And while his failure had turned into their first kiss, there was a part of Cas that wanted to not fail for once. He could prove to Dean, to himself, that he wasn't just a baby in a trenchcoat without his powers. (That still stung a little.)

Besides, he didn't know how to be human. At all. His only basis of a role model was Dean, since he'd spent so much time observing him. And as April pushed her tongue between Cas's lips, Cas only had one thought running through his head. What would Dean do? So that was how Cas decided to gather April into his arms, kiss her more intensely. As the kiss escalated and she back them towards the bed, Cas's mind shifted a little.

While Dean had been his unbeknownst teacher in all things human, there was still that twisted part of Cas that had caused this whole problem in the first place. So although Cas was mentally taking Dean's unspoken advice, the question in his head shifted. The question he asked himself was suddenly no longer about what Dean would do. Instead, his sorry broken mind reworded it just a little, just enough to change everything. What would I do if this was Dean?

As soon as that thought rippled through his mind, Cas broke his mouth away from April's. She looked surprised, just about to take them both onto the bed. But now that her mental portrayal in Cas's head had become "what if this was Dean," things were different. Cas knew exactly the first thing he would do if he was in this position with Dean right now. He hesitated for just a moment, but he managed to ask the question anyways.

"Do you have candles?"

~*~*~

The whole world seemed to be lit by the glow and flickering light of the bounty of candles. Laying here, with his body spent and achy and sated, Cas finally got it. He understood what the big deal about sex was, understood why so many humans had an obsession with it. The kind of physical pleasure it gave was unlike anything else, and the mental relief was quite nice as well. From the moment Cas had lit the last candle and taken April to bed, his mind wasn't thinking about wars. Or Heaven, or angels.

Just about the white, smooth body underneath his hands. And how different this would be if it was tanned muscle and a quirky smile looking up from underneath him. Castiel kissed April a lot during the occasion, because then his eyes were closed. And his mind was free to wander.

His body was definitely happy enough to have sex with her. And it wasn't like Cas was ever going to even see Dean again. It was too risky. He might as well be here with this girl now.

His thoughts about Dean were interrupted as April opened her small mouth and spoke.

"Well, say something." Cas mulled over that. The only descriptive blurb or appreciative note he could think of were both celestial phrases that didn't require words. So as a human,

"There aren't words." Cas concluded. Besides, the lack of non-Enochian translations also ended up being a common phrase in English, so that tie in actually worked quite nicely.

"So, that was okay?" Her tiny female voice asked. Castiel took a quick mental note of the lazy pleasure still resting in his bones. Sex was a very very good thing.

"Very much so. Um... what I did, that was, uh... correct?" It was an awkward question perhaps, but Cas needed to know. If he was ever going to have sex again, that would be valuable information.

"Very much so," April responded with a smile. Another grin lit up Cas's features. It felt so good to smile, he hadn't smiled in such a long while.

"Good."

They both laughed then, the air around them lighthearted and happy. Cas was trying not to think about Dean, not now when he was so happy and the ghost of the man he loved would surely dampen him back into the frayed world of missing Dean. But his mind still asked the question, through his laughter. If it was this incredible with a total stranger, how unbelievable would sex with Dean be? Cas couldn't even imagine.

"Castiel... I can't help thinking, all that stuff you said earlier, blame... and guilt. It seems like you're taking on a heavy load for such a sweet guy." But sweetness didn't determine worthiness. Castiel had failed over and over, the choices of his past cutting deep into his soul. No bit of sweet personality could ever wash all the blood off Cas's hands.

"Believe me, I've done a lot of foolish, unwise things." He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Somewhere up there, beyond the plaster and the apartments above and the roof and the dark velvet sky, there was a place Cas used to call home. Now it was locked and empty and Cas's body was the same way. But he wasn't referring to his grace as he spoke again, he was speaking of his worthiness. "I'm no angel."

There was a beat of silence as the words died in the glow of the candlelight, as the entrails of smoke choked the syllables from Castiel's tongue. Immortalized were the words, just as Castiel had finally fell to a place more mortal than ever before.

April spoke again, her feminine voice trying to be helpful. She was sweet too, even though it seemed a little dangerous for her to take in Cas like this. Maybe April was a little foolish too, a little too trusting. Cas liked the idea of relating to her on a deep level like that.

"Well, whoever you trusted... can't they help undo this?" As if. Metatron was purely evil, without an honest, caring bone in his body. He'd never undo this. Even if Cas had a chance at convincing him, he had no idea where the bastard was. And Cas was Human now. He was no match for an angel.

"We're not in contact," he said, making it as simple as possible. She nodded in the dim light, orange flickering over her white skin. She was very beautiful. Castiel could feel his hands pulling towards her again like gravity. It was like it was practically instinct to want to touch her. Maybe it was.

"So what happens next for you?" She was looking at him, her hair curling softly around her face. She was fragile, but so very very sweet. Even if she smelled of fake flowers. Even if Cas kept wishing she smelled of leather and whiskey. Lying naked next to him, what he would give for it to be Dean. But he'd take the thing that made his next closest to happy, which was the coiling pleasure in his tummy.

"More of this, I hope."

April's mouth curled up in a smile, then Cas's lips were covering hers and her soft taste filled his senses again. And this time, he pretended it was easier to block out the freckles and green eyes he saw in his mind.

It wasn't.

~*~*~*~

Dean was surprised. They'd spent all day searching for Cas, and Sam had been just as eager to find him as Dean was. Okay, not just as eager, but it felt like somehow the days of those two bitching and fighting over Dean were long gone. Hell, they'd been gone since the trials, since Cas had showed up again in the middle of the road bloody and Sam had cornered Dean in a room and pressured him into forgiving Cas.

And while he wasn't as worried as Dean was, Sam was still pretty motivated to find Castiel. They'd been searching nonstop -- well, except the body brush that had escalated to a heated kiss then transformed into quick handjobs against a brick wall in an alley, but they were both still getting used to the not-having-some-form-of-sex-24/7 thing. After four days and five nights of constant, crazy screwing, it was weird to put on all the layers of clothes and walk places. Or drive places.

But the thing was, even with the fifteen minute break they'd taken, they still should have been able to find Cas by now. This was the longest it'd taken them to find anyone. Well, besides Azazel. And John, obviously. But this was Cas they were talking about, not exactly head demon or legendary hunter material. No, Cas was a wandering puppy who probably was under the illusion that his bark could still smite things. Yeah, he should be a mess. And they should have had him by now.

So it was time for the next step of methods. Well, specifically one, but it was still something Dean had never wanted to do. Ever.

But this was Cas and Dean didn't have a choice. He pressed down the brake, pulling the car to a stop. He really wished there was some other way, but they'd basically ran out of ways to find the ex-angel. And Dean wasn't going home without Cas.

"What's up?" Sam asked concernedly, turning his big hazel eyes on Dean from shotgun. And as much as Dean didn't want to have to do this, he needed Zeke's help.

Even though, by the time the angel finally got the hint and showed up, he turned one of Sam's bitchfaces on Dean. And proceeded to bitch him out about he couldn't be making public appearances and blah blah blah. But this was Cas and as much as Dean would absolutely adore to avoid the angel who has been secondhand watching him bang his brother over the past four days, Dean would go through things a hell of a lot more painful than the awkwardness of that to find Cas.

So, after Zeke was convinced and gave Dean a couple of addresses of reapers, it was off to go save Dean's angel time. Even though Cas wasn't an angel anymore. Well, just because his species had changed didn't mean he meant any less to Dean. Or that he wasn't Dean's angel still. Even if there was nowayDean would say that cheesiness out loud.

Although Dean still wasn't sure why in the world Cas had decided differently. He hadn't gone to the bunker like Dean said, and here he was camped out in some city, on the run from deadly celestial beings who wanted him dead? Or worse? Dean was going to talk some serious sense into that newly-human mind of Cas's. As soon as they found him. Which just better be soon.

What Dean had absolutely not been counting on was barging into the door of the only reaper in a ten mile radius and actually finding Cas. Dean didn't even think, just saw the familiar face, the rumpled hair and scruffy purgatory-esque beard, the shirt ripped open to reveal ugly red lines of blood, ropes restraining muscles, then it was only Cas and danger running through his head and his mouth opened before his mind registered the entire scene.

"Cas!" The word interrupted the scene, and the ginger bitch - who Dean finally saw after his eyes decided to stop singling out Cas as the only thing in the universe besides the heavy tall man behind Dean's shoulder - stopped twirling the angel blade and turned to Dean and Sam in surprise.

The girl's hair bounced, her face small and pretty and the part of Dean's head that had yet to absorb all the details and only saw the unbuttoned shirt and pretty girl felt a very unwelcome pitch of jealousy. Then his emotions caught up with the rest of him and he realized the bitch had been slicing Cas's chest open. His hand reached for his angel blade, everything going in slow motion.

The ginger turned back to Cas and then the silver blade glinted as it sunk straight into Castiel's chest with a swift stab. Dean was numb for a moment then his feet were running, running towards Cas, and to the devil spawn who had been holding the blade that was now sticking out of Cas's chest. But his mind was still on lag and before he knew it there was a rough force picking him up and sending him flying across the room.

His back crashed into a bench in the little kitchen, things breaking around him and pain shooting through him that was thankfully temporary but fairly likely to bruise later. Dean already had plenty of bruises right now, all from Sam and Sam's hands, but that was the kind of bruise he didn't mind. Thrown-into-kitchen-benches-by-psycho-pretty-reaper were the bad type of bruises.

Then the bitch kicked his angel blade halfway across the room and sauntered over to the closest where there had been a big crash a second ago, probably Sam. God, he better be okay. Speaking of people who better be okay...

Dean looked over at Cas, who lay slumped on the chair, shining angel blade sticking out of his chest. Dean could hear the ginger angel bitch say something but he wasn't paying attention, focusing on getting over to Cas without groaning, first. Adrenaline was pumping through his system, making his body strong and his head numb. He watched with eyes that didn't feel like his as hands - his own hands, feeling detached from his body - grabbed ahold of the angel blade in Cas's torso, sliding it out of his skin. Coated in blood.

Then the gingerbitch was facing him and Dean stuck the blade in her heart, stabbing through all of that vessel and puncturing the grace inside her. She flashed bright white with that deadly light Dean had to pretend to shy away from. He still, after all these years, hadn't told anybody about the fact that that light didn't burn out his eyes. So he shielded his face for a moment, then promptly didn't give a damn about the now-dead ginger who had been torturing, who had stabbed...stabbed...

Dean spun back around, the adrenaline and numbness flighting out of him and the weight of the world, the terrifying realization hit him. He was, Cas was...No. No, no no he couldn't be. It wasn't, it wasn't possible it couldn't end like this. It couldn't end. Cas couldn't, couldn't die on him, not now. Not after everything. Not before Cas knew...

"Cas. Cas. Cas!" Dean was aware he sounded hysterical. He was shrieking and shaking Cas's shoulders, pleading and blabbering and praying in his head. It couldn't be. Cas couldn't be. He was going to wake up, open his eyes any second. Dean had never even looked into those blue eyes again, had never even seen...

He felt like his pieces were collapsing in on himself. He was crumbling, the walls were cracked and coming down, all remnants of sanity and a grip on reality gone. This was Cas, Dean's Cas.

He brought his hands up to that face, cradled the scruffy cheeks in his hands. Held Cas and looked at him, held Cas like how he did when they kissed. Held the light in his world that was slipping away, slipping out of his fingers. Dean could feel the future sliding right down with him, watched the bright happiness in his own eyes fade as the beautiful thing he had come to know as his own died, died right there in front of Dean's eyes. Died cradled in Dean's hands.

His voice broke, tears threatening to crawl out of his eyes, to start a waterfall that was never going to stop.

"Cas! No." Dean was holding on, holding on to the possibility of that thin silver thread of life that could be left. Could be? Couldn't it? If Cas's eyes would just open, if only he would just blink back awake, disoriented and confused and relieved to see Dean, Dean would kiss every inch of his face, the bastard who dared, who dared leave Dean again. He better not, he couldn't. He couldn't.

Dean could feel Sam standing up, could tell his brother's warm body had just risen. Warm warm, nothing like the cold flesh under Dean's palms. Cold. It was over. Cas wasn't opening his eyes again. He was...he was--

"Sam, he's gone." Dean sounded, felt, broken in a thousand ways. How was he ever supposed to be whole again? He'd lived without Cas before and it had been a broken, denying, drunken hell of a mess. Dean couldn't do that again. Dean had to do that again.

San walked up to his side, silent for once. The solid warmth was there, but no comforting hand or grounding touch to make Dean listen to gravity. Sam knew how much Cas meant to him, and Dean instantly had turned to Sam to lean on as it sunk in. But Sam didn't appear to have any reaction to his words.

Dean looked up, forced himself to tear his eyes away from the dead body, half naked and slumped in the chair. It just took the single glance at Sam to realize why there was no hand applying a gentle pressure to cover Dean's back.

That wasn't Sam.

Zeke stood and regarded Cas for a moment, looked at the dead body with what Dean could swear was reverence in his eyes. Then he was kneeling and placing a hand over the bare skin, touching Cas in places Dean even hadn't. But then the bright light filled the room and the red marks, the gaping red triangle hole, and they all stitched themselves back together.

Dean watched with guarded hope, but as the light faded Zeke stumbled backwards, looking more drained than Dean felt. He hit the wall and sunk down to unconsciousness in the same moment a gasp pulled from in between Cas's lips.

Dean didn't hear the oxygen suck in, not when Sammy's body was sliding down the wall, looking dangerously unhealthy and seriously in need of help. Dean was just about to get his hands on Sam, check if he was okay after whatever stunt Zeke had just pulled, when a voice behind him made him spin around.

"Dean." He turned so fast he almost fell, the familiar voice saying his name in that way that only Cas could. Although it sounded like a question, like Cas could hardly believe it was actually him. Which was ironic, really, because it was Dean who actually knew everything that happened and he was definitely in disbelief.

"Hey. Hey! Yeah." Dean nodded at the overwhelmed and blinking Castiel, then Sam was gasping awake and everyone was looking at each other in confusion and surprise. And Dean just did the best he could to diffuse the bomb, scrabbling at answers and making up more lies as Sam and Cas's looked at each other and themselves with wide eyes. Dean's story wasn't the best but it was believable and that was what mattered.

Cas, dead Cas, was okay and Dean could die from the way his heart was still pounding with worry in his chest, but there was relief flooding his veins that was somehow keeping him upright. Cas had been dead and Dean's body had adjusted to that tragedy, his soul feeling like it was ripped in two. Now he was cautiously numb again, watching both of his boys from a worried distance because too many people had died or almost died in the past week for Dean to be completely sane right now.

After he stumbled through his lame explanation about why no one was dead, he reached out a hand to help Cas out of his chair, unable to hide the shiver that ran through his body as Cas's hand closed around his. Dean tugged and pulled Cas to his feet, his thumb running over the skin on Cas's hand once before he dropped it back to Cas's side.

His brain was fried but he tore his eyes away from Cas's nakedness anyways, clearing his throat and motioning everyone towards the door. The sooner they got out of this room, the better. There was still dead ginger angel on the ground and Dean would really appreciate it if no one got a closer look at this whole sticky mess.

Cas followed behind them like a puppy all the way to the car, climbing into the backseat without a complaint. Funny how ater he spent he past week running from them, he was quick to jump back in as soon as they showed up on his doorstep. Dean hit the pavement with Sam in shotgun and the ex-angel in the middle backseat, everyone still a little confused and in pain and shocked that the three of them were together. And okay.

Dean was going to break the silence, ask Cas why the hell he made them traipse across the country looking for him, when he had had clear instructions to meet them at the bunker. But he wasn't sure he could keep it together if he started talking, so he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the road. As pissed as he was, he was so relieved that it basically canceled out the anger. He wasn't going to be fully content though, until he knew why Cas had ditched them. Him. Again.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Sam finally spoke up, turning in his seat to address the question directly to Cas's face.

"Dude, what the hell? I thought you were meeting us at the bunker, why in the world were you in Detroit?" It was about goddamned time someone asked. Dean pinned his eyes to Cas in the rearview, watching the guilt and emotions flick over his best friend's face.

"I, uh. I thought I was protecting you. I knew there were angels after me--"

"Cas," Dean interrupted, raising his eyebrows in one of his serious faces. "You protecting us? When you're the most vulnerable you've ever been. We can handle a few angels Cas, because we're a team. You're human now, and that's a whole new set of rules. Most of which include definitely not running of on your own. Capeché?"

Cas looked down guiltily at his hands. He better damn feel bad, that was right.

"Yeah, capeché."

"Good," Dean replied gruffly.

Dean felt considerably better getting that off his chest. Because now it was just the three of them, Cas finally safe and where he belonged, here with them where Dean could keep an eye on him. And teach him a thing or two about not ditching your friends.

They got to the bunker a few hours after that, the rest of the ride actually being really nice. Dean's mind was pushing aside the earlier adrenaline rush and mental trauma of Cas being dead, so now the elation was starting to set in. Cas was with them and everyone was okay for once and Dean was so relieved he could jump for joy.

By the time he opened up the bunker door and let everyone inside, there was a smile on Dean's face. The gang was back together and everyone was alive and home and safe. When was the last time any of them had been that lucky?

Dean rushed Cas off to the showers first thing, insisting he get rid of the homeless-person smell because it was going to stink up the whole house. While Cas was in the shower and Dean was busy trying not to think about the fact that Cas was in the shower, Sam sat on the kitchen counter and Dean reheated burritos and they talked in hushed tones about what this would all mean for everyone in the future.

With all three of them bunking up, things would have to change. Although, surprisingly, Sam wasn't shooting Dean any wary looks or concerned faces about Cas living with them full time now. Sam either had a hell of a lot of belief in Dean, or he just wasn't worried because he'd be here to keep an eye on everyone. Not saying that Dean was worried, he was pretty sure he could live in the same house as Cas without hooking up with him, whether his boyfriend - husband - was here or not.

Dean licked cheese off his finger and pondered that thought for a moment. Now that they had gone out in the real world again, it just seemed weird. Calling each other husband during their four day sex craze honeymoon had been weird but amusing, but now that they had faced reality and hunting and their normal lives again, it just felt like...a game. Like they had been role playing the whole time.

He watched Sam talk, but his mind was mostly mulling over the whole married thing. Sure, bring married had been fun, but it had been under the Zoroastrian faith, which neither one of them were. Even if it had been Christian, it still probably wouldn't have felt real. It wasn't like they planned it or anything. It wasn't even until afterwords they decided to call it that.

But why? Because what, Crowley of all people had mentioned it? Sure, marriage meant an eternal bond and devotion and everything, but didn't they have that anyways? They didn't need some mainstream certificate to give each other all of themselves. They were more devoted and into each other and their promises than any married couple Dean had met.

Maybe they'd just called themselves "married" because it was the next inevitable step past boyfriend. So, what, now that they confessed everything to each other and made that commitment in that church, they had to follow the same mundane path as everyone else? Dean didn't have a problem with being married, he really didn't, especially not when it was Sam. But it felt kind of...pointless, almost. The two of them didn't fit in any box of society ever, so why should they try to squeeze into one now?

It just didn't make any sense.

They were wandering out of the kitchen now and Sam was asking more questions as Dean was still busy not paying attention and thinking about other things, giving Sam half assed answers and lame excuses as his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Than Cas walked in the room, wearing fresh clothes - Dean's - and actually looking clean. Still scruffy, but clean. And the awful Detroit smell was gone, which was definitely nice.

"I am really enjoying this place. Plentiful food. Good water pressure. Things I never even considered before." Cas looked around the room, a content smile on his face. "There really is a lot to being human, isn't there?"

Dean couldn't help but smile back, the sheer easiness of how good it was to be around Cas again. And without any worries, too. Just a lot of new conversations to have and a lot of great times to be had.

"It ain't all just burritos and strippers, my friend," Dean acknowledged with a tip of his head. Cas nodded, looking around the room with one last sweep before his eyes settled back on them.

"Yeah. I understand what you're saying."

"You do?" Sam finally spoke up, sounding surprised and quite amused. Dean shot him a glance but the disbelieving grin on Sam's face was happy, not malicious. This whole thing was nearly too good to be true. Both his best friends, happy and safe and in one place. It was like a damn miracle.

"Yes, there's more to humanity than survival. You... look for purpose, and you must not be defeated by anger or despair. Or hedonism, for that matter." Cas made a face at the end of his mini-speech that Dean tried not to laugh at.

"Where does hedonism come into it?" Dean said cautiously, doing his best not to seem extremely curious but probably failing miserably.

"Well, my time with April was very educational." Cas had a tone in his voice that made Dean eye him warily over the top of his burrito. Sam thankfully spoke before Dean had to ask more questions and seem too curious.

"Yeah. I mean, I would think that getting killed is something." There was humour in Sam's voice which was nice and all, but Dean did not think that was funny. Like, at all.

"And having sex," Cas said casually.

Dean choked on his burrito.

"You had sex with April??" He might have attempted to hide his surprise except for the fact that he already choked on a burrito and blew what barely significant cover he had in the first place so he might as well flip the fuck out now and jump up out of seat because was this even real?

"Yeah, that would be where the hedonism comes in," Sam interjected sassily. Dean was not about to have any of that sass right now, not when they were talking about. Cas and - and- did he really? He went and...god. That bitch. Dean knew he hated something about her and her perfect hair. Well, besides the fact that she stabbed Cas and everything but still. She slept with him? Cas slept with someone. Cas HAD SEX. With someone. Who wasn't Dean. Not saying Dean had been planning on having sex with Cas or anything it was just the fact that someone else had, someone had gotten to Cas first and that was just driving Dean insane nine ways to Sunday. Cas had...he'd fucked somebody. Wow. Wow. Dean didn't even really know what to say. Except to keep Sam from sassing him again because no.

"Shh." Dean hushed his brother and stared at the ex-angel in front of him. Cas looked over at Sam and they both nodded awkwardly. Dean looked between the two of them and did his best not to laugh. Okay, so Cas had had sex. Dean had been pushing him to since god knows when, but still. He didn't think Cas actually would.

Now that the shock was over and it was starting to set in, Dean kind of grinned. Cas, having sex. Good lord. And there was no way they weren't talking about this. It was purely for educational reasons, obviously. Dean didn't have the slightest bit of alternative motives for talking about Cas and sex and Cas all at once.

"So... did you have protection?" Dean asked it as casually as possible, like he wasn't totally digging for details on Cas having sex because that mental image like wow. Cas just furrowed his eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"I had my angel blade." Cas said seriously. Dean stared for a moment before he raised his eyebrows and turned to Sam.

"Oh - oh, he had the Angel blade." He was trying not to laugh but he could feel the lines next to his eyes threatening to give him away. Sam looked from Dean to Cas, his laughter barely contained too.

"Um..." Sam started, not really sure how in the world to start that talk. Sam had never had to given anyone "The Talk" before, so he looked extremely lost. Dean had been the one to give Sam The Talk, right down to the threats about how much Dean was going to kick his ass if Sam didn't use a condom. Although at the time Dean hadn't exactly pictured him being the one taking it from Sam - condomless, most of the time - fifteen years down the road.

Dean turned back to Cas, unable to keep the pursed lips and smile off his face. He had an angel blade. Dean was gonna write that on a damn tombstone.

"In any event, I - I do now see how difficult life can be and how well you two have led it." Well that was sweet. Dean was pretty sure their lives sucked most the time, but it was a nice gesture for Cas to say. But then the next words that came out of Cas's mouth definitely sent Dean's mind spiraling in the other direction. "And I think you'll be great teachers."

Teachers? Teachers.

TEACHERS.

Well, clearly, the one thing Cas was lacking in most was sex knowledge and obviously Dean was the best advocate here, and it would only be morally just of him to teach Cas all he needed to know, right? Dean would be a great sex teacher. And life teacher. Well, better with the sex thing. It was purely just helping out a friend, right? Of course.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said, smiling like an idiot. Then he turned an eye on Sam, his face maybe a little hopeful and maybe reading a little like he does need a sex teacher and I am pretty qualified, if we could make an exception this one time, Sam, I'll totally make it up to you Iswear. But Sam didn't catch the look which was probably a good thing because Dean had a thousand ideas running through his head right now about all the things he could teach Cas and it was just a mess in his head right now that probably wasn't a very good idea but hey since when did Dean ever have good ideas?

He was just about to clarify, maybe ask Cas what he really needed help with the most with a wink when Cas interrupted that thought with a puppy dog expression and a very humanlike question.

"Are there any more burritos?" Dean's mouth had been open to talk but he just smiled at Cas's question (and at the man in general) and pointed a finger over his shoulder.

"Uh, yes." Dean was pointing at the kitchen and Cas seemed to catch on, walking past Dean with a nod as Dean followed that body with his eyes. Then he was turning to Sam, about to figure out how the hell to word this to Sam without losing them both but still getting the teaching gig because after all it was the right, friend thing to do, was it not?

He laughed lightly at that thought, at Cas and at this whole damn situation because it was pure gold.

"Our little Cas. He gave it up to a reaper. That is-"

"Castiel cannot stay here. He will bring the angels down on all of us." Okay, that wasn't Sam's voice. Zeke had showed up again, but wait. No, Cas wasn't a danger, Zeke had to know that surely. Just when Dean was about to talk to Sam about a potential teaching-Cas thing. Zeke really had sucky timing. Like, really sucky.

"No, no, he's got the Enochian tattoo. He's warded." Just like Dean and Sam were. Although their tattoos were etched into their ribs, but whatever. Skin was close enough.

"He was warded when April found him, and she killed him." Well...okay. Fair enough. That was true, but this was Cas. (Talking to Zeke was really still so goddamned awkward, seriously.)

"Yes, and you brought him back, and I thank you for that," Dean would never thank Zeke enough for that, but he literally never said thank you so this was a pretty big deal for him anyways and he would thank him more seriously if it weren't for the fact that talking to Zeke sucked and he was currently trying to boot Cas out of Dean's life again which couldn't happen. At all. "But this is Cas, okay, who vouched for you when I didn't know you from Jack. The bunker is safe."

"Bartholomew is massing a force. We cannot stand an incursion." He brought Sam's body closer, his eyes serious and his proximity making Dean's heart pound. "Castiel is in danger, and if he is here, I am in danger."

Zeke gave him this look that made Dean's stomach curdle.

"Wait, you're in danger? From who, the angels?" Zeke glared over Dean's shoulder again at Cas, who was probably sitting his adorable ass in a chair and innocently devouring a burrito. Yeah. Super dangerous. But then Zeke leveled his gaze back on Dean's eyes, standing close enough that Dean could smell Sam.

"If he stays...I am afraid I will have no choice but to leave." Dean raised his eyebrows. He- what? No. No, no, no that wasn't the plan.

"Oh, no, you can't do that. Sam's not well enough. If you leave his body..."

"I know," Zeke interrupted. Wait, so he was saying...No. He was, he was making Dean chose between the two of them- not even Sam and Cas made Dean chose. Zeke couldn't do this. He couldn't do this to Dean, not now not when everything was just about to be okay for once in Dean's miserable life. But Zeke just stared at him, his gaze not changing a bit. "I am sorry."

Dean walked numbly into the library, his feet taking him one foot in front of the other while his head screamed at him not to do this. But he drifted into the room anyways, drifted to where his Cas was sitting at the table, happily eating a burrito. He looked content and innocent and vulnerable and human. And Dean was about to...he couldn't even look at Cas.

He lifted his burrito as Dean approached, indicating his appreciation.

"Epic food. I can't get enough." It was so something angel Cas would've said, but at the same time it was so out of character just to eat that Dean would've laughed in any other situation. But right now, Dean just stared at the ground.

"Cas, uh, can we talk?" Dean finally lifted his eyes on the last word, looking into those crystal blue eyes that somehow always had hope and answers. And now for once, after everything Cas had done for him and Sam over the years, Cas finally needed Dean. He finally needed to be cared for the way Cas had looked out for them. Dean should've had the chance to repay the greatest debt he owed, but instead he got knots in his stomach and a broken heart.

"Of course," Cas responded, reaching over and pulling out the chair next to him for a Dean. Dean watched the gesture, saw how close that would put him to Cas, their knees would be overlapping and everything. Any other conversation, Dean would've jumped on it. "Dean, you know I always appreciate our talks, our time together."

Dean just stared blankly at Cas for a moment. Wow. Ouch. That sentence just made this whole thing about nine hundred times more difficult. Dean's eyes sought out the ground again, the grains of the table. He wasn't sure he had the physical ability to do this.

He at least could sit, though. Mostly because he was feeling wobbly on his feet and it was messing him up even more. So he propped himself on the edge of the wooden table, glancing down at the upturned eyes of Cas. Dean couldn't look at that. He kept his eyes slanted down and cleared his throat, which already felt like it was closing up with the threat of tears. Dean was just about to shatter both their worlds.

"Listen, buddy." I love you. If he did, Dean had to let him go. Right? Had to let him go. He finally looked up, just in time to watch his words sink in, to watch all the light dash out of that brilliant blue. The light Dean depended on, but was throwing out the back door. He couldn't breathe. "Um... You can't stay."


	16. Oneirodynia (Slumber Party 09x04)

Sam blinked awake with an open research book under his head for a pillow. He lifted his head and looked down at the book quizzically. He had no idea what he'd been researching before he dozed off in a nap. Although he wasn't the slightest bit groggy or tired, so even the nap didn't make much sense. The last thing he could remember was talking to Dean about Cas and his newfound lack of virginity, but everything past that was just black and empty. Weird. Really weird.

His fingers tugged at a few knots as he ran them through his hair, looking around the library. The shadows had gotten long, so it was getting late. Later than Sam remembered it being, anyway. He shut the mystery book and slid it to the side, scooting his chair back to stand.

"Dean?" Sam called out, heading towards the kitchen. As of late, it was a pretty likely place to find his brother. There weren't any signs of him in the main room, or of Cas. Maybe Dean was teaching him how to cook or something. Sam grinned at that thought, of Cas tressed in an apron and trying to crack an egg without getting any shell in the pan. It'd be pretty damn adorable.

"Hey, there you are. What are you making?" Sam's intuition had been right and Dean was in fact standing in front of a kitchen counter, his back to Sam as he stirred something in a big silver bowl. At the sound of Sam's voice, Dean shot a fast glance over his shoulder before turning back to the bowl.

"Cookies," Dean answered without lifting his head again. Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean's back, then scanned the rest of the room. Cookies weren't something Dean made often - not since Sam was like 12, anyways. Although they would be a great thing to teach Cas to make, as easy was they were. But from the look of it, Cas was nowhere to be found. Okay, weird again.

"Where's Cas?" Sam wandered closer to Dean as he asked, his legs having a mind of their own about where he wanted to stand. He was close enough to reach out and grab Dean's hip, which is probably the only reason why he saw it. The moment Cas's name left Sam's mouth, Dean's shoulders gave a minute ripple, tensing for just a moment before being purposefully relaxed. The movement was so small Sam almost didn't catch it.

It took a few extra seconds for Dean to respond, the silence between filling up with the occasional scrape of the spoon on the sides of the bowl. When a Dean finally answered, his voice was nonchalant, to the point of exaggerated lack of caring.

"He had to split while you zonked out. Didn't wanna bring the wrath of the angels down. Can you grab a tray for me from that shelf?" Dean tilted his head at the baking trays but Sam was still processing the first four words Dean had said.

"He left?"

"Yeah, now could you grab me that tray before I turn forty?" Dean's tone of voice said that the conversation was clearly not something he wanted to talk about. But that wasn't fair, Cas was Sam's friend too.

Sam stared defiantly at the back of Dean's neck for a minute, but it was useless. Clearly, Dean was being stubborn and guarded and just trademark Dean which was never a good thing.

"But why, the bunker is the best pla--"

"Sam, I don't wanna talk about it." Dean finally spun around, his chin tilted up to look Sam in the eyes, since they were only a foot apart. "He didn't think it was safe to stay, so he didn't. End of story. You can wipe the worried look off your face, he's going to be fine. Now - tray, before you get stuck with just cookie dough."

Dean raised his eyebrows as he waited for Sam to move. Sam stuck his tongue in his cheek in annoyance, nodding slightly and looking down at his brother. Sure, Sam was worried about Cas being out there on his own, but he was worried about Dean too. Dean needed Cas in his life, and if Cas had left Dean again...that'd be like 9th time or something ridiculous like that.

There was something hurt in the green eyes that stared up impatiently at Sam, but they weren't the kind of broken Sam was expecting for Cas ditching. The hurt looked more internal than that, like Dean was blaming himself. Which was just another brilliant trademark Dean feature that ripped apart Sam's gut to witness.

The timing was either going to be a rejected disaster or just the distraction Dean needed, but Sam had to take the chance if there was even a small possibility of fixing some of the pain in those eyes. What else was he here for, right?

Dean's head was already tilted up to look at him, so Sam's hand just cupped the side of Dean's jaw, leaning down to close the gap between his and Dean's drawn mouth. Their lips met softly, Sam dragging his mouth over Dean's closed and smooth one. The stiffness in Dean's shoulders didn't ease any, but he wasn't pulling away and yelling, either. Sam slid his hand to the back of Dean's neck, pressing his mouth more to Dean's in tandem.

Sam's tongue darted between his lips and licked lightly over Dean's plush bottom one, asking a silent question. Dean didn't hesitate this time as he parted his lips, sliding his tongue in along Sam's. Gentle hands landed on his waist, Dean's fingers more brushing than holding. Sometimes Dean was so gentle in bed it made Sam's heart ache. It was just such a stark contrast to his consistently James Dean attitude. Sam was exactly the opposite. All his rationality and kindness slipped away when he got Dean in his arms. He didn't want to wait, didn't want to take his time when there was an expanse of gorgeous to have under his hands, a sea of skin to mark and suck and bite and squeeze in his fingers.

But he managed to hold back now, even as Dean's gentle fingers curled roughly into Sam's hip bones, even as Dean rocked his hips forward against Sam's. Although he couldn't fight the moan as Dean twisted his head and pressed deeper against Sam's mouth, his arms behind Sam's shoulders and crushing him closer. It took everything in Sam not to scoop Dean up and carry him to the nearest flat surface.

His brother had just lost his best friend. Again. Now was hardly the time for mind-blowing sex. Sam had planned on just going in for a kiss. But with the way Dean was getting heated under Sam's hands, he clearly had other things in mind.

Sam had seen it before, Dean running away from his emotions through sex. Hell, he'd spent half of their Leviathan-chasing-Year doing just that. So, as hard - figuratively and literally - as it was, Sam drew all his willpower and managed to break his mouth away from Dean's.

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up, his mouth cold and his hands dropping to his sides as he took a step backwards. He parted his lips to speak, to bring this up with Dean, but Dean was already a step ahead of him and turning back around to the counter.

"Dough's going in the fridge. Meet you in the bedroom, yeah?" His voice was breathless and low, making Sam's spine shiver with the sound. He wanted to protest, but the look Dean gave him as he spun back to face him - bowl in hands - was impossible to say no to.

A sharp hand smacked his ass as Dean brushed past him towards the fridge, a physical encouragement that Sam should get a move on. Okay, Dean was clearly not wanting to talk about Cas or anything anytime soon. And if Sam couldn't give him any mental comfort, at least physical comfort could be distracting, right? Lord, Sam was starting to sound like Dean.

Which is how five minutes later, he was biting the skin along Dean's neck, fucking into him deep from behind. They were both sideways on the bed, one of Dean's hands in a death grip on the sheets in front of him, eyes closed and mouth open as his body jolted with the force of Sam's hips rocking in and out. Little sounds fell from Dean's mouth every now and then, weak responses to the rough treatment his last kiss had so clearly asked for.

Sam had been a little reluctant at first, figuring it'd be best to take it slow and sweet. But Dean had pushed his naked body up into Sam's and bit down on his lip, tugging hard and scraping his blunt nails over Sam's shoulders. Sam had definitely gotten the message. Dean had rolled over entirely, but Sam had pulled him up on his side. If he didn't wanna stare at Sam this time, fine. But Sam wasn't going to let Dean forget who was inside him.

It was a possessive streak Sam rarely showed, even in bed, but Dean probably hadn't noticed it anyways. He was too caught up in his self-loathing to analyze out a reason for Sam changing sex positions on him. Which was fine with Sam, because he never liked seeming like the possessive type. He'd had the word "codependent" shoved down his throat enough times in his life to be cautious of just how much he showed the truth behind the accusatory term.

But how could he not mark up and claim the perfect body underneath his hands? He bit and twisted flesh along Dean's shoulders, his rhythm unfaltering and accelerating bit by bit. He had one hand wrapped protectively over Dean's chest, keeping their bodies flush and reminding Dean of who this was, every second. Although the thick cock Sam was fucking in Dean's round ass was definitely a familiar taste for his brother.

One of Dean's hands latched on to Sam's wrist, metal ring digging into his bone a little uncomfortably. Sam just squeezed Dean tighter and thrust in faster, making a noise spill out of Dean's mouth with every smack of their bodies now. His parade of noises was still quiet though, little hitches of breath and quiet groans and punched but muted cries. Sam pummeled his hips faster.

There was sweat sticking to both of their bodies, making everything damp and slippery and easier to slide together but harder to hold. Sam snaked his other hand underneath Dean's waist, where there was a space between his skin and the sheets. The initial plan was to curve over Dean's stomach and get a more solid grip on him, but a warm wetness changed Sam's mind about that.

The hand curving over Dean's stomach wrapped over the head of his length instead, lubing up quickly and sloppily with the wet precum pearling there. Then he was twisting his hand down the hard muscle of Dean's dick and sliding back up, feeling the heat radiate and twitch in his palm. Dean's noises went up a volume notch, his fingers tightening painfully on Sam's wrist.

As soon as Sam's hand caught up in the same rhythm he was pumping into Dean from behind, Dean made a final cry and fell silent, his lips parted blissful and overwhelmed. It wasn't long before he was spilling onto the sheets in front of them, body seizing and trembling in Sam's arms. Sam jerked his hips a few more times before he was shooting his orgasm into Dean, his brother's name on his lips and the darkness of his eyes snapping shut making the entire wave that much more powerful.

He rode Dean's ass through the high, rhythm stuttering and slowing as the pleasure faded slowly into sated exhaustion. Dean's shoulders were salty with sweat under Sam's mouth and he kissed them anyways, wide and wet open-mouthed kisses sloppy along Dean's spine. Dean had crumpled to what felt like half his size in Sam's arms, muscles like jello and defiant wall just as broken.

Sam rubbed his hand in small circles over Dean's chest, dislodging the tight grip Dean had had on his wrist. Dean dropped his hand and scooted gently back against Sam's chest, bringing his body in closer under the canopy of Sam's arms. Sam kissed his neck and Dean murmured something inaudible in response.

Then his breathing evened out and he melted further into sleep, his body spent from the long day, lack of sleep for the past week, stress of finding and then losing Cas, and the crazy workout that had tipped him into exhaustion. Sam smiled against Dean's warm skin. If Dean had been on his own tonight, he wouldn't have slept a wink, staying up fretting and worrying and pointlessly guilty in the dark. But at least Sam could do that much for him, give his body and mind the well-needed rest Dean deprived himself of far too often.

His own eyes drifted shut and he curled his leg up a little tighter behind Dean's. The movement made him realize that his softened length was still buried deep inside Dean, but Sam really didn't want to risk waking Dean by moving to pull out. So he could deal with the bitching and grimaces tomorrow as they would have a much bigger mess to clean up. But if Dean got sleep, it would be worth it. Sam let himself nod off too, embracing the peace behind the darkness of closed eyelids.

He woke up first, sometime early in the morning. Dean's body wasn't wrapped up in Sam's anymore. He lay about a foot away, on his back like he'd woken up in the night and just stared at the ceiling for a while. His eyes were closed now though, one arm bent up by Sam's chest like he still wanted some sort of proximity.

Normally when Dean slept he was beautifully peaceful, but there were worry lines on his forehead and a slight frown on his face. No matter what Dean tried to make Sam believe, Cas leaving again had hit him pretty hard. It sucked to have to watch.

Sam lifted one of his arms off the sheet in front of him, silently placing his palm over Dean's upturned one. Dean's fingers twitched in response as Sam entwined their two hands. His breathing shifted, eyes fluttering like he was coming back from his dream world.

Something cold was pressed between two of Sam's fingers, and he flipped over Dean's hand to inspect what it was. Dean's silver ring flashed in the dim lighting, sending a swirl of memories reeling through Sam's head. Married.

Sam had totally forgot.

Between finding Cas and finally seeing the outside world again for the first time in nearly a week - actually a few months since he looked at anything without a splitting headache from the trials - it was like Sam's brain had reset. He had had too much to think about to remember that he'd sort-of-unofficially married his brother.

Now that there was more between them than just sheets again, now that they had hunting and their lives outside the bedroom to get back to, the idea seemed....weird. Unfitting, somehow. It was like they were trying to label something that was so much more than the average marital contract. In the daylight of reality, marriage felt almost like a down-grade. Like they'd taken a beautiful, unnamable, uncategorizable bond and stuffed it in the same box as the other 89% of America.

Maybe it was petty and foolish, but they'd never fit into labels before. They'd never really wanted the whole apple-pie life before. So why the hell did they have to pretend to have it now? What, just because this pitstop was cleaner than their normal motels, suddenly it was the end all to beat all? Sam didn't think so.

Maybe Dean would be disappointed, maybe he'd be hurt. He'd just lost his best friend in the universe again, if he had really attached himself to the word "married" them there was a pretty high possibility he'd temporarily hate Sam for doing this. But Sam just felt...stuck. Like he was trying to be 12 and fit in all over again. Not anymore. Not with Dean. They were more than just married, they were...eternal.

"Dean?" Dean shifted a little, a nondescript noise of recognition and consciousness coming from his throat, muffled behind closed lips.

"Can we talk?"

~*~*~*~

He was sitting at the map table when the upstairs door opened up, the familiar sound making Sam look up. Dean came walking through, a bag in hand.

"Hey. How'd it go with Kevin?" Sam asked.

This morning Sam had initiated a bit of a heated makeout session at breakfast, which ended up with Dean on the counter again. Dean had broke his mouth off with a Kevin and they'd instantly shot apart, remembering how their bunkmate had reacted last time they had done this and gotten caught. Then Sam had commented on how they hadn't seen Kevin in a while. Which could definitely not be a good thing. So he'd sent Dean upstairs to go check on the kid. Which is when they determined they had to get him out of here. The bunker was a workplace, and that was messing with Kevin's head. Well, based on the way he was curled in a ball on his bedroom floor when Dean walked in earlier.

It would be good for him to get out of here, out of the vicinity entirely, actually. Which is where Dean had just gotten back from, dropping Kevin off somewhere safe and a lot less serious than their new workplace. And now that Dean was back, without Kevin in tow, the kid at least must have agreed to that much.

Dean closed the outside door behind him, starting down the stairs.

"Oh, that little nerd is in a lovely warded hotel room in Branson. He's got about 48 hours of pay-per-porn and Kenny Rogers ahead of him." Well, Branson was a good place for him to be. And Sam was glad Dean had sprung for a hotel room instead of a motel, but he wasn't surprised. Dean really did care about the kid. They both did.

"How's he feeling?"

"Well, he stared at the Angel tablet and repeated the word "falafe" for the entire ride. Kid's cracked. I'm hoping this break will, uh, clear his head." Yeah, Sam hoped so too. Kevin was a tough kid. He'd be okay. Sam watched as Dean reached the bottom of the stairs, walking over with the mystery bag. "You know, after we spent all that time celebrating being married, I figured we could use a little break ourselves and celebrate being un-married."

Sam snorted. How eloquent. He was just glad Dean had agreed with him. The label just wasn't them. Sure, they had a ceremony of sorts and devoted themselves to each other, but marriage just. Not really what either of them wanted in their lives right now. Or ever, probably. They didn't need to squeeze their relationship in a box. With marriage came responsibilities and rules and more things they'd have to twist and break. It was easier just to be each other's.

Dean had made a point to say that too, after their early morning conversation about it in bed. When they'd both gotten through how they felt - Dean felt the same way Sam did for once - there was a moment or two of silence before Dean put his hand over Sam's, looking at him with one of his debonair smiles.

"You're still mine, you know. All mine." Sam laughed but agreed, kissing Dean for his answer. Then they'd had another in the long list of late breakfasts due to being busy in bed.

And as Sam looked at Dean now, the content smile on his face, he was sure this was the right choice. They were more than a married couple could ever be. They were blood brothers. And they loved each other more than everything. Even if Dean never said it. He always had little ways of saying it with his eyes, or his hands. Or his lips. Or little things he'd do, things for them or for Sam. Or sometimes it was even more obvious, sometimes Sam got words like I need you to see that to hold to his heart and keep himself remembering how much he really did mean to his brother.

"So I, uh, picked you up season one "Game of Thrones." Figured we'd get a little takeout." Dean had a hopeful look on his face, which Sam was definitely not going to turn down. Although there was still an elephant in the room, the hint of a shadow at the edges of Dean's eyes that made him look older than he was. Something Sam might be able to help with.

"All right. Well, first, I think I might have found a way to help Cas." Sam said it as casually as possible, doing what he could to not stab the knife deeper in Dean's chest. But Dean shot his head up at the name anyways, looking suddenly concerned and much more shadowed than Sam figured Dean would like to let on.

"Did you talk to him?" His fists were gripping white-knuckled to the surface in front of his hands but Sam didn't comment. He had spent a lot of time numbing himself to how much Dean cared for Cas. They were just best friends. Who used to make out. But not anymore, not after their whole marriage-unmarriage but definitely together and not really official mostly.

"No," Sam answered simply. It wasn't like Sam had Cas's number memorized like Dean did. If Cas even had his cell phone anymore. Like he said, Sam wouldn't know. Dollars to donuts Dean did. "And, by the way, I still don't understand why he left in the first place. I mean, the bunker is the safest place for him. Bartholomew and -- and who knows how many other angels are out there, gunning for them."

"Hey, look, nobody wants him here more than I do, okay? But, uh, he felt like he'd bring trouble down on us, so he had to split." Sam heard the no one wants him here more than I do loud and clear. He pretended it was only as friends. Even though he'd seen Dean's reaction to Cas's sex story. He had more important things to worry about, like the way Dean was hurting. Something was still a little off, the way Dean's eyes would shift to the side, not quite meeting Sam's. "But if you got a way to help him, I'm all ears."

"All right." Sam wasn't gonna push it. There was no point. He might as well just get on with what he wanted to show Dean. "So, Kevin said the table lit up like a Christmas tree when the angels fell, right?"

"So?"

"So it turns out each light was where a cluster of angels fell. So I'm thinking maybe there's some way to hot-wire this, make it track angels. That way, we could help Cas steer clear of danger." Sam was expecting some sort of eyebrow raise, maybe a that's great!. He wasn't exactly looking for a Notebook kiss and a declaration of undying gratefulness, but the skeptical and alarmed look on Dean's face was definitely disheartening.

"This was...your idea?" Okay, that was a strange question. Sam couldn't help but give Dean a look. Then he looked around the rest of the room, not bothering to hide his amusement at the question.

"Do you see anybody else in here?" It was sassy as hell but Dean didn't respond like it was. He kind of just blew off Sam's question, turning back to the table instead. Something was totally up with him. But it was probably Cas's leaving, so Sam wasn't going to worry about it that much. They'd get through it, they had before. Although it'd be much easier if Dean didn't pick an unstable, unreliable, wanted angel as his constant-crush.

Which Sam had come to terms with. Most of the time. Maybe it was because Cas was his friend too, maybe because if anyone had to be with Dean besides Sam, he'd pick Cas. Dean had a shot at happiness with the angel. That is, if he didn't keep disappearing and forcing them to find creative ways to save his celestial ass all over again. Even though he wasn't celestial right now, it was still angel trouble they had to fix up.

Dean looked over the map table, maybe thinking the same thing Sam had been as he'd first thought of the plan. He'd been picking through what had been left of his breakfast, tracing a finger absentmindedly over the continents. He'd been thinking back over the history of this table - mostly the number of times they'd screwed on it - when he suddenly remembered Kevin's story about it lighting up. Then he'd looked at the map a bit closer, found the telltale signs of electromagnetic connections and figured what it could have meant.

"So, how would it work?" Dean asked, running his thumb over the same spot Sam had been.

"Oh, no idea. See, at first, I thought the table was the computer, but it's not. It turns out it's just part of it. But I did find these cables underneath, and I followed them. You're never gonna believe what I found." Sam was actually surprised he hadn't found the cables earlier, but then again he didn't spend much time exploring the office. That was Dean's thing.

Although what Sam had found, he was pretty sure was neither of their thing. The computer felt out of Sam's league even, but he wasn't surprised when Dean had an answer almost instantly. Of course, the genius inside that Dean pretended didn't exist found a control panel almost instantly, running his hands along the machine with an "it's warm here," that was said so naturally Sam was pretty sure Dean didn't even consider it meant he actually had an idea what he was doing.

Well, until Dean pried open the panel and they both stared wide-eyed at the glowy bulbs unlike anything either of them had seen before. Even then, though, Dean had an answer. It amazed Sam sometimes how Dean seemed to have a solution for everything. Sam gave up easier, running away and abandoning seemingly impossible ideas. He just wasn't as damn sure as Dean was that everything was always gonna turn out.

But with Dean, somehow everything kind of did.

"I think I know somebody who could help us. Come on." Sam followed suit as Dean stood and headed for the door, catching the light on the way out. They walked back to the map room in comfortable silence, Sam chewing his lip and thinking about the lightbulb-esque things. They looked like a source of power, especially if they were giving off heat. But he'd never seen anything like them before. And if they dated back all the way to the 50s....this place just kept getting more mysterious and unique every day.

Dean flipped open his phone as soon as they reached the map table, propping his ass up on the edge of it as he dialed. Sam sat down in a chair a few inches from where Dean's foot was swinging back and forth. He was making faces as he waited for the call to go through, which Sam was watching amusedly. Once the phone started ringing on the other end, Dean crossed his eyes at Sam. Sam snorted and raised his eyebrows. Funny how Dean was like, thirty three and still managed to make little kid faces at Sam all the time. Well, not as much as he used to, but he was in a fairly good mood.

His face straightened back out to normal as the other line connected, a faint hello? filling the air.

"Charlie? Hey, it's Dean." There was an exclamation of surprise from the ginger on the other end. Of course, why hadn't Sam thought to call Charlie? If anyone could figure out the high-tech dinosaur computer in one of their thousand unexplored rooms, it'd be Charlie.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm glad you're not dead yet too. Listen, Charlie, we need your help with something. Could you drop by the bunker? See, Sam -" Dean kicked at Sam's leg for emphasis and Sam smacked his arm in retaliation. "-found this old-ass computer that's been running since the 1950s and we have basically no idea what we're doing. Really? Well then, guess it's your lucky day. Yeah, no that'd be great. Awesome. Sure, talk to you then."

Dean ended the call and slipped the phone back in his pocket, nearly toppling backwards on the table in the process.

"What did she say?"

"She'll be here in about three hours. And she is just as Energizer Bunny Geek Version as she was the last time we talked to her." Sam laughed. With Charlie, that wasn't a surprise at all. No matter the kinds of crazy shit they went through in their lives, he was pretty sure Charlie was always going to be that way. It was nice, having a constant like that. Even if Charlie was anything but consistent. Besides consistently crazy.

"So, sounds like we have a couple hours to kill then..." Sam raised his eyebrows, one hand sneaking up the inside of Dean's thigh. Dean looked down at Sam's hand, amused.

"Are you suggesting an un-married anti-honeymoon?"

"Might as well. Just another reason to celebrate, right?" Sam stood up with his words, crowding into Dean's space and forcing him to lean backwards. Dean's pretty green eyes were caught on Sam's lips, his own parting in anticipation. Both of Sam's hands clamped down on Dean's legs, giving himself a stable support base as he pressed their mouths together.

Dean took him greedily, hands running up and down Sam's sides, trying to pull him closer, get more. Dean let Sam lead the kiss, tilt Dean's head the way he wanted it as he worked his lips over Dean's. He was so damn submissive sometimes it drove Sam crazy. His big brother had so much control everywhere else in their lives, it was surprising when he gave himself over like this. It was like his mouth, his body, his everything was Sam's for the taking. Like he could do anything he pleased.

Which right now, included Dean ass-up and begging for it. It wasn't very likely he'd get a verbal plead, not from Dean. Not in broad daylight. Not when there was still that brotherly competition and pride in the way. He was just too damn stubborn for that, only ever asked for things with his hands. But maybe tonight then, he'd get Dean so strung out he'd have to vocalize his needs, force him to whine and grovel for Sam.

For now though, Sam could definitely be down with just the breathy sounds and moans escaping his brother's mouth as Sam worked him open on Dean's bed. As much as it was convenient to just fuck on the table they initiated it at, there was always a chance that Charlie got here early. Which would be one hell of a disaster for basically everyone. They'd already had Kevin catching them making out, putting Charlie seeing them screwing on top of that...she'd be a lot less likely to forgive them than Kevin, too.

Not to mention she'd probably throw something. And then never get over seeing it and bring it up basically every time they saw her.

So yeah, Dean's bedroom it was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean was right about Charlie being just as Geek Energizer Bunny as the last time Sam had seen her, but now it was with the added bit of crazy thrown in. He thought he'd just heard wrong at first, until he saw the look on Dean's face too. The girl had been hunting. Charlie was wickedly smart, could definitely fend for herself, but hunting was about so much more than that. It was so physical and Charlie looked like she could barely break a twig. It wasn't that she was a girl, Ellen and Jo and Amy were great hunters, it was just that she wasn't prepared for that kind of life. Jo had grown up throwing knives and shooting guns, and she still got into trouble all the time. With Charlie, it just felt like she was so much more vulnerable.

Watching her slim, pale fingers hooking up wires between the circuit board and her laptop, Sam just couldn't picture those hands hunting. Her fire-red hair and bubbly attitude made her memorable as hell, which wasn't good for the business either. This was where Charlie was safe. It wasn't that Sam wanted her to be bored, it was just that the "magic" stuff she was talking about earlier (which Sam still wasn't sure meant), she was never going to find in hunting. There was nothing beautiful or magical about hunting. The only good thing that came out of hunting was Dean.

And he was beautiful. Even gun in hand, dripping blood, he was hauntingly beautiful. Sam had always thought that. But going it alone...there was no magic there. Just because Sam had fallen in love when he was hunting and got the magic of that didn't mean it was because of hunting. And even if it was, they'd been raised into it. It was part of who Sam was. It didn't have to be that way for Charlie.

She finally straightened up, chipper smile on her face as she plugged the last switch in.

"All right. It took some doing, but now we can download. This beast has all the Men of Letters files. Time for a little drag-and-drop." All the files? That was incredibly impressive.

"Wow. Well, it's a start. Thank you. Um, that's -- that's great." Everything digital was seriously going to make Sam's life about 800x easier. No more sifting through dust and carefully bound novels to find something that was probably in a different decaying book that should really be preserved, not rifled through. Or tossed of the table with a sweep of someone's arm when things got heated. Sam had noticed the other day, but they seriously needed to start taking better care of those books. They were ridiculously old, after all.

Although that was easier said than done, because no one wanted to straighten them out and shelve them properly when hands were all over and skin was heated and flushed. When it came down to it, Dean felt a hell of a lot more important than a couple of old books. Even if those old books had saved their lives plenty of times already and were sure to save them again some time in the future. It was just...Dean.

Sam glanced over at his brother, who made a point to hold his gaze. Sam looked at him curiously, then Dean signaled at him, making a sign towards Charlie too. Oh. Yeah, they seriously needed to talk about that. Dean was probably making Sam bring it up because Dean just came across as a scolder anyways. So it'd hold more weight if Sam mentioned something.

"So, you've been hunting." Sam tried to make it not too accusatory, but then Dean interjected and it definitely sounded accusatory now.

"Alone," Dean's worried-big-brother voice added. Charlie looked up at them both guiltily, but didn't look surprised at all. Apparently, she'd been anticipating the talking-to as well.

"I know. Not a good idea, according to the "Supernatural" books." Right. Yeah. The books. God, Sam freaking hated those books. They portrayed them both as so...exaggerated. But not in the right ways.

Not only had Chuck editted out all the parts about them, (I can't put...that....in a book series, guys!) he'd left out a lot of important things too. At first, Sam had been relieved Chuck hadn't mentioned anything about them being more than brothers - well, not too obviously anyway. There were lots of subtle hints. And he couldn't leave out major plot points, either. But now that they were older, it just felt so fake. Like some of the best memories of things were just tossed aside like they didn't matter, all because the "public couldn't handle it." It was frowned upon what they did, sure, but it was about the purest damn love Sam had ever seen and it was a shame more people didn't get a chance to see it too. If they had to read the books, anyways.

Then there were little things like how Chuck never once mentioned how damn beautiful Dean was. There was no four-page description on the mesmerizing colour of his eyes, nothing about the way his body tightened when there was danger, how soft his calloused hands could be when stitching up a wound or stroking gently across Sam's face. Dean was portrayed as butch and tough and a positive womanizer. Dean hadn't slept with a girl in what, almost three years?

So yeah, Sam didn't like the books much. At all.

"You really can't delete those from the Internet?" Sam wasn't sure how the hell they'd even gotten on the internet in the first place but it was a disaster because of it.

"Not even I can do that. Come on!" Charlie looked nearly put-out by the idea, but Sam would be absolutely great if every sign of those books was demolished from existence. Maybe he could convince Cas to do it. Although, wait, he wasn't even an angel anymore so...

"Where do you even find them?" Dean asked. He had a sourpuss look on his face too, like he liked those books just about as much as Sam did. Yeah, because they sucked. No offense to Chuck or anything, it was just the entire idea of it that sucked. Charlie just grinned cheekily at their annoyance, clearly not caring about how much having half-accurate pries into your life sucked.

"A top-secret place I call Amazon. And someone uploaded all the unpublished works. I thought it was fanfic at first, but it was clearly Edlund's work." She thought it was fanfic...did Charlie read fanfic about them? That was a disturbing thought. He'd actually totally forgotten fanfic had even existed, especially about them. Sam decided he really didn't want to know.

"Who uploaded it?" That would be half the battle, because if Chuck was dead - Cas said he was, Sam wasn't gonna question it - then surely the rest of the story couldn't really be the actual story.

"I don't know. Their screen name was beckywinchester176. Ring a bell?" Charlie asked casually.

Shit. Dean turned and looked at Sam sharply. He had that expression on his face that said he clearly had still not gotten over the fact that Sam had fucking ditched him to get married to someone else. God, Dean had been so pissed. It was understandable sure, but they hadn't even brought it up again until now. Now, when Becky's name - wait, no, Charlie had said Becky Winchester. Fuck. She better not be going by that now....Sam didn't even want to know. He really didn't. Especially not with way Dean was glaring. God, could they just pretend she didn't exist?

"None. Uh, nobody's." Sam was stumbling all over himself. The way Dean was looking at him was making him flustered and tongue-tied. "Uh, no, there are no bells. Uh...No."

Charlie looked at him like he lost his mind. He had, but that had been the works of a love potion it wasn't even technically Sam--

"Ugh, these files are encrypted. This is gonna take a while." Charlie had turned back to the computer but now she was looking up again, thankfully throwing the Becky comment into the past. Good. At least that was over. "So, takeout, sleepover, braid each other's hair?"

Well, they'd probably have a tough time braiding Dean's. But he and Dean had had takeout and a sleepover (probably a very different type than what Charlie was referring to) planned anyways, so it sounded good to Sam.

"Got an idea."

Everyone seemed down for watching Game of Thrones. Sam had automatically started down the hallway towards Dean's room before he remembered they'd been in there like two hours ago, and there was probably thrown pillows and rumpled sheets that needed to be washed. So he'd quickly wheeled the TV around the corner to his room. Dean looked up at Sam from where he'd been reading the back of the DVD case, giving him a questioning look and kind of nodding in the direction Sam had decided to not go.

Sam gave him a pointed look that said "remember?" and the realization suddenly flashed across Dean's face. He got really wide-eyed then quickly followed in Sam's footsteps, eyeing Charlie like she might read their minds. She didn't even notice the quick exchange. Or if she did, she just went up a notch in Sam's book because she totally handled it cool.

Even when they got to Sam's room, Sam was careful to sit in a chair, leaving the bed to Dean and Charlie. Although it wasn't like he had much of a choice, because Dean had been first in the room and had beelined for Sam's bed like he owned it. Figuratively, he kind of did, but still. it was Sam's bed and Dean plopped down like they'd been in bed together a hundred times. Which they had, but still. He wasn't going to sit next to Dean when Charlie was here, that was just too damn awkward.

Although it turned out being awkward as hell anyways, because 10 minutes into the first episode, turns out the brother and sister are fucking. Like, hardcore. At the end of the episode they showed it and everything. Sam could feel his face growing red just watching. Even if he and Dean hadn't been together...actually, especially if he and Dean hadn't been together, this would be the single most awkward moment of TV show watching ever. Sitting with his brother and one of their best friends, everyone watching as siblings screwed each other's brains out...it didn't get much worse than that.

Really, Dean? This was what he picked for them to watch? Sure, Sam heard it was a good show, but they were siblings and like half this show was incest so far. It wasn't something they ever really talked about. Well, they never talked about. Sam was actually really glad Charlie was here, because that meant they didn't have to talk about it. If it had been just the two of them, snuggled closed on Dean's bed to watch, things might have gotten really tense. Sam didn't even want to think about it.

By the time they'd finished, the blush had thankfully died down from Sam's cheeks. The story was actually pretty good, super complex which was always interesting.

"Wow. That Joffrey's a dick." Dean flipped off the TV with the remote, silence and a black screen facing them now. Charlie tilted her head in agreement and looked at Dean, a smile on her face.

"Oh, you have no idea. Wait until he --"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sam interrupted. He totally didn't want to get the ending ruined. Especially with Joffrey, because Sam had to admit he was a little fascinating. "S-spoilers. I haven't read all the books yet."

"You're gonna read the books?" Dean asked dubiously, leaning over Charlie so Sam could see his face.

"Yes, Dean. I like to read books -- you know, the ones without pictures." It was a low blow but Sam thought it was funny. Sure, Dean could read, he just didn't like to. Which Sam was fine with. Dean just shot an annoyed look at Sam, the same one that would've accompanied a stuck out tongue.

Charlie ignored their banter, looking around the room instead, probably mentally filing all of the papers and books Sam had stacked on things.

"Man, this bed is about as comfortable as a brick. Any plans on moving in anytime soon?" It wasn't like Sam slept on that bed ever anyways.

"I am moved in. This is just my style." Sam said the words with a shrug. Dean was more the type to cozify the place. Sam just didn't care enough to, he'd never strung up garland on motel room walls before, so why the hell would he now?

"Yeah, this is his, uh, style," Dean drawled sarcastically. Sam didn't need to see Dean's face to know he was clearly disapproving. It wasn't something Sam was into though, so seriously Dean could deal.

"Well, I'm sorry I haven't hung up the, uh, "Hang in there, kitty" poster yet, Dean. Feel free to redecorate." Sam said it with an exaggerated wave of his hand. Dean could redecorate if he wanted, Sam didn't give a damn. It was pointless anyways. Dean just got this super offended look on his face.

"So, what, our home's not good enough for the "Hang in there, kitty" poster?" Our home. Dean made it sound like they were married all over again. But his question was jigged, the way he worded it made the underlying question that much more obvious. Am I not good enough for settling down?

Sam wasn't answering that question. Because that was a lot of thinking that Sam was really not going to do right now. So he reworded Dean's question for him instead.

"This isn't our home. This is where we work." Sam said it as logically as he could but he was still getting a glare from Dean. Which wasn't surprising at all.

"What's the difference?" The difference? Sam could name about a hundred. A home was a place where--

"Oo-kay," Charlie interjected uncomfortably. Sam shot her a glance, a little apologetic for sandwiching her in a Winchester argument. She didn't look at him though, just looking at her hands instead. Dean was quieted by the word too, although he still had that scowl on his face. They all watched as Dean scooted to the side of Sam's bed and stood up.

"All right, well, I'm gonna go get us some more beers. How about that?" It was an awkward out but one of them needed to walk away and give this space. Well, more accurately, Dean needed a moment to breathe. He was just so emotionally invested in this conversation. Sam didn't care, he was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing. Which pissed Dean off even more. So no one stopped him as he headed for the door, leaving Sam and Charlie alone. Which meant Sam finally got to ask her to clarify about what she had said earlier. He looked over at the redhead, his voice back to light and conversational again.

"So, Charlie, what was all that about how hunting isn't magical?" Sam was really curious about that wording, because as twisted and oneirodynia inducing as hunting was, he'd never thought to put the label "magical" on it. Or really seen the desire to have something magical in it. She flipped her red hair over to one side, putting on her explaining face and speaking with her hands as always.

"Saving people, hunting things, the family business? I am down. But... I was raised on Tolkien, man. I mean, where is all this?" She held up the Game of Thrones disc, pointing out the dragons and the curses and the way everything sparkled in a complicated, very magical sort of way. It was nothing like the reality Sam knew, where everything was dark and demented and not at all the kind of pretty spells Charlie was referring to. "Where are my White Walkers and my volcano and magic ring to throw in the damn thing? Where -- where's my quest?"

She looked genuinely upset about the idea of not having a quest. But quests were never good, it was never the knight in shining armor or the epic moment where the ruddy hobbit takes his best friend up the mountain. There were no fanfares, no celebrations, no transforming frogs into princes. The only thing quests came with was lies, tricks and unexpected loop holes. You can save your brother and the world if you embark on this quest and use your powers to attack the demon trying to raise Lucifer -- but oh, wait, if you kill her it actually raises Lucifer. You can risk your lives and go to a crazy extent to find a weapon that will permanently kill a Leviathan and save the human race -- but oh, wait, if you do you'll be flown straight to Purgatory without a trace of where in the world you went to. You can try to close the gates of hell and go through the most painful time of your life -- but oh, wait, only to be told an inch from the finish line that your life is the final sacrifice required to go through with it.

Yeah, Sam knew first hand, there was nothing good about a quest.

"Magic, quests...suck. Trust me. They're all dead ends." And lies. It was just bad.

Charlie just smiled weakly at him, turning over the Game of Thrones disc in her hands. Poor girl, she had such high expectations for the world. Sam hated to be the one to let her down, to tell her that magic and quests weren't existent in the way she wanted them to be. There was no fairy godmother, and if there was she was probably a killer who had explosive fairy dust and an army of bitchy fairies to haul off princes to work for the king or whatever. Just, there was always a twist and it was never good.

Sam wished he could tell Charlie that there was somewhere out there as magical and crazy as the books and movies Charlie lived for, but Sam hadn't found a reality like that yet. And honestly, he was pretty sure there wasn't one.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Neither one of them had talked to Crowley in a while, but as he hissed at them and was generally being an asshole, Sam decided he had absolutely not missed seeing him. He hated Crowley. A lot. Not to mention he was the most sneaky, unhelpful person-notperson that Sam had ever met. Even to the intimidating and quite serious question of where the hell the witch went, Crowley just spoke easily and unrushed.

"I haven't the foggiest. Had to send her off on a merry chase before she could melt me. Told her you boys kept the keys in the kitchen. You do have a kitchen in this crap hole, don't you?" They were both turning around and heading for the kitchen before Crowley could get out another sassy word, Sam being sure to close the doors behind them. The kitchen wasn't far, although Sam was pretty sure he'd never heard of anyone keeping keys in a kitchen. Then again, this was a workplace and they never followed the norms of society before. Maybe everyone kept their keys in the kitchen and Sam just had never been given that memo because there weren't any relevant kitchens or keys in his life to overthink. Because he didn't have a "home," he had places he stayed and bunked down. Hence, the bunker?

Not exactly "Sam and Dean's lovely suburban apple pie house with a white fence and a dog and backyard barbecues with the neighbors. And that was just the word house, Sam wasn't even going to get into the whole "home" thing. Because they had no where near the same meaning.

Dean was just in front of Sam as they barged into the kitchen, guns drawn. Dean's entire body deflated, his eyes scanning over the mess. The entire room was a complete wreck. Pans and pots and plates were strewn everywhere, things were knocked over, a few baking ingredients were leaking out of their packages. It looked like a hurricane had come through the room.

"Damn it, I just cleaned in here," Dean cursed. Sam raised his eyebrows, looking over at his brother.

That was the singular most domestic thing he'd ever heard Dean say. Sure, Dean acted like a 1950s housewife sometimes, but he just cleaned in here? He was in way too deep.

"Really?" Sam said, trying to put Dean's head in perspective. They were chasing down one of the most deadly creatures they'd ever faced, with practically zero knowledge of how to track it or how to kill it. And Dean was upset because the kitchen was a mess and he'd "just cleaned it."

Sam's annoyed really didn't even begin to cover it. Dean just ignored him though, lowering his gun a little more and scoping out the room.

"Looks like we got a witch here." Yeah, Sam could definitely agree to that. He was still shaking his head in amazement and Dean's automatic expression when there was suddenly a sound and movement behind them and Sam swung around the same time Dean did, guns drawn and shoulders back in a fighting stance.

The two girls came tumbling into the room and Sam breathed out, lowering his gun back down and tucking it away. Clearly, neither or them was used to living with other hunters. You didn't just sneak up on a hunter without expecting to be staring down the barrel of some gun of choice. Neither of them flinched at the danger though, clearly both in a excited mood anyways.

"Sorry," Charlie apologized briefly before holding up the metal piece in her hand, her face back to the childish excitement she got when she talked about magic. "We raided your gun range. Made us some poppy bullets. They won't kill the witch, but they will stun the crap out of her."

"That's my girl," Dean said proudly from over Sam's shoulder, his voice filled with the "little sister I never wanted" affection he felt for the ginger. Sam grinned too, glad she'd found something useful to do. He figured sometimes Charlie felt lost in the fastpaced nature of Sam and Dean's lives, because there was hardly room for input or improvement from outsiders anywhere. So something like this, it didn't just speed up everything a few notches, it gave Charlie something safe to do.

Once they talked over a plan of attack, a poppy bullet in each gun and the search for a key under commencement, Dean split them up into teams. Putting a girl with each of them (Sam and Dean were the most functional team when they were together - and by the looks of it, Charlie and Dorothy seemed to get along pretty well too. But if they split up, it mixed the thought processes of different people and gave them the upper hand. Not to mention Sam felt a little better about their guests' safety when they were each assigned to a brother's hip) Dean shot Sam a look and then he was off with Charlie, on the way to Dean's room.

At least now they could attribute the mess to the witch's wonderful wrecking skills. So Dean wouldn't have to explain away the thrown pillows and knocked over things and ruffled sheets to Charlie. Because it was just the tornado of a witch looking for the key, right? Which she hopefully hadn't found yet.

Dorothy followed Sam through the main rooms, passing the staircase and entry and heading towards the library. Nothing looked wrecked, so they weren't too rushed and worried. Which meant Dorothy found the need to bring up small talk. Which normally, Sam didn't mind, but it had been a touchy day already.

"I can't believe I've lived here for 75 years. How long have you called this place home?" She looked over at him expectantly with her 1950s hair and her give-em-hell attitude, her lipstick painted mouth shaping that word, the one Sam kept avoiding at all costs and somehow was chasing him around now. He really didn't want to answer that question but he kept getting plagued so he'd have to formulate some sort of explanation.

"My brother calls it home. Me, I, uh -- I haven't had that much luck with homes." Sam thought Dorothy might press it, but she just nodded instead.

"Me neither. Overrated, you ask me. Yellow bricks or not, give me the open road any day." Well, it wasn't exactly a preference to the open road that made Sam not consider the bunker home. Although maybe it was. Because the Impala, shotgun seat with Dean next to him....that felt more like--

"Sam!" Dorothy shouted, drawing him out of his thought process and amping his awareness. He dodged out of Dorothy's way quickly, giving her the space to take a shot at the witch. The poppy bullet swung out to the side, missing the witch entirely. Sam lifted his gun to take a shot, but just before he could line up the witch dissipated into a green fog, disappearing into a high-placed vent.

"She can get anywhere from there. Split up, cover more ground?" Well that was a suggestion Sam almost never got on a hunt. Dean was always wanting to keep Sam in sight. They had each other's backs, had lost each other too many times to split up on the job. But this was the bunker, familiar territory, and splitting up was definitely the best move here. So he nodded and they were on their separate ways.

Which gave Sam plenty of time to mull over the seed Dorothy had planted in his head with her talk of home and the open road. It was bound to plague Sam either way, he might as well try to figure parts of it out now. After they found the witch, that is.

~*~*~

Sam gripped Charlie's gun a little tighter in his palms, finger hovering just outside the trigger guard. With Dean in front of him, he was pretty likely to get second shot, but the tight cold metal digging into his flesh grounded him to reality and his senses. He must have hit his head pretty hard because he did not feel well at all.

Although the lightheaded feeling that was taking longer than usual was still no excuse for why the blood was obliging in his veins. He didn't get jealous. Really. He wasn't that overprotective, clingy boyfriend type. He wasn't that type at all. But it's eat him alive wondering if he didn't ask, so he had to say something.

Maybe if it had been a girl's name he wouldn't be so jealous. Sam was used to Dean sleeping with women, although he hadn't for like two years. Still, it was just the way Dean said the name...it was desperate and demanding. So it wasn't that out of line that Sam was curious, right? Curious, not jealous.

"Who's Zeke?" He finally asked, watching Dean carefully for a reaction. There was definitely a reaction alright.

"What?" Dean almost stopped in the middle of the hallway, his whole body flinching. He regained his composure and continued down the narrow hallway again without turning around. Sam kept following behind him.

"When I came into your room, before I got zapped, I thought you said the name Zeke. Who's that?" It was a little clingy sounding, but Sam would rather Dean know he was a little jealous than for there to be some important guy in Dean's life that Sam had no idea about.

"Um... I think you're still a little punchy, man." Dean almost stuttered on the comeback. So either he was lying about something really big, or Sam was totally overthinking it and had just been hallucinating earlier. Both seemed plausible unfortunately. "Just keep moving."

Sam followed Dean quietly, going through a few scenarios in his head. If Dean was with another guy...Sam was pretty sure he would've noticed by now. Although lately, with the weird chunks of time he couldn't remember, there might be a possibility. Sam just couldn't see it.

The hallway opened up into the main room and Sam scanned for clues automatically, letting his mind still wander. He was thinking about Dean and his flirty personality, the way he came onto people without intending to. Maybe it was someone who was interested in Dean, bug who Dean considered just a friend. Or, possibly --

"Why haven't you moved in?" Dean interrupted. Sam started at the question, shooting a surprised glance over at Dean. Where in the world had that come from?

"Is now really the time for this, Dean?" Sam was pretty sure never was the right time to talk about this, but he could attempt at the in-the-middle-of-a-case excuse.

Because truthfully Sam didn't want to have to face this. He'd already spent too much time today mulling it over and now Desn wanted to just chat about it?

"Well, just asking," Dean said, dismissing Sam's excuse entirely, so apparently I don't wanna talk about it wasn't going to cut it.

They had literally just gotten past the marriage thing this morning and now Dean was trying to shove more labels on Sam. Apparently, husbands was a no but having a cozy little home to call their own was super important?

The hell did Dean even want from Sam anyways? It felt like the gravity in the word home was so intense coming from those embonpoint lips. Like Dean meant it as so much more than a building with walls and a functioning kitchen. Sam just...he had to think this all through now?

He didn't even know what the hell "home" was supposed to mean. He'd never even lived in a place he'd called his before. Dean had, so Dean knew home. At least, that's what was written all over his face right now.

"Look, I never had what you had with mom and dad, okay?" Sam could remember bits from their shared heaven, the way it had been in Lawrence before the fire. Mom, all crusts-cut sandwiches and Dean's room with little you cars and a mini race track and a crib with finger paintings on the walls and the smell of homemade pie in the oven. Dean had had that, (semi) functional parents and four years of normalcy. Sam had never even known anything close to that.

"What are you talking about?" Dean sounded almost offended that Sam brought them up. Sam was pretty sure Dean liked to think that he didn't hold on to that idea, but Sam knew him and he knew that's exactly what this was about. What else could it be about? Dean and his constant need for what used to be. They were never going to be that. They couldn't even be comfortable with the label of marriage, how were they supposed to have a home?

"I don't have any memories of home. And whenever I've tried to make a home of my own, it really hasn't ended well." There wasn't a building in Sam's life that just magically made him feel better by walking in the door. He'd tried to feel that way about places, but the very ground beneath his feet felt temporary, how was just another of a thousand places supposed to be the end all to beat all?

"Yeah, but a lifetime of abandoned buildings and crappy motel rooms. I mean, this is about as close to home as we're gonna get, and it's ours." Ours.

There wasn't a lot that was theirs, as a couple, but Sam didn't feel like he needed anything like that. If Dean did, fine, but that wasn't Sam's thing.

As close to home? Home was supposed to be comfort and consistency. The only even remotely consistent thing in his life was his brother and a car. There was no piece of land that felt like it was Sam's. . Dean was his, and the impala was Dean's, and the three of them were basically all Sam had ever known. That was his comfort, not this cleaner motel that had a functioning kitchen and a stocked research facility.

But it didn't stop pestering him. Sam couldn't stop thinking about it, the entire case. Maybe he just had a different definition of home than Dean did. Home is where the heart is, right? So if Dean wanted a home with four walls and a kitchen and a garage, that's where is heart was.

Safety, plenty, a place for Baby. But for Sam, maybe it was the car. His body felt the most comfortable in shotgun, looking over at the beautiful boy driving next to him. So couldn't home mean so much more than just...the bunker?

Sam felt like he belonged in shotgun of that car, but the more he thought about it the more he realized it wasn't just the car. He had felt a little displaced when they drove other cars, but it wasn't like he was lost. Still comfortable, still familiar with the yellow lines disappearing under the wheels.

So maybe the open road was his home? Except that Sam never felt that way when he was driving alone. Wait, if he never felt that way when he was driving alone, then...did that mean...? It finally dawned on him with that thought.

So what if maybe home wasn't a place for Sam? Not even really the car of his childhood that had followed him into the rest of his life. Could home be... a person?

Sam looked around their newfound garage, where Dorothy and Charlie and Dean were all talking, and his eyes lighted on the smiling green-eyed boy. Dean shot him a glance, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes exaggerated in the garage's lighting.

If Dean was his home, Sam had never truly been homeless.

"Baby looks good in here, huh?" Dean turned to Sam, smiling and eyes searching for the agreement, the confirmation that they were good. Sam glanced over at the sleek black paint, parked prettily for display. She made Dean smile, so she was perfect.

"Not bad," Sam grinned. The car was a part of his home too. Their home. Something they got to share that was theirs now.

But maybe that's why Dean loved the bunker. It was theirs too, and it had never been Dad's. It was new and just for them, no hand-me-downs or old memories to contend with. Just opportunity, a million places and things to make their own in the space. Sure, the Men of Letters had lived here, but not for fifty years. It just wasn't a run-down passalong that Sam had been so used to his whole life. He'd been looking at it like that, but it really wasn't if you took a step back. That had to be why Dean called it home. Subconsciously, at least.

But as romantic as the idea was, it was easier just to not get attached. So much easier. But Sam couldn't stay that way forever, not really. He'd never cared about a place before, never cared about much else besides Dean. But maybe he could expand his emotional value a bit. What would it hurt?

To embrace it, to accept the fact that he had a place that was his. Theirs.

Home.

As Dean and Charlie walked back over to join them, Sam caught himself watching his brother again. He wondered what Dean would think, if he asked Sam about "home" and Sam told him the only home he'd ever need was in those green eyes.

Dean would probably punch him in the arm and call him a girl.

"Not bad for a bunch of librarians. You mind keeping an eye on my bike for me?" Dorothy turned to Dean, a smile on her previously harsh face.

"Yeah, yeah, as long as you don't mind me taking it for a spin once in a while." Sam raised his eyebrows. Dean, on a bike? That would be damn interesting. He definitely had enough leather for it...well damn. Sam might have to personally thank Dorothy for that.

"Deal. Thank you for everything. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a rebellion to finish." There was a twinkle on her face as she said it. For a girl who claimed not to want a home, she sure was eager to get back to hers. Maybe she was like Sam, had been scared off by the word and the implication that it meant settling down. But Sam had been thinking, and he decided home could be anywhere, anyone. They both had homes after all, didn't they?

Dorothy turned to Charlie, the fire in her eyes matching the smile on Charlie's lips.

"So, you coming or what?" Well, that was a curveball. By the look on Charlie's face, she thought so too.

"What? With you? To Oz?" Charlie was on the verge of fan girling and she hadn't even processed what Dorothy's question meant yet.

"Yeah. You said you were looking for adventure. Well, here it is, Red. Come help me find my damn dog."

Dean looked back and forth between the two grinning girls, concern all over his face. It was like that dad in the movies who was always trying to get his daughter to not leave the house for fear she might run off with her tattooed boyfriend.

"You have no idea what's in Oz. I mean, t-there's flying monkeys, armies of witches. There's all kinds of danger." Sam had to repress a smile at the little speech. Charlie didn't both repressing anything, her entire body just lit up instead.

"Promise?" She said it in a way that would make it impossible for even Dean Rh shoot her down. This was her chance, her shot at finding the life she wanted. Maybe even a home.

She nearly bounced off the ground as she hugged Dean, her entire body radiating with energy and excitement and all the things to come. When she came to him, Sam hugged her tightly and quick, knowing he couldn't pin down that cloud for long. Besides, she could come back and see them. Because this world, the bunker, was a complex part of Charlie's home too.

"If you need anything, just, uh, tap your heels together three times, okay?" It was probably an inaccurate part of te book, based on Dorothy's smiling eye-roll, but it got the point across.

"Me? What about you crazy kids? You gonna be all right without me?" Charlie didn't wait for an answer, just smiling at them instead. "Take care of yourselves, boys."

As the doors swung shut behind them, closing away the green rolling hills and shining yellow brick road, Sam could swear he saw Dorothy grab Charlie's hand. They were in a good place. And Charlie finally got her magic. Sam had never even hoped for something that great for her.

They pushed the doors back open, and Sam was half expecting to see the yellow brick road still in sight, but instead there was just a dark, unexplored empty tunnel that led out of the garage to the outside world.

Sam could feel the energy rolling off Dean, the pleased and reminiscent way he was looking into the empty space.

"Think she'll be back?" Dean asked wistfully.

Sam turned his head, catching the impala in his peripherals, the bunker all around him, and his beautiful brother standing in front of him.

"Of course. There's no place like home."

Dean looked up, a hopeful smile on his face. Sam returned it and Dean's broadened. He didn't say anything, he could tell just by looking at Sam. Something was different now, having said it out loud.

Sam had a home. He had a brother, and something so real between them that they didn't have a name for it. In heaven, Ash had said soul mates. It was the closest word Sam had in his vocabulary, but there was still nothing quite like the way they were.

Home. Dean was exactly where Sam's heart was.


	17. Chimerical (Dog Dean Afternoon 09x05)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: so this is absolutely the kinkiest shit I have ever written ever.
> 
> Bondage and leashes and orgasm denial and some strange form of consenting torture that i don't really know how to describe but seriously it's the dog episode how could I not write a kinky chapter.
> 
> (There is also some really cute fluff at the beginning, so if you want to skip over the really kinky shit, you can just stop reading as soon as you see the three stars *** I put in there. Just, forewarning. Promise there won't be any super major stuff you miss if you skip, or if there are some major plot points I will put them in the next chapter as well.)
> 
> Seriously, this is kinkier than like 96% of the stuff I've read (plus I've never been into the whole pet!play thing but this might be considered that idk) besides that one fic about the tentacles but we're not going to talk about that.
> 
> So i know this is an extensive warning but I figured better to be over-warned than to be shocked and run away from my fic forever, especially if you've gotten this far.
> 
> I promise I won't be offended if you skip the second half of this chapter. If you read though, I guess enjoy?

Soft footsteps sounded over the little plinks of cereal falling into the porcelain bowls, probably Sam walking down the hallway to the kitchen. Dean still couldn't quite believe that they ate their cereal out of porcelain now, but there was a lot of benefits to having a home. He smiled to himself, tipping the cereal box back to its upright position and setting it on the table. Home. And now that Sam identified it as that too, it felt validated somehow. Like it really was their home just because that's how Sam saw it too.

"Morning." Dean turned his head over his shoulder, grinning at the groggy-looking Sam standing in the doorway. Then he was turning back to their simple breakfast, grabbing the milk he'd brought to the table and pouring it into the two bowls.

Two heavy warm arms wrapped around Dean's waist, soft pieces of hair brushing the back of his neck as warm air ghosted under his ear, Sam's lips pressing gently to the sensitive skin there. Dean closed his eyes and leaned back into the touch, making a low pleased sound in his throat.

"Morning," Sam murmured into his neck. Dean sat down the milk cartoon and placed his hands over the arms wrapped around his waist, running his thumbs over Sam's sleep-warm flesh. Sam pressed another soft kiss to Dean's neck. "How long was I out?"

"'Bout eight hours," Dean replied softly, his chipper mood at seeing his brother slipping back to the peaceful quiet of the morning.

"Again? Man, you must tire me out quite a bit." Dean smiled at Sam's words, tilting his head back against Sam's shoulder to see his face. Their eyes met and Sam's mouth curved up a bit in response. Then Sam closed the last few inches between their mouths, both of their bodies twisted a little to make the position possible. Dean took a moment of Sam's lips over his before he let his eyes drift closed, kissing back slowly and lazily, like it was barely dawn and they were still tangled up in the sheets.

Sam's arms tightened a little around his waist, possessive and encompassing in their warmth. Dean moved his mouth in time with Sam's, lips sliding and just slightly damp. He ran his fingers over Sam's arms, tracing the path they circled around his waist, fingertips light and cataloging the moment.

They pulled away from each other at the same time, lips dragging apart and eyes drifting open to meet and look at each other for a moment or two. Dean's slight disbelief and sated happiness was reflected in the hazel's looking back at him. Sometimes everything felt so perfect Dean was afraid it wasn't real for a moment or two. When Sam was nipping his teeth over Dean's chest and shoulders, the sharp reminders of Sam made it all more feasible, but the sweet, slow moments in the morning were almost chimerical.

In the few seconds they were frozen looking at each other, inches apart and lips tingling from breaking contact, Dean was almost expecting a love you out of Sam. They were both quiet though, letting their silent communication say everything they needed to.

The arms Sam had around Dean slid off, tracing backwards on the path they came. Dean lifted his head off of Sam's shoulder, his hands falling off of Sam's arms and his gaze cutting away, fighting to keep the warmth off of his cheeks. He was not going to blush after a girlie moment staring at Sam, no way. Sam's fingers hesitated for just a moment on Dean's hips before they were gone, Sam stepping to the side and pulling out Dean's chair.

Dean opened his mouth to complain about Sam stealing his spot when Sam gestured a hand at the pulled back chair. Oh. Dean did blush this time as he sat down, not used to the whole chivalry thing. Still. He'd scooted Sam's chair out for him plenty of times, and Sam had for him as well, especially recently, but it was still weird. Dean figured he'd get used to it eventually. Or maybe not, maybe Sam would always surprise him and make him blush.

Sam sat down in his chair, at the corner from Dean, legs tangling up as soon as Sam scooted his chair in. Dean slid Sam's bowl of cereal - more milk than cereal, the weirdo - at him, pulling the properly-portioned bowl towards himself. The number of times Dean had made Sam cereal in his life was probably about the same number as the stars in the sky. Sam still complimented it though, thanking Dean for making it "correctly." Although Dean didn't see how drowning out the little puffed circles was at all "correct" but he'd given Sam enough shit about his food preferences to last a lifetime, so he kept his mouth shut this morning.

"You know, Kevin's been up in Branson for a couple of days. You think I should go get him this morning?" Dean said between spoonfuls. Sam's foot repositioned tighter around Dean's ankle.

"Yeah, the kid's probably gotten himself plenty of alone time. He could use a little family and home." Sam didn't put any weight on the last few words, making them sound natural out of his lips, like he'd said them a hundred times before. He hadn't, but Dean was just glad he was saying it at all. Sure, Sam had made the point that they were eternal and bound to each other, but the fact that they had a place they were tied to, it just made everything in his life feel less shifty. Like no matter where he went, he had a place to come back to. A person to come home to.

It was like those boys in the war, how they'd get themselves a sweetheart before they left, just so they had motivation to come home. Someone to write to, someone to fight for. And Dean had all of that now, even if Sam was fighting at his side. Well, not literally, they weren't hunting yet. Dean just figured he'd give Zeke time to heal Sam, no reason to make it any harder on the guy. The faster they could get back to just Sam, the less worried Dean would be everytime they stripped down. It was just that, knowing someone else could be potentially watching all the time...it was intense. Dean wasn't sure he liked it. At all.

But he also couldn't turn away the 6 foot 4 and a half inches of gorgeous that was always reaching for him. So he had to compromise, had to throw Zeke to the back of his mind and just let Sam touch him, let the layers of clothes fall away and pray that Zeke was far away from Sam's eyes and senses. He wasn't sure how Zeke could not notice between the crazy sex life they'd had recently, but he still held onto the vague hope the angel turned a blind eye.

The thought of the word angel flit an uncomfortable feeling inside Dean's chest. No. He wasn't going to think about that, he'd been doing a fairly decent job of throwing aside all of the thoughts that had been threatening to tear him down. Dean wasn't going to end up in shambles again, not when it was all his fault this time. Although there was no way he wouldn't always be haunted by the look on Cas's face when Dean told him he couldn't stay. The utter despair, the shocked broken-heartedness Dean knew all too well. How could he even have done that to--

"Dean!"

His head snapped up, eyes focusing back in on the spoon hovering over his bowl, tipped to the side and dripping milk back into his bowl. Sam was looking at him with his eyebrows furrowed, worry etched into his features and his hand holding tightly onto Dean's forearm. Dean blinked a few times and sat his spoon back down, not meeting Sam's worried eyes.

"Sorry, just...you know. Zoned off." Dean didn't like talking about it. He didn't get so out of it very often, but between all the shit that happened in their lives, it happened sometimes. They were both pretty used to it by now, but that didn't keep Sam from looking at him like he was a china doll.

"You okay?" Sam asked with faux-disinterest after he removed his hand from Dean's arm, trying to make the whole thing less of a big deal with his nonchalance and the way he asked the question to his bowl instead of Dean's eyes. Dean breathed out, immensely grateful they didn't have to talk about it. Sam knew him so goddamned well.

"Fine, yeah. You good if I go pick up Kevin right after this?" Dean dipped his spoon back in his bowl and fished out a few more pieces of cereal, actually not pouring them all back into the bowl this time.

"Yeah, that works." Sam shot him one last worried glance, apparently decidedly satisfied with the way Dean wasn't staring off into space anymore and didn't appear to be breaking down in a fit or an anxiety attack anytime soon. It wasn't like Dean had been having Hell or Purgatory flashbacks or Sam Dying flashbacks, it was just thinking about Cas. Not that that was any easier. Just easier to hide the pain.

But Dean was not thinking about that. About him. No, just about Sam getting better. As soon as Zeke healed Sam and left, Cas could be invited back and Dean could beg for forgiveness at his feet. Sam just needed to take it easy, and all of Dean's problems would fix themselves.

So when Dean got back from his trip picking up Special K (a very hungover little Asian profit as it was) and Sam suggested a hunt, it was only natural for Dean to be surprised and quite against the whole thing.

"Well, uh, I got something that's gonna get us back on the road." Sam had looked up at him with an excited grin, and all the shit and trouble they had right now just came piling down in Dean's head. He plopped down in the chair next to Sam, hoping this wasn't what it sounded like.

"A case?"

"Yeah," Sam said, sounding like Dean was crazy for thinking otherwise. Sure, they'd left the bunker a couple of times in search of Cas and the hunters Abaddon had snatched, but other than the witch (which had been in their house anyways) they hadn't gone on a legit case since like, before the trials. It had been a while and there was a very legitimate reason for that. Maybe like how Sam was dying for more than half that time. And now was trying to un-die. So, really, a case was not as axiomatic of a plan as Sam made it sound.

"You sure you're ready for that?" Dean asked, trying to ask as casually and not-obvious as possible. Sam still looked at him all flummoxed.

"Why would I not be ready for that?" I don't know, maybe because you were in a coma a few weeks ago?

"Aren't you kind of running on empty?" Dean said instead. It was a lame excuse and one Sam could probably talk his way out of. Because if Zeke was doing his job, Sam would think he felt fine when in fact the only reason he was even conscious right now was because there was celestial juices pumping through his veins.

"Yeah, but the last three nights straight, I had eight hours of shut-eye. For a hunter, that's like 20." Okay, well that was true. Dean had been taking Sam to bed early lately, wearing him out with a good twenty minute lay and then letting him sleep in the next morning, making breakfast for the both of them. And Sam did look better, so either Dean's or Zeke's methods were working. Maybe both. "Trust me, Dean. I feel good."

"Well, that's great and all, James Brown, but you're still recovering from the trials. I think you ought to pace yourself, you know? And the sooner you heal..." Dean trailed off, thankfully catching himself before he said anything stupid. Although it'd have been nice if he'd caught himself earlier, so he didn't get that stare. Sam was looking at him expectantly, and Dean could feel his argument slipping away. It's not like Sam even knew he had been in a coma.

"Yeah?" He prompted. Dean chewed his lip. This was so damn difficult. This is why Dean told Sam everything normally. Secrets this big just build up messier and messier.

"I just want you back to your old self." At least that wasn't a lie. The only problem was, Sam had no idea he wasn't his old self.

"I am, Dean. Look, Kevin's back on the heaven spell. Crowley's locked up. We should be out there doing what we do best." Dean was pretty sure best for everyone right now was the two of them continuing on their path of laziness in the bunker so Sam could get better. Because seriously. But Sam looked so damn eager...

There was a time in Dean's life that he would've killed to see Sam wanting to hunt. Trying to convince Dean to hunt. Using psychological arguments like "it's what we do best" to get Dean back on the road. But now, Dean was dragging his feet and it was exactly when he had anything he could have ever wanted. Except a brother who was nearly dead and possessed by an angel, that is.

"Yeah…" Dean said, still not convinced. It was what they should be doing, but Dean really didn't wanna risk it. It just seemed like so much could go wrong. Hunts were dangerous for trained hunters, let alone half dead, post comatose little brothers who thought they were invincible.

"You want to listen at least?" Dean was going to respond to that question, but he didn't have the time because Sam didn't wait for an answer, just barged on and told Dean the breakdown of the case anyways. "Okay, great. Taxidermist named Max Alexander mysteriously crushed to death. Nearly every joint in his body dislocated, every bone broken. Poor guy is a human pretzel. You tell me what's got that kind of strength."

"A demonic luchador?" Dean suggested, making sure he didn't sound with the enthusiasm he knew Sam was looking for.

"Shop's a couple hours away in Enid, Oklahoma. We should at least check it out. Unless there's some reason you think we shouldn't." There came those hazel eyes again and that stubborn line of pretty mouth, guilt-tripping Dean into something he knew Dean couldn't resist.

He could think of a lot of reasons not to go, all of which started at Ez and ended with ekial. But none of them were reasons he could bring up to Sam.

Sam just looked at him, hair curling around his ears and making gentle swooshes over his forehead. Eyebrows raised, defiant look on his face. Just waiting for an excuse from Dean and in full Lawyer-Mode to shoot Dean down if he found one. Dean wavered for just a moment, searching his head for anything that sounded even barely legitimate.

He deflated in his chair, sighing loudly and exaggerated.

"Yeah, we can go. Guess there's no reason not to." Sam's mouth curled up a little at the edges and he closed the laptop on the table.

"That's what I thought."

"Oh shut up and get your stuff in the car." Sam laughed at that and stood up, scooting his chair back and waiting for Dean to stand too. Dean eyed him warily as he got up, scooting in both their chairs. Sam was still waiting for him. But he should be packing...

Dean opened his mouth to tell Sam to get a move on when his brother was suddenly up in his space. Dean tilted his head up to keep eye contact, expecting a kiss or another snarky comment or something, but Sam just smiled. And grabbed Dean's hand. And started walking. With Dean's fingers squished between his.

Thankfully he managed to dodge the chair and step up in time with Sam, wiggling his trapped hand a bit as he was forced to walk beside Gigantor.

"What is this - could you not -"

"What, so you'll go ass up for me in seconds but I can't hold your damn hand?"

"Walking around the house?? Why?"

"Why not?" Sam smirked down at him and ran his thumb over the outside of Dean's. Dean made a face at the reminder that Sam's hand was in the dominant position. It was because Sam had grabbed his hand, so he'd made the decision to be the guy, over the top and leading Dean along with their fingers entwined. And Dean was pointedly ignoring the assup comment because if he pretended it didn't exist than it didn't happen and Sam totally did not say that.

"You are such a damn girl," Dean complained, needing some retaliation for the fact that he was in fact the girl when they held hands. Which they really didn't. Like, ever. Not when they were walking.

Sure, sometimes they entwined fingers in bed and such. But that was totally different, that was like a sex thing. Not this, this - coupley shit Sam had just initiated. Sure they were basically more of a couple than most couples ever dreamed of being but Dean was a man he didn't hold hands, especially not as the girl. But apparently he did. Not without grumbling though.

He finally fell into stride with Sam, relaxing his hand a bit into the big fingers encompassing his. He was not going to say this was nice. Not even going to think it. And when he made a grateful mental note that the hallways were wide, it was just a grateful note in general, it had nothing to do with being able to hold hands with Sam. Which was new. And weird. Why the hell he'd randomly chosen today of all days, Dean had no idea. But he went with it. Even if he was calling Sam a girl in like every way he could think of under his breath.

Which actually made Sam's eyes shiny and bright with laughter at his side. So not too many downfalls to this. Not saying Dean liked it.

Although when they reached Dean's room and Sam's hand started to slip out of his, it was a little depressing. Just...because they had to go separate ways to pack is all. It had nothing to do with Sam's fingers sliding out from between his. Which Dean should really do something about. He was highly considering not, he was pretty sure he was being girly enough right now to start a movement, but at the last second he had to do it anyways.

Just as Sam's touch disappeared, Dean grabbed for his hand again and pulled Sam in, making him stumble as he fell onto Dean's chest from the surprise of the sudden tug. Dean strained on his tiptoes and pressed his lips against Sam's, puckered and just as damn girly as the hand-holding, maybe more, but Sam kissed him back. A thick arm snaked around Dean's lower back and supported him up higher, taking some of the weight off of his calves as Sam semi-lifted him into the kiss. Okay, yep, this was pure girly ridiculous fluff abort mission abort mission.

Dean broke his mouth off and fell back to flat-footed, shoving at Sam's shoulder and making a face. Sam laughed and leaned back in, kissing Dean's cheek.

"Get away from mee," Dean whined, trying to escape into his room. Sam's arm was still around him though and he tugged Dean closer, very much against his will. Dean squirmed as Sam kissed his cheek again, rapid fire this time with these stupid and sappy little pecks that covered the side of Dean's face. Dean wrestled away from Sam in protest. "Stop being such a girl!"

He finally managed to escape, twisting out of Sam's arms and ducking his head to avoid the mouth that was mobbing his face, darting into his room and slamming the door shut as quickly as possible. Dean leaned against it, breathing heavy from the exertion of getting out of that ridiculously sappy situation that Dean could not believe had even just happened.

"I hate you!" Dean shouted through the door. Sam laughed, clearly leaning on the other side of it. Dean could picture it, the two of them back to back with solid white wood in between, both listening for each other's breathing and picturing exactly what kind of smile would be on the other's face.

"No, you love me." Sam's voice was cocky and confident and smiling. Dean could just see him, lit up like a firework. Dimples in full swing, eyes bright and smile wide enough to break things, his whole muscular body soft and shaking with laughter. So what if Dean grinned at the thought of that Sam.

"Go pack your damn bags," Dean retaliated ineffectively, his voice having lost what bit of attempted annoyance he might have feigned. They were both just grinning like fools now, although these whole past two minutes had been damn crazy. Dean was pretty sure he heard Sam blow a kiss from the other side of the door, then his footsteps were echoing down the hallway to his own room, soft laughter fading into the distance with them.

Dean breathed out a sigh, leaning his head back against the door. This was freaking ridiculous. He was so far gone.

~*~*~*~*~

"You mind showing my partner around? I just got a couple questions for Mr. Stephens." Dean looked at the cowboy-hatted sheriff, raising his eyebrows pointedly. The sheriff didn't seem to argue.

"Okay. Come on." The sheriff headed into the next room, Sam following behind him. His partner. Dean really liked saying that. A lot more than he should like saying it. We're more than that. We're partners...

"Dave Stephens?" Dean asked, approaching the guy leaning against the counter. He looked a bit like Ash might have if he'd ever had the chance to grow old and lazy.

"Yeah," Dave responded, even sounding a bit like the old roadie.

"I just got a couple questions for you if that's all right." The interrogation was the same as every other, prodding questions that wouldn't seem too suspicious, showing a bit of sympathy for the friends of the vic. Although this place was fucking creepy as hell. All the animals all over the walls...Dean never really got the taxidermy thing. It was just weird.

Apparently, Sam thought so too. He caught Dean's eye over Dave's shoulder, holding up one of the weirdo specimens. It was squirrel, dead and stuffed full of some sort of fluff that made it upright, wearing a...what was that, a dress? With a really freaking large bow. It looked weirdly familiar, like- oh god, that was a Game of Thrones squirrel. What the hell.

Sam made a mocking face, holding it up like it was actually not the freaking weirdest thing Dean had seen in months which was saying a lot with his job of business. Dean made a vaguely disgusted face back at him before he remembered he was supposed to be interrogating a man who was standing right in front of him and could clearly see the face he was making at Sam. He turned back to Dave, feigning interest and concern for what the man was saying. Really, he was just hyper aware of the greek god in the other room who had been driving Dean crazy all day. And the little animal eyes all over him, Dean was hyper aware of those too.

As soon as Sam came back into the room, Dean didn't bother with any more formalities with the sheriff and Dave, needing just to be by Sam's side right now. So what if it wasn't professional to not share information with those already on the case, the local cops would survive.

"Excuse us," Dean said with barely a glance at the other men standing there, practically attaching his hip to Sam and walking beside him a little ways away.

"So?" Sam asked when Dean hadn't said anything. He snapped back into reality, forcing his head back to the case. Right, the case. That's why they'd separated themselves. Not just so they could be alone again. Dean shook his head, clearing his brain back into something that would make sense. He usually wasn't this distracted, but there was something about Sam today that was driving Dean a little crazier than usual. He shoved it aside for now, there wasn't much he could do about it til the case was over.

"Okay, so, uh..." It took a few seconds but Dean managed to gather his thoughts up. "We got a thief who's jonesing for animal parts, we got a pagan symbol, and we got a human pretzel."

"Yeah, it all sounds very witch-y, but I wasn't able to find a hex bag," Sam said thoughtfully. He either didn't notice Dean's lack of focus or just didn't mind. Maybe it wasn't just Sam, too. Maybe it was this weirdass place that was making him shiver. He glanced around the shop, deciding Sam was a much better thing to look at than the stalking animals.

"All right, well, let's keep digging." Sam nodded and shifted his shoulders to turn back around, probably to look for more clues, but Dean had to get out of this place because seriously no. "But, uh, not here. I don't like the way that one's looking at me."

Dean glared at the owl, the way it's gigantic yellow and black eyes made Dean feel like dinner for the stuffed little thing. Sam was probably looking at him like he was crazy, but Dean tugged on Sam's elbow anyways, pulling him towards the door. The animals watched them on their way out. They had never said farewell or even thanked the cops, but whatever. Feds could be deusches, so they probably wouldn't overthink it too much.

Although most feds they saw probably didn't open the door for each other and constantly have a hand connecting them somewhere. As soon as the graffiti'd door shut behind them, Dean's palm pressed against Sam's lower back. The curve there was warm and familiar and Dean wanted to touch Sam all over and just this one place that was radiating heat was making it so much harder than when he wasn't touching Sam at all. The material of Sam's suit was nowhere near as smooth as bare skin, but Dean managed to refrain from slipping his arm underneath Sam's jacket. Somehow.

When they got back to the car, Dean reluctantly drew his hand back, physically exhaling a sigh at the distance that would have to be between them. He had no idea what was up with him today, it was just. Something. Once Dean reached the driver's door, he looked up over the hood at Sam, who was still standing there. He was looking at Dean curiously, eyebrows furrowed and head cocked a little to the side. Even the look on Sam's face right now made Dean want to go over there and just kiss him until they couldn't breathe anymore.

"You cool?" Sam asked, his hands clasped over the hood of the Impala and his face dotted with concern. Dean pursed his lips and looked at Sam for a moment. He could take this a few ways, although he really just wanted to say Yeah, I just really wanna kiss you right now. He cleared his throat, studying Sam's mouth for a moment. He was genuinely concerned about Dean.

"Yeah, I'm cool." Dean shot a small smile at Sam over the car and opened up his door, sliding inside before he could say something more. This was the first case they'd been on since before the trails, and Sam was actually excited to be hunting. The least Dean could do was not pull Sam aside every three seconds to makeout in an alleyway.

Sam was in shotgun a few moments later, his face still a little drawn with concern. Dean started up the engine, the radio spilling out a quiet Whitesnake song. Dean turned up the knob a bit, singing along to David Coverdale under his breath. He was pretty sure he didn't have this album - he actually didn't own any Whitesnake albums - but this song was pretty good. Even if by the time it got to the chorus and Dean was singing a little louder, Sam was looking at him like he should be checked into a sanitarium.

Normally, Dean would shrink away and pretend he hadn't been singing in the first place, but today was not a normal day for god knows what reason and Sam had flipped some switch in Dean's head this morning because his hand was suddenly on the radio knob again, turning it up a little louder.

"I'm comin after you, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do-o-o," Dean drummed his thumbs on the leather steering wheel, looking over at Sam for the next chorus. "I'm goin straight for the he-ea-art, gonna drive you craaazy. Goin straight for the he-ea-art, gonna drive you insa-a-a-ne."

This song always reminded Dean a little bit of Van Halen's "Jump" but whatever. It was a bit more peppy than most of the music Dean listened to, and it fit his mood exactly for today. By the time Dean looked back over at Sam, Sam's eyebrows were in arches on his forehead and his mouth was curved up just a little at one corner, his cheek barely shadowed by the impression of a dimple. Wow, he was adorable. Dean had to force himself to tear his eyes away and look back at the road. Crashing the car would be a major dampener on Dean's weirdly nice day.

By the time they reached the motel, Sam had stopped staring at Dean like he was crazy at least. There was still a glimmer of laughter in his eyes, but that only made him more attractive. Dean pulled the key from the ignition, the music falling silent. His head turned to shotgun, mouth already open to ask Sam something when Sam's door opened, the broad shoulders twisting out of the seat beside Dean's. Dean closed his mouth, watching Sam's body get out of the car instead.

He followed Sam into the motel, eyes still on him as Sam shed his jacket and draped it over a chair, rolling up his sleeves and headed straight for his laptop. Dean made his way over to the table, taking off his fed suit jacket too and looking over at Sam as he typed away. Sam glanced up at one point, raising his eyebrows again. Right, yeah, Dean should be researching too. Not just watching Sam and wishing he was touching him. Right...Dad's journal. Yeah, Dean could look up some stuff there.

He turned his back to Sam, unfortunately, and started digging through his duffel. Dad's journal was in here somewhere. Right as Dean's fingers closed around the familiar leather, Sam was speaking up again. And it was right back to the case. Which Dean should be a lot more enthusiastic for than he was being right now. He was just enthusiastic about other things. Which shouldn't be a problem.

And it really wasn't - a problem, that is - until Dean decided to go bottom's up with canine juice.

Because what he'd been feeling all day? Yeah, that was nothing in comparison to what was starting to pump through his veins now. He seriously was going to come to regret those words.

"All right, I'll do it," Dean reached for the glass Sam had just poured the liquid into. "You – you got enough on your plate."

"Like what?" Sam asked annoyedly. Dean did not want to find out what happened when you mixed angel + dog-mind-reading, but it couldn't be good. Plus, Zeke would probably not be grateful that Dean was messing with experiments and spells with the body Zeke had been trying to heal. So yeah, there was definitely enough on Sam's plate right now. Even if Dean couldn't say exactly what.

"Uh, like... you're tired. You're on the mend. Okay? Plus, you – you've got a sensitive stomach. Last thing we need is you chucking this stuff up. Huh?" That was actually a totally true point. Dean had held Sam's hair back while he hurled enough times in his life to know that a sensitive stomach was so not the type that should take experimental spells.

Sam just scoffed at him, giving him the signature little-brother look that said he hated to admit whenever Dean was right. That was all the confirmation and agreement Dean needed. He looked down at the reddish liquid in the glass. It looked like some strange form of alcohol. Dean could totally do this. Especially if it meant Sam didn't have to.

"Doesn't look so bad." Dean turned the glass bottom-up, the red liquid covering his tongue and throat. It was like he was chewing on moldy rust, mixed with rotten juices from rat intestines. It took every ounce of willpower not to just spit it all out, but he was a hunter and he was not going to be taken down by one drink. He sat the glass back down with a smack of his lips, looking back up at Sam. "I was wrong."

As if the taste wasn't bad enough, the aftertaste was bubbling up in his throat, burning a little. Dean shuddered against the taste and gestured a hand at Sam. He had to get this spell over with now because holy shit that was disgusting. "Come on."

Sam handed Dean the book with a skeptical look on his face. Dean cleared his throat, not like that helped against the taste because that was still just as disgusting. He focused on looking down at the book, reading off the Latin words. A little slowly. Okay, a lot slowly, but Dean was always a little self-conscious about reading Latin in front of Mr. Latin-Chief, especially since Sam had already read this passage because he'd originally planned to do the spell. Which means Sam had also probably translated the whole thing and memorized it. So yeah, Dean went slow because the last thing he wanted was to mess up and have Sam correct him. Or just sit there and quietly judge him.

"Deila hér me. Dag eru nou rar vitur orum." Well, it sounded like adequate Latin to Dean. And Sam wasn't laughing at him, so it couldn't be that bad. Dean turned to the dog that was stretched out on the floor, thinking this was going to be one of the strangest things he'd done. He'd seen Cas talk to a cat once, but it hadn't been very efficient. Hopefully this would go a bit better than that interrogation had. Because damn, it was a good thing Cas had his looks sometimes, his hunting methods were a little-

But Dean was not going to think about that. Or Cas. At all.

"All right. Let's get this party started. Tell me everything you know." The Colonel looked up at him and yawned. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Dean snickered and looked over at Sam, who had bitch-face #17 on. The one that was a mix between "really, Dean?" and "I totally do not have time for this shit." And maybe there was a bit of "This is why I take the experimental potions around here." Dean just pursed his lips. Fine, whatever, Sam didn't have to laugh at Dean's pun. Dean thought it was funny.

"Tough crowd."

The dog beside them barked, a loud snapping sound that made them both turn their heads. Wait. That was just a bark. A normal, everyday sort of bark. Dean looked over at Sam and shook his head, confirmation that it was just a bark to him too. Damn. They both looked at the dog for another moment, but nothing monumental happened. So Dean had this disgusting taste in his mouth for nothing. Great.

"Alright, I need food. Something to get this taste out of my mouth, ASAP." Dean made a face against the still-lingering rusty taste on his tongue. Sam shrugged in agreement and scooted his chair back from the table.

"I can go grab takeout, you stay here with Colonel just in case the spell starts working." Sam patted Dean on the shoulder as he walked by, a brotherly pat that had Dean biting his tongue and glaring a little at the door as it closed behind Sam. He really did not want to be stuck here with the dog while Sam went and got food. Especially because it meant Sam was gone. Which wasn't cool.

Dean got out of his chair and went to fiddle with the radio, finding a station that was playing Classic Rock's biggest love songs. He hummed along as Axel's whistling to Patience filled the background noise of the room. He wasn't a huge Guns 'n Roses fan either, but this song was pretty good too.

Sam thankfully wasn't gone long, although Dean may have been a little overly enthusiastic when Sam walked back in the room. Someone must have slipped something in his drink this morning or something. Because he was definitely surprising himself. And Sam too.

As soon as the six foot four and a half inches of muscle walked back through the door, bag in hand, Dean was up from his chair and placing a kiss on Sam's cheek. Sam drew back in surprise, looking over Dean concernedly. Dean just smiled and took the bag, sitting back down before Sam asked him any questions. He seriously needed to tone his head down a few notches. Because he was totally being a girl. Really, a cheek kiss? Really? What was he, three?

Sure, he'd been checking Sam out all morning but he hadn't been acting on it. Something was wrong with him. Because what had been just an overly aroused morning was turning into a needy disaster. Dean shook his head, trying to clear out the itch in his bones to touch Sam. It didn't help. So he grabbed a burger out of the bag instead. Wow, that smelled way better than Dean was anticipating. It smelled damn delicious.

He was vaguely aware that Foreigner had taken over the radio in the background, I wanna know what love is humming in the background. Sam sat down across from him, shooting him one more concerned glance before taking his share of food. They should talk case. Anything besides Sam and the way Dean was dying to get all that skin under his tongue. Ugh.

"So, call Kevin," Dean suggested. The music was turned down pretty low, but Dean could hear it surprisingly well. Sam wasn't complaining, so it couldn't be that loud, but still. He could hear it really well.

♪ A little time to think things over ♪

"Spell tasted like ass and was a bust." Although it didn't taste like ass as in ass, just the expression. Not that Dean liked to admit he'd tasted ass before, but he was in a relationship with a man, so. Although Dean didn't really like to think about that either. Sam didn't count. And neither did Ca-

No.

Not thinking about that.

Dean took a big bite of his burger instead. This was fucking delicious. Especially the meat, for some reason. The bread tasted a little funny, but it was so worth it for the beef.

"At least it didn't affect your appetite," Sam said, his face set into judgy-mode. "Geez."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, looking down at his burger. If anything, it made him hungrier. Not that it was actually the drink that made him love this burger so damn much, but still. He normally didn't eat this quickly, but it was like there was no reason for eating slow?

"Change the station," a voice interrupted. Not Sam's voice. What?

Dean looked down at the dog. It sounded like it came from the dog. The music piped up again in the background, loud and somehow not overpowering. It was like his head had a new equalizer in it. Weird. ♪ I better read between the lines ♪

"Change the station," The voice repeated. Yeah, the Colonel was looking right at him. And it sounded like it was coming from that direction. Change the station...as in the radio? As in the cheesy love song playing in the background at lunch with the guy he was into? It couldn't be Dean's conscious, because that wasn't going to change a love song for him and Sam's lunch. Dean kinda liked listening to love songs with Sam. Not that he'd ever say that...

♪ In case I need it when I'm older ♪

"What?" Dean asked the voice. Maybe he'd heard wrong. Maybe it...was it the dog, then? It had to be the dog. Colonel sure was looking at him with a face that said change the station, it might be his voice too. Did Dean...did the spell work??

"What?" Sam asked, confused. He hadn't heard the voice. That meant-

"You – shut up. It's working!" Dean had almost said you didn't hear that? but of course Sam didn't hear that. How could he, he hadn't taken the spell. Dean was actually reading a dog's mind right now.

"It – go!" Sam gestured at the dog, his voice just as surprised and excited as Dean's. Dean faced the dog again, feeling a little dumb to be speaking human to it when it wasn't, but whatever.

"Say that again."

"You call this classic rock?" Colonel scoffed. "Next thing you know, they'll be playing Styx."

So dogs understood music? And classic rock? And Styx?

"And Dennis DeYoung? A punk," The dog complained.

"Dennis DeYoung's not a punk. He's Mr. Roboto, bitch." You do not mess with Styx. Or any of Dean's favourite artists, for that matter. Especially since you are a dog and therefore you opinion on Classic Rock is EXTREMELY IRRELEVANT.

"Why are you arguing with the dog?" Sam interrupted. "About Styx?"

It was just like Dean to get to talk to animals, and the first thing he does is call the dog a bitch and argue about music. That was so Dean. And quite unhelpful to the case, actually. Dean shot him a look, like he was going to argue with Sam about this too, then he turned back to the dog. Thank goodness. And actually asked a relevant question.

"Wh– uh, yeah. Um, hey, boy. What were you trying to tell us about Cowboy Hat?" Dean looked down at the dog. Who looked back at him. Sam couldn't hear a thing. But Dean was looking intently, like he totally did.

"And the pothead, too?" Dean asked. It was like hearing only one side of a phone call conversation. Which meant Sam had virtually no idea what was going on. And knowing Dean, he was given the opportunity to inter-species communicate and he'd be asking all the wrong questions. This is why Sam should have taken the spell. But whatever.

"Ask about the cats." Sam suggested, tossing his rolled-up food wrapper in the garbage can.

"Yeah, uh –" Dean reached behind him and picked up Sam's wrapper, putting it back in front of Sam without looking at him. "And what about the cats?"

Why the hell had Dean just...Sam had thrown this away? He held up the food wrapper, shooting an annoyed and flummoxed look at his brother.

"I don't want this." Dean didn't pay him any attention, looking straight at the silent dog instead. There was a few seconds of silence, then Dean made his thinking-face.

"Huh." Sam felt so out of the loop. Dean was doing a crummy job translating.

"So, what's he saying?" Sam prompted, tossing the wrapper towards the garbage can again. He missed. Damn.

"Uh, that the – the guy," Dean picked up the wrapper off the floor and tossed it across the table to Sam again. What the hell. "He smelled like ground chuck and soap suds and old-lady cream."

Sam didn't even bother commenting on that. He held up the now twice-discarded food wrapper. That was two times that Dean had given it back to him without a glance. Seriously, what the hell.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked, his voice as stern as possible. Dean scratched his head and glanced at Sam briefly, his words a little confused but dismissive. No, Sam was not letting this go as a matter of fact.

"I don't know." He sounded a little desperate at least, like he was as out of the loop about this as Sam was. And just as Sam thought it couldn't get any weirder? The dog runs up to the window, barking at the mailman, and Dean followed. And fucking barked at the mailman. Sam kind of sat there in shock for a bit before it all sunk in.

Retrieving the ball Sam had attempted to throw away, scratching behind his ear, barking at the mailman. Dean was....Dean was a dog. Sam wasn't even sure what to do about that. Dean looked just as surprised as Sam had been when he realized it. But it made sense, that there were some side effects to talking to animals. The question was just what in the world do they do about it now?

After a call to Kevin, with some assurance that the spell and side effects would (most likely) wear off, Sam figured they might as well just let it play out. They needed it for the case, and so if his brother acted weirder than normal for the duration of it...fair enough. Sam could handle that.

Although, Dean had been acting weird before he downed the dog juice. Ever since they started this case, Dean had been a little more flirty than usual, and Sam kept caught him looking him over. Then he'd kissed Sam's cheek when he brought back food, which was more concerning than Dean barking at the mailman. Although that had been after...so did that mean that the spell was going to make Dean exhibit puppy love for him? Unless...unless Dean saw Sam as his master. Good lord this could end up interesting.

Dean as a dog was losing a bit of his filter. They were in public, in a parking lot with people, and Dean couldn't keep his hands off of Sam. He'd cursed at the pigeon, then suddenly reached out and grabbed Sam. Sam had looked at him, surprised. Sure, Dean wasn't entirely against doing things in public except that he normally totally was. Sam glanced him over, having no idea what was going on because Dean was only the worst translator ever.

"What?" Sam asked, surprised at the sudden grab in this very public place, shaking Dean's hand gently off of him. Seriously, not necessary. Then Dean was turning to the Colonel again. And all three of them - the dog, the pigeon and Dean - had some sort of conversation that was escalating because Dean was getting more and more obviously upset. Okay, now would be a really good time for Dean to include Sam in their animal chatter.

"What's he saying?" Sam asked, not liking how Dean was handling this whole thing. There was a reason they did cases together, and Sam still had no idea what was going on.

"You – he's being a douchebag!" Dean looked up at the bird on the light post, his entire body in a fighting stance. Over a pigeon. And Dean's rough translation of attempting to explain this all to Sam was basically useless because Sam still had no idea what was going on. Just that Dean was getting more and more upset. With a bird. "Oh, shut it, you winged rat!"

Sam turned over his shoulder, where there was a man and a woman watching the whole scene with wide eyes. Great. So much for keeping a low profile in this town. It was kind of hard to get in, get out, don't be memorable when your brother was yelling curses at a pigeon. Yeah, not exactly the best thing for the case. Or ever, really.

"Dude." Sam put his hand on Dean's arm, holding him gently in a slight attempt at calming him down. Dean actually responded to the hand Sam had on him, turning to him and snapping.

"What?" Dean sounded pissed as hell. At a pigeon. Sam couldn't help but snicker. The greatest hunter of all time, getting into an argument with a pigeon in a parking lot and blowing their cover that way. This new dog-version of Dean was trouble but it was also pretty amusing. Even if he wasn't telling Sam anything.

"Hey," Sam said over his shoulder politely, sounding as apple-pie regular as possible as he waved at the man and woman watching them. Nope, nothing strange here, my brother isn't yelling at a pigeon. We're good and totally normal. Gosh, this whole dog thing was going to be work. Although...it was a good opportunity for Sam to test out his theory a bit. Dean was going to think of him differently as a dog, and if he considered Sam as a master...then he was going to listen to Sam, right? For once in his life, ever. So Sam turned to him, using their proximity to enforce his order a bit, his hand still gently touching Dean. "Just calm down. Just get in the car."

Dean turned on his heel instantly, headed for the passenger seat with his head down. If he had a tail, Sam was pretty sure it'd be tucked between his legs. So yeah, maybe Sam's face lit up in a smile of victory. And amusement at the whole situation. But Dean had just obeyed him faster than any other time Sam could remember. So if that meant Sam got to be master...

Then suddenly Dean was rounding the corner of the Impala again, gun drawn and aimed up at the bird, shoulders set like it was a Wendigo instead of a pigeon.

"Oh, that's it, you son of a bitch!" He aimed and thank god Sam had been watching him because he leapt to Dean's side, grabbing his gun arm and slamming his body against the side of Dean's, wrestling the arm down and using his weight against Dean to gain the upper hand in control.

"Dean!" Sam scolded, trying to ignore the tight press of Dean's body against his. Dean's ass was pressed against Sam's hips for a moment as he turned, but Sam managed to survive it somehow. He used the control he had over Dean to push him towards his side of the car again, barking another direct order. "Get in the car."

Dean grumbled but went, head down again, into shotgun. Sam waved at the parking lot, a tight smile on his face. Oh shit, that could've gone badly. Although Sam was really not going to complain about Dean following his orders. He had all sorts of ideas for that. Dean was already a sub anyways, but they could totally play that up. Hell, Sam may even get Dean a collar. Actually, that was a good idea. Sam liked that idea. It was kinky as fuck but Dean was literally playing fetch so Sam had to use it to his advantage in some way, right?

~*~*~*~

Dean was doing his best to focus, he really was, it was just that there was extra stuff in his brain right now and it was making everything pretty damn difficult. He was ridiculously horny right now which was so not helping anything. The poodle outside the kennel had been fine but that was nothing compared to the way Sam smelled right now.

Everything about Sam seemed intensified lately, but that wasn't even the worst of it. The worst part was how every time Sam said something, this little click went off in Dean's head and he just did whatever Sam said. It was like...he had to, almost. Like his entire being radiated with the need to please Sam. Anything to please Sam. And he just smelled so damn good--

Dean cut himself off, shaking his head. He couldn't help it though. And when Sam was giving a belly rub to that bitchy Yorkie...Dean was not jealous. At all. Even if it was the best damn belly rub she ever had. Dean could see that though, because god knows Sam had appeal and those hands could work magic. It wasn't like Dean wanted Sam to touch him like that, except that there was a tiny part of him that really did.

If he'd been checking Sam out before he downed the spell, Dean was panting over him now. And there was this twinkle in Sam's eyes like maybe he'd noticed. Maybe he knew. He was acting a little suspicious, too. As soon as Dean freed all the trapped and caged dogs from their kennels, they were walking back out to the car when Sam shot him the weirdest look. Dean raised his eyebrows, scratching behind his ear and cocking his head in question of what that look meant.

"If we head down to the restaurant at dark, we still got a few hours to kill. I gotta go pick something up, you wanna take Colonel back to the motel? I think there's a fenced-in dog-run in the back." Dean looked down at the Colonel, who panted back up at him.

"Works for me, Chief. I could use a little grass right now. Been walkin all day." The German yawned after he spoke, looking over at Sam.

"Yeah, Colonel said that's cool. So, I'll meet you at the motel, then?" Sam nodded and got in the car, leaving Dean to walk the few blocks back to their motel. He and the Colonel could use a walk anyways.

They walked for a bit in silence, both enjoying the light wind that ruffled their hair. It was kinda nice, walking a dog. Peaceful, but it gave you an excuse to walk in the streets without looking like you were attempting to be Lance Armstrong. It gave outdoor exercise a purpose. Too bad they couldn't get a dog.

Wow, Dean never thought he'd say that.

It was about a block and a half of white picket fences and bitchy cats before the Colonel broke the silence, looking up at Dean as he spoke.

"So, Chief, that master of yours, he always been that way? All belly rubs and leave the dog in the car stuff?"

"Sam? Yeah, he had a dog for a while but I guess he's just as oblivious as the next guy. Wait...master? Sam's not my master." Dean looked down at Colonel like he was crazy. Sam was his brother and that whole "brother's keeper" thing was an old expression, and even if it wasn't Dean was pretty sure no part of that translated to master. Because master meant power and control and everything that Dean really pretended Sam had none of over him. He was looking at Colonel with wide eyes, because seriously that would mean some crazy shit if Colonel thought Sam was his master. Because he wasn't. The Colonel looked unfazed, eyes following a squirrel scampering up a tree. Damn, if only they'd gotten there sooner, they might have gotten to go on a chase.

"You sure about that? When he tells you to do something, this switch go off in your head? Do you got this itchin urge to please 'im all the time? You rather be with him than anyone else in the world?"

"Well, yeah, I guess, but that's not...does that really make him-"

"Yep. Sure does, Hoss." Colonel licked his nose and sniffed at the air. Oh wow, there was barbecue back there. What Dean would give for a taste of that. It smelled almost as good as Sam did. Wait. That's right. If Sam was his- was he really? Because that was just too damn ironic. It made sense and all, but seriously was that even necessary? Dean didn't want a master. Well, the dog part of him did. It was just that Dean's goal had always been to make Sam happy, Sam had always been the most important thing in the world to Dean. But in dog world, that all translated to master. Damn. At least Dean had an expert to help him.

"So, Colonel, is that what the smell thing is too? Is that related to the whole master thing?" The Colonel looked up at Dean again, his face written with confusion. Wow, Dean could actually tell apart expressions now. He was getting better at this.

"Smell? As in...oh shit. Nope. Hate to break it to ya, but you're in heat." Dean froze in the middle of the sidewalk, Colonel yanking to a surprised halt as he ran out of leash, the rest of it tangled in Dean's clenched hand.

"In heat?? What? Isn't that a girl-dog thing?"

"Not always. Just means your sex drive is goin crazy. And if there's someone particular who's scent you've caught onto, just means you wanna bang 'em is all. Well, a lot more than if you weren't in heat." Dean started walking again, eyes wide as his feet took him numbly in the direction of the motel. This whole thing was turning out so much messier than Dean had been anticipating.

They passed another cat and amazing-smelling backyard in silence as Dean was still trying to process.

"Aren't you two together anyways?" Colonel asked as they rounded a corner. One more block left.

"Me and Sam? I guess, I mean we-" Dean cut himself off as he realized he was getting stared at. A group of teenage girls were walking out of the gas station, and had heard him talking to Colonel. Which, from their viewpoint, meant talking to himself. Great. Dean sent a fake smile their way and waited a few more steps, til they were out of earshot, before he spoke again.

"Anyways, yeah. We're together. Although that still feels like a weird thing to say out loud. I mean it's different when I'm with Sam, but...wait, how'd you know?"

"It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. I could smell you on each other. Even a pigeon could see it though, you guys look at each other the way I look at steak."

"Wow, steak sounds really good right now."

"Oh yeah, you gotta have it man. There's nothing like a steak when you're a dog."

"I bet." They'd reached the motel, and apparently Sam was pretty observant because there was a little fenced in area around the side. "You cool with being in here by yourself? We probably can't take you on the investigation with us, either."

"Yeah, I'm good Hoss. You go have fun with your master. Oh, one tip about doggy style-"

"Colonel! No way we're talking about that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just messin with ya. See ya in a bit, Chief."

"You be good." Dean closed the gate behind the German Shepard, sure to remove his leash first. You couldn't run around with a long piece of string hanging around your neck.

Then Dean was walking back to the room he and Sam were sharing, shaking his head. Today could not get any more strange. Except it totally just did. Because apparently Dean's brain thought Sam was his master, and he was apparently more sexually attracted to Sam than usual. Which felt like it might be impossible, since Dean's sexual desires were usually pretty intense, but. This was more of a hormone thing. It was like he had to have Sam or he was going to explode.

***

Dean could tell Sam was in the motel room from five feet outside the door, just by scent alone. Although the Impala was parked back in her spot, so that was a pretty obvious clue, too. Speaking of which, where in the world had Sam gone? He'd just been all mystic then disappeared. Said he had to go get something. Only Dean had no idea what. Which was a pretty rare occurrence.

The door was unlocked as Dean tested the handle, letting it swing open as he stepped inside. First thing he saw was Sam, sitting at the motel table, which was right there, his body about three feet from Dean’s. Wow, Dean seriously was about to just jump on him because damn. He was doing something with his hands, messing with something sitting on the table. There was the crinkle of a store bag, a strange twist on a very familiar smell…what was that, leather? But not the Impala or Dean’s jacket leather, it was different. Weird.

The lock slid into place with a flick of Dean’s fingers, then he was crossing the few steps over to Sam, his head almost dizzy with the sheer proximity of that smell. It was just Sam’s regular scent, but it was so strong Dean’s eyes threatened to water. Well, his mouth was a lot more likely to water at this point. It was just pure instinct that had Dean bending down behind Sam’s chair, hands placed on the sides of the strong chair back, mouth just drawn to Sam’s skin automatically.

His teeth closed softly over the lobe of Sam’s ear, tugging at it gently as his tongue flicked out and wet the skin. God, Sam. A quiet sound escaped Sam’s throat and he tilted his head to the side as Dean tugged at his ear. He’d never really gone for this part of Sam before but it was the quickest way to set out the invitation to play. Because Dean was all down to get rough and dirty. He released his teeth, running his tongue down Sam’s neck, behind his ear, licking a wide stripe across the delicious skin.

“Doggy kisses, Dean?” Sam asked, his voice teasing and low. Well, yeah, technically Sam had a point. Dogs did lick things to give kisses. Which Dean totally understood because it sure got a lot more Sam in his mouth than puckered lips did.

“Mmhmm. What did you go get?” Dean nuzzled his nose against the crook of Sam’s neck. Mmm, he smelled so delicious. Another stripe of wet tongue had to follow because Dean was never going to get enough of Sam. He felt entirely insatiable right now.

“It’s for you.” Sam finally spun around in his seat, arms reaching behind Dean with a flash of something black, then Sam’s fingers were on his neck and Dean leaned into the touch. Wait, what the hell was that? Dean’s eyes shot open at the touch of something metal and cold against the back of his neck. Something snapped into place and there was something rubbing weight against Dean’s neck. Sam sat back with a shit-eating grin on his face. The smell of leather was stronger now, although it was kind of a nice scent. Dean reached up two fingers tentatively, touching at his neck. His fingertips met leather, which followed all the way around his neck in a circle. A circle. Holy fuck.

Dean’s eyes went so wide he was pretty sure he looked like a cartoon. He opened his mouth to speak, which shifted the leather across his throat. He lost his words for a moment, unable to say anything at all and just looking at Sam. Sam was still grinning, although now it looked like he was also trying not to laugh. He had - Sam had — Dean had to be dreaming. There was no way he’d actually —

“Did you get me a c-collar?” Dean managed to get out, fingers still tracing along the leather. The cold metal in the back was the clasp, which had a little metal loop attached to it. Probably for a leash. God, what if Sam had gotten a leash too…but seriously, a leather collar? Sure, they’d messed around with a few initial-carvings in blood and ghetto handcuffs made out of someone’s belt, but this was a legitimate leather collar. This was so much kinkier than anything they’d ever done and they hadn’t even talked about it. Just, one second Dean was kissing the back of Sam’s neck and the next second he was in a fucking collar. He didn’t even have time to process how he felt about it.

“I did,” Sam’s voice was low, sexy. "I figured since I’m your master and all—“

“Wait. You know about that? How did you — Colonel couldn’t have said anything. How…” Dean just trailed off, looking at Sam’s smile.

“Dean, it’s not that hard to figure out. You do exactly what I say.” Sam narrowed his eyes a bit, then scooted his chair further from the table, turning so that his body was facing Dean. The way he was eyeing Dean was making him nervous. Why was Sam giving him that look —

“Sit,” Sam said sternly, pointing at his lap. Okay, there was no way, that was humiliating as hell—

“Good boy,” Sam cooed, stroking the back of Dean’s head. Dean looked down. Are you fucking kidding me he was sitting in Sam’s lap. Wow. Just, wow. He had not given his body permission to do that, what the literal hell. “See, it’s not that bad.”

“Screw you.”

“No, I think I get to screw you,” Sam whispered the words tight in Dean’s ear, his hot breath ghosting over skin and making Dean shiver. On the last word, Sam gave a tug to the metal loop on the back of the collar, jerking Dean’s head just a little. And it was entirely 100% the dog spell that made him whimper. Fucking fuck that collar was hot. The zipper of his jeans was much too tight all of a sudden and Dean squirmed, his mouth parting in response to the drag of cotton across his erection. The squirming readjusted him on Sam’s lap, making his ass suddenly quite aware of a hard heat pressed against it. Okay, that was it.

Dean tilted his head back and moaned, rubbing his ass over Sam’s hard on. Which got him another yank on the collar. This was simultaneously the most embarrassing and hot thing he had done in his life. The amount of control Sam had over him right now should scare him, but all the blood his brain should be thinking with was being used by his downstairs brain and the whole thing just felt fucking hot.

“S-sam,” Dean started. There wasn’t a lot else he could manage out right now. His whole body felt like it was on fire, he just needed Sam so badly. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt before. And it felt like maybe Sam should have some sort of warning about everything that was happening right now in his head, in his body…

The hand that had been petting his head stilled, tilting Dean’s face to the side so Sam could see his eyes. His eyebrows were stitched together with worry, the other hand that had just been feeling up Dean’s thigh now wrapping around it protectively. Sitting here in Sam’s lap, being held and cradled in like Sam owned him, wearing a damn leather collar…it was all a lot.

“Dean, are you— is this okay?” Sam’s fingers wrapped underneath the edge of the collar. He looked so concerned, like he was afraid he’d crossed the line. But Dean had been just about to cross some more.

“No, I mean yeah, Sam, I’ll survive with being your…pet.” Dean grinned at the last word, running his hand over Sam’s chest. Hey, if Dean was in this position he might as well play it up. Don’t say there was nothing Dean didn’t do 100%. “It’s just…you should know. I’m kind of- um. Really fucking attracted to you right now. Like, the whole dog thing makes me just want you so damn bad I…just don’t hold back. Okay? I’m good if you’re good.”

Sam scrutinized him for a second, looking over Dean’s features, probably verifying his words with his facial expressions. Then Sam was rotating his shoulders around, grabbing something else from the table. Of course. He’d gotten a damn leash, too. Dean swallowed, the sound of the metal clipping together behind his head making him close his eyes. God, what was he getting himself into. No self-respecting man would let it get this far. Who the fuck was he, this ridiculously pitiful sub that just rolled over — fuck, another dog pun. Once this dog thing was all over if Dean heard another pun that had anything to do with animals he was going to shoot something.

But seriously, here he was, Hunter of the Week and being shackled up - not even kinky BDSM which could at least be a bit respectable - but as a beastiality role play. Dean Winchester, the man feared by everything that creeps and crawls, made into an obedient little pet for his brother. In a collar and leash, sitting in Sam’s lap like a damn stripper. He wasn’t sure when his life had taken this turn but a few years ago if someone had told him this is where he’d be, he probably would have killed them. For assuming they were possessed by a very creative, particularly nasty brand of demon. Because this could not seriously be his life.

“I’m going to make you beg,” Sam growled, pushing Dean off his lap. Dean was disoriented and in the middle of thinking, so it was only natural he fell on his hands and knees. Just when he thought he could not stoop any lower, here he was. A sharp smack to his ass made him yelp, then Sam was tugging at the leash, pulling Dean to him on the floor. There were a couple of towels down on the floor that Dean hadn’t noticed earlier in the overwhelming enticement of Sam’s aroma. The terry cloth was rough beneath his hands and knees, but better than the disgusting motel floor. This motel was pretty clean in comparison to some, but precautions were always good. And clearly Sam had already planned on this going this direction, them screwing on the floor, because he’d freaking set up for it. Dean tucked his head down and groaned. Sam was gonna be the death of him.

Another sharp tug at his leash and Dean was rolling over onto his back, stretched over the towels and looking up helplessly at Sam. Sam had the leash curled around his fist a few times, making it short the way you did with bad dogs. Dean had to close his eyes again.

Sam’s hands rucked up the hem of his shirt, blunt nails scratching lines over Dean’s stomach. Fuck. Sam’s fingernails etched red lines over his abs, tracing down to the top of his jean's hem and dipping down under. This was like 800 times better than a belly rub, it made his eyes flutter and his stomach tighten, his dick twitch painfully against his jeans. Dean grabbed at Sam’s wrists, his hands desperately asking Sam to strip him.

Instead, he just shook Dean’s wrists loose and leaned his head down over Dean’s stomach. Dean craned his neck to see Sam, but the moment his wet tongue licked up one of the red lines his fingernails had made, Dean threw his head back and whined. The wet cooling sensation over the heated red marks was tripping his brain out. His hands grabbed for Sam’s head, trying to get at least a little control of the situation before he came in his jeans from this alone. Sam lifted his head and yanked at the leash, sending a ripple through Dean’s body. Dean dropped his hands back to his sides, cowering a little under Sam’s warning glare. Apparently Sam wanted him fucking helpless. Well he was doing a pretty good job of that so far.

He squeezed his eyes shut again as Sam lowered his head back down. This time Sam sunk his teeth into pieces of Dean’s flesh, nipping and biting his way up to Dean’s chest. Dean had to clench his fists into the towels to keep from grabbing Sam. The nips got interchanged with tiny puppy licks, tracing up as Sam rucked Dean’s shirt up higher. Just as Dean figured he might explode, Sam ripped Dean's shirt off over his head. It got tangled between the leash and Sam’s hand for a moment, then Sam freed it and tossed it aside.

Soft wisps of hair framed Sam’s face as he looked down at Dean, his eyes hungry and his mouth smirking. Dean looked up with desperate, wild eyes. swallowing past the collar that lined his neck. This didn’t even feel fucking real. Then Sam’s tongue was tracing over the shape of his lips and Dean darted his tongue out to try to meet Sam’s. Sam just continued his exploration with his tongue, licking at the corner of Dean’s mouth before finally pushing inside. Sam’s tongue licked across the inside of his mouth too, kissing him, claiming him. He paid no attention to Dean’s efforts to kiss him back, just dragged his tongue over Dean’s like he owned every inch of him.

Once Sam’s tongue was done with Dean’s mouth, Sam traced the wetness over Dean’s jaw, leaving a cold trail all the way down Dean’s neck, over his collarbone, pausing at his nipples to tease them perky and hot. Dean thrashed his head as Sam’s tongue ran over the line of his jeans, teasing the light fine hair leading down. Sam jerked at the leash again, forcing Dean to still.

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean breathed, moaning as Sam’s teeth worked at his zipper. Sam paused and lifted his head up at Dean’s words. Then he was up in Dean’s face, crowding his space and yanking the collar tight.

“Master. You call me master.” Sam’s voice was dead serious and Dean tried to swallow, the collar pulled too tight for him to even speak correctly.

“Sam, c’mon—“ Sam yanked harder at the leash, cutting off Dean’s air supply. Okay, there wasn’t room to argue about this. Once the spell wore off Dean was going to hate himself for stooping this low, and Sam was probably going to tease him for the rest of eternity, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options. It was like 98% the spell talking, but Dean managed to choke out the words anyways. “Yes, master.”

Sam released the tight hold he had on the leash, loosely wrapping it back around his hand as Dean gasped in air. Then Sam was back to torturing Dean, lifting the hem of his jeans and tugging down the zipper, just to be sure it didn’t snag on the tented cotton underneath. He tugged Dean’s jeans down his legs, wrestling Dean’s boots and socks off before he pulled the jeans off over his feet. Dean had to bite his lip to keep from crying out as Sam’s tongue traced up the inside of his thigh, spreading Dean’s legs wide. Cold air hit Dean as Sam lifted his hips up with a hand on his lower back, tugging his boxer briefs down in a swipe. Sam tossed those aside too, looking down at Dean's body with hungry eyes. Dean squirmed a little impatiently, a little uncomfortably under the daylight and Sam's eyes and the cold axiomatic nudity.

"Fuck, Dean. Look so good for me, all tressed up with nothing but a collar on," Sam murmured, his eyes still running over Dean's skin. His words were breathy and they made Dean groan, wish he could just grab Sam and drag him down but remembering his clear orders not to reach for his "master." This was the craziest thing he'd done. Naked on a towel on a dirty motel floor, collared with a leash and calling his little brother master. Yep, this wins the crazy list. They could have the most vanilla sex in the world for the next year and Dean would still be calling Sam kinky.

"Sa-...master. C'mon," Dean complained, not whining yet. And definitely not begging.

"That wasn't very convincing, Dean."

"You seriously gonna make me...fine. Get down here, master," Dean smirked and then Sam was tugging the leash again, spinning it around like a tie and pulling Dean up as he got in close, making their faces inches apart. Dean's eyes went wide, his hips shifting and doing everything in his willpower not to buck against Sam.

"You will do as I say," Sam threatened with his low growly voice. "Understand, pet?"

Dean held his breath, looking up at Sam's eyes. He was not exactly in a position to argue. And as much as Dean would like to pretend otherwise, Sam was basically the dominate figure in bed. But was Dean really going to stoop that...this was Sam. Sammy, who Dean had bottlefed. Who had walked in on Dean having sex with a hundred girls. Sammy, who had Dean's body memorized, knew what every flick of facial expression meant. If Dean couldn't trust Sam, he couldn't trust anyone. Sam would take care of him. Sam always did. And if Dean was doing this, he was good at everything he did. So this wasn't gonna be an exception.

He could do this.

"Yes, master," Dean whispered, his voice quiet and obedient. Maybe even a little apologetic. Sam looked at him for another moment, analyzing the quick shift in mood, then he was pressing Dean back to the floor, kissing him rough and dirty and wet. Dean arched up into Sam's body, the denim of Sam's jeans a bit unpleasant against his lower half. He didn't complain though, just kept silent and pliable as Sam started biting his way back down Dean's body.

"You gonna be good for me, baby?" Sam ghosted the words over Dean's cock, inches away and nearly breaking Dean's willpower to not buck up and force Sam to take some action. He just focused on the smell of the leather around his neck instead, groaning at the sensory overload.

"Yes, master," Dean breathed in response, his dick leaking precum onto his stomach. Sam's tongue darted out, touching Dean's abs and tasting just a drop of the pearly liquid. Dean had to close his eyes, the sight was so intense. A sharp tug at his collar had him whimpering and opening his eyes back up, watching Sam through the steady rush of arousal.

The skin on his hip was drawn in between Sam's teeth, the blood rushing and burning between the grip Sam had on his flesh. Dean had to cover his mouth with a hand to keep from crying out. He watched though, obedient as ever as Sam rolled Dean's skin in his teeth. The pain shot streaks of dark ideas through Dean's body, making his dick twitch on his stomach. Sam's teeth let go of the skin on Dean's hip, nipping sharp bursts of pain inwards on his V line. Sam's mouth stopped just before he reached Dean's erection, ghosting over it again and resuming his nipping up the other side of Dean's hip. God, Sam was a bastard. But Dean took it, somehow, and managed not to die by the lack of touching in the one place that had been dying for it.

"Roll over," Sam demanded, sitting up off of Dean's body. Dean pulled his shoulder up, turned his body to the side and let gravity take him the rest of the way over, landing on his stomach and wincing against the feel of the towel on his cock. A hand stroked down his ass, tracing the slope once before Sam pressed his thumb up against Dean's hole, sudden and rough. A strangled sound escaped Dean's throat but he tilted back a little into the unexpected touch. Moving his hips dragged his dick across the towel, which was not nearly lubed enough for that, but at least there was some friction there. His teeth sunk into his lip this time to keep the sounds from tumbling out.

"Ass up." A hand tapped his ass, a physical reinforcement of his brother's words. Dean folded his knees, lifting his ass up but keeping his arms folded on the towel, forehead resting on them. He had to have some sort of place to rest his head. God knows Sam had been teasing his body enough.

"You want this? You want me to eat out that pretty ass of yours, Dean?" Sam's hands traced paths from Dean's shoulders to his ankles, running two lines of shivers down Dean's spine and drawing more drops of precum to smear on his abs. There was no sort of friction on him now, as brief and unsatisfying as the towel had been at relieving any of the tension coiled in Dean's stomach. It was getting to the point of a little painful, having so much tenseness in his body and not the slightest indication at properly relieving it.

"Yes, master," Dean managed out again, his words punctuated by a groan. The paths running down Dean's back stopped over his ass, two huge hands grabbing his cheeks and spreading them apart. Dean moaned into his arm, feeling filthy and ridiculously turned on. The tiniest stripe of wet pressure traced a line over his entrance and his hips bucked forward involuntarily at the movement. The hot breath disappeared, along with one of the hands on his ass. Then fingers were spinning the leather collar on his throat, turning it so the loop the leash attached to rested at the top of his spine. Sam straightened the leash out, letting it trail over the ridges of Dean's spine and rest the last few inches curled at the imprint above his ass. It was in the perfect place for Sam to tug on if he needed it.

"Tell me how much you want it," Sam's low voice encouraged. Dean shifted his hips backwards in answer, his breath hitching at the feeling of Sam's breath on his entrance. There was a hard pull at his collar, the silent command that Dean's answer wasn't good enough. He closed his eyes and breathed in, the scent of Sam and leather surrounding him everywhere.

"Master, I n-need it. Need you. Inside me." Dean's words were cracked and full of breathy sounds, just from how riled up his body was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been teased his badly. Probably hadn't been. Ever.

Dean sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as Sam squeezed his ass, licking a flat stripe up Dean's entrance. Fucking hell. It was like Sam was making his entire body wet, the nerve endings were so damn sensitive to that tongue. Then the stiff tip of Sam's tongue drilled at his hole, wrestling in between muscle and pushing inside. Dean's throat let out a cry that almost didn't sound human. The slippery wet tongue sunk in deeper, Sam's lips closing around the outside rim of muscle. Dean was whimpering and moaning beneath Sam, fists grabbing into the towel and body rigid with arousal.

Just when Dean was pretty sure he was going to die, the pressure around his ass skyrocketed as Sam sucked at his hole, mouth encompassing and wet and fucking sucking the most sensitive place on Dean's body. Sam's tongue was fucking in and out of his entrance while his lips stayed pursed and busy around the outer rim. The sensation was so wet and tight and demanding that it overtook every sensory organ he had. Dean lost track of the sounds he made. He lost track of everything, his cock jumping and stomach coiling and entire body threatening to explode as he tipped dangerously close to the edge of orgasming.

"S-sam," Dean cried out, back arching and air escaping from his lungs. His head was about to explode from pressure, riding just on the edge, when suddenly a hand clamped down around the base of his cock and there was another sharp tug at his collar. Dean half-screamed half-groaned in frustration, his thighs shaking from the effort of holding himself up when he had so little control of his body.

His ass was wet and messy and open, spit dripping down between his balls and his entire body feeling exposed and wet and so damn close to coming he wasn't even in his right state of mind anymore. But with the grip Sam had on his cock, there was no way the tight coil in his body was releasing. The mouth drew off of him, swirling around the sloppy, opened hole one last time. Dean was struck to whimpering now, wetness gathering on his lashes from the sheer physical devastation of being so close and denied.

Sam kneaded at Dean's cheeks with his hands, probably just sitting back on his heels and looking at Dean, at the wicked mess he had made. The thought of that sight had Dean moaning miserably, his head still tucked in his arms. Dean was pretty sure this could not get any worse. There was nothing left he could do to horribly tease Dean, to draw him out to that edge and just keep him held there, pressure and tightness threatening to explode him. What he would give if that thought were true.

There was a slight pull at his neck, not a correction tug, more like Sam was just re-adjusting his leash. Dean groaned again at that word. His leash. Then the hand Sam had around the base of his cock guided it downwards, lowering it between his legs. Dean lifted his head off of his arms, ignoring the water clumping together his eyelashes. Just as Dean was about to try to figure out how to speak again, ask Sam what he was doing, Sam let go of the grip he had on Dean's cock, making it jump back up to his abs.

It happened all at once, the feeling of the replacement of Sam's clamping hand around the base of his cock with leather, the tight line that smacked over and pressed hard against his open asshole, the pull of friction against his tightened balls. It was a good thing Sam had a grip on his hips with both hands, because Dean's leg muscles gave out and he lost the ability to hold himself up anymore in the dizzying confusion and arousal rushing through his brain. He cried out and his dick jumped on his stomach, rubbing in the mess of damp and sticky precum already there. It took him a few minutes to get his head back in a place where he had a thought process, and by then he was already laying on his back.

His head was still spinning, and his hands were thrown over his head, wrists looped together loosely with what felt like a belt. His belt, actually. He closed his mouth on the sound he was making, his throat still vibrating out a moan. His brain functions were back enough in order to make sense of his bindings, although he had to close his eyes when he realized what it was. Sam had taken the leash and wrapped the hand-hold loop over his cock, twisting it once so it was a small enough hole to apply tight pressure and act as a cock-ring. Fuck. The worst part though, was that the leash was stretched over his spine, which meant it was pressing tight against the hole Sam had just worked open with his tongue, smearing the wet spit with a flat stretch of leather. The leash was just wide enough to spread his ass cheeks a little and keep his entire hole in constant active awareness, all of the nerve endings rubbing with leather at the same time.

The leash stretched over his hole was one of the most stimulating things Dean had ever had on his body, and it was unrelenting as hell. Sam had positioned it over Dean's ass just after it'd been opened up, so the leather was pressing enough to pucker parts of the muscle to the sides and brush over the even more sensitive muscles inside. If the rest of the leash wasn't squeezing the base of his cock, Dean would have come so hard and so fast he'd probably still be knocked out. As it was, the sensation had been enough to make him lose his touch with reality for a few moments, enough time for Sam to flip him on his back as he writhed and moaned, tying his hands up above his head so he couldn't interfere with the device.

And that was the final kicker, how the leather collar around Dean's neck was the key piece, keeping that tightness over his ass and around his cock and making him more simulated and unable to orgasm than ever.

A sound caught Dean's attention and he lifted his head, looking for Sam. The second his neck moved to lift, the collar shifted and the leash shifted and a shot of friction rubbed over his ass and balls and tightened around his cock even more and Dean couldn't help the girly cry as his head collapsed back down. His body was shivering from the restraints, and his mouth wouldn't stop making noises, falling from the cry to little whimpers. Okay, he couldn't move. Wasn't going to move. He was just going to lay here and take the friction and the tight press of the leather all over him and focus on not dying or exploding.

There was another sound, the scrape of a chair and the soft sound of jean rivets sitting on wood. Sam had pulled out a chair. And was watching him. Dean groaned at that thought, whipping his head to the side in the momentary forgetfulness and successfully managed to stimulate the leather on his ass all over again. The strap was rough on the sensitive parts it pressed against, but it was torture when it grinded and moved. After that cry had died back down into whimpers, Dean blinked open his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. He couldn't take this much longer or he was going to die.

"Sam?" The word made his adam's apple bob, his throat to move. The collar only shifted a millimeter, but that millimeter traveled all the way down the leash, rubbing a tiny movement over his ass this time. A shudder ran through his entire body, from his head to his toes. Dean couldn't decide if the big movements or the small ones were worse. But he shut his mouth anyways, determining that speaking had much less priority than not setting off that leather strip over his ass again.

There was silence for a few moments, and Dean could feel the weight of Sam's eyes on him. Burning into his skin, looking over his tied up body eagerly. Dean shifted his wrists curiously, checking how tight the belt was wrapped around them. Pretty damn tight. He could still get out if he had to, but it'd take a bit of work. And movement from his head and/or lower body, neither of which he was willing to risk.

"God, Dean." Sam nearly whined from wherever he was sitting, watching Dean torture himself with the most minute of movements. Dean took a deep breath, twitching as his contraption shifted from the throat movement. It took him a few seconds to readjust to it again, then he was focusing on how in the world he could breathe and talk without sending sparks of overwhelming arousal up his spine. If he breathed regularly, maybe a little on the shallow side, he was fine. As for speaking, if he was careful maybe...

"Fuck," Dean whispered, testing the movement of his collar with the most fitting word he could think of. Of course, his adam's apple moved and the leather fucked his open ass again and Dean was left wincing and trying to still the over-sensitization again. This was a pretty damn solid plan on Sam's part. He had no idea how Sam had thought of it, but it didn't matter. Dean was tied up, forcibly mute unless he wanted to send himself into a frenzy again. And he was so physically at his breaking point already, Dean wasn't sure he could take anymore.

Yeah, he had never had anything this intense before.

Even if Dean's brain wasn't more animalistic than usual, even if he wasn't in heat for Sam's scent or whatever, even if his dog-side hadn't imprinted on Sam as his master, this would still be the fucking craziest thing Dean had ever done. He was so damn turned on, to the point he didn't know was possible to survive. And when you added in all those other factors....yeah.

"You look so damn gorgeous when you're a mess, Dean." Sam's voice was growly, possessive. Dean would really like Sam to just get over here and fuck him because he was going insane. He could feel the grip he had on reality fading bit by bit ever since Sam snapped this collar on his neck. Dean was somehow, somewhere getting revenge for this because goddamn that leather strip was hot and wet and so damn tight on his ass.

He wiggled his wrists a little, a half-assed attemption at freeing his hands. If he had his hands, he could somehow figure out how to unravel himself from all this leather. Besides, there was a spot just behind his ear that was itching a ton. He'd ask Sam to scratch it, but if he managed to speak, he had quite a few more important words to say through the torture. Dean gnawed at his bottom lip, groaning as it worked his throat. And moved the damn collar. Again. He really couldn't do anything without leather-fucking himself, could he? Then that image was in Dean's head and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the new flush of arousal. Sam, fucking Dean's open and trembling ass with the edge of the leash, leather pushing inside the sloppy wet space but not nearly big enough to satisfy him, just enough to tease his walls and make him scream. But he'd need something bigger eventually, whore that he was, but Sam would take his sweet time, leaving the leash inside Dean as he stripped slow and prepped himself, making Dean watch him as he moaned on the constant, unmoving penetration prepping him for Sam...

"S-sam," Dean groaned, loud, his head thrashing again from the fantasy. The leash rubbed tight and hot against his wet ass, teasing the edges of his hole open a little further and making a flush of blood redden his dick from the wave of pleasure riding up his spine and making him shiver. The shiver just sent more commands on the leash, Dean's mouth falling open as his ass got another lick of leather grinding against him. There was a waterfall of sounds coming from Dean's throat, pitiful and helpless sounds, groans and moaning and whimpers and breathy attempts at sucking in air. It took another minute or two to calm his body down from the vibrations, falling into silence with a trembling bottom lip and the darkness of his eyelids as the only comfort. He couldn't do this. Dean could not physically take this any longer.

He was breaking.

With the inability to move, speak, breathe heavy without rubbing tight leather over his ass, he was left hopeless. Basically an invalid, dependent entirely on Sam. But on top of it all he was so turned on, riding that edge so close that every muscle in his body screamed for release. And Sam was just watching.

Dean's willpower and pride slipped from his grasp. There were no other options for him now. It was a flawless plan, impenetrable trap Dean couldn't get out of in this state and his body fucking loved it and his head was going fucking insane and he just needed Sam so badly right now, more than anything. And Dean would do anything to get him. Finally, entirely, broken.

And just like that, a flip switched. There was nothing he could do left, no more outs or attempts at escaping. His head had known there was only one way out of this since the moment he realized what it was. And maybe this moment shouldn't feel so damn substantial, but it did and Dean was going to have in embossed in his brain forever. Well, there was no way he was forgetting this anyways, but in specific this moment felt really damn relevant. Broken. Sam had finally won, finally broke him. And the dam Dean had been building up was going to bring a flood when it broke.

And that flood had better save him.

"Please Sam. Fucking please master, I need you. Please, please, please. I fucking want you inside me, fuck, just please, please. I'm begging you, please. Sammy, need you. Fuck me, please please fuck me Sam, god I just need you so fucking bad. Please fuck me Sammy, please." Dean begged, his voice pleading and practically crying. Finally giving Sam what he wanted. And meaning every fucking word of it. He'd been reduced to begging on his back, asking for it in every way he could think to, every single syllable that left his mouth fucking the leather leash hard against outer rim. His voice got louder, more desperate with every brush of leather. God, it was so fucking much all at once.

"P-please, Sammy. Please fuck me, please get inside me, fuck, Sam. Please." Dean gasped and his body shuddered, making him writher on the ground from the sensation on his ass. He was so far gone past broken, past sensible, he was a begging - nearly sobbing - mess on the ground for Sam right now and it did not get any more intense from here. The leash made him shake, which only moved it more, which made him shake more and it was this vicious cycle that was too far gone to just still into silence from here, he needed interference and where the fuck was Sam? Dean cried out, the unfamiliar word his last hope now. "P-please!"

Then hands were on him all of a sudden and Dean's hips were being lifted up off the towel and he was only vaguely aware of everything that was happening, his mouth still blubbering that word and his head still whipping back and forth, wrists straining to get free and his only sense of grounding, of reality was the warmth of those hands that were gripping his hips. The leather shifted again, getting tighter than it ever had before, and if Dean screamed he wasn't aware of it but it wouldn't have surprised him. The leather loop around the base of his cock that held the whole thing together was replaced with thick, warm fingers and the leather got tighter, tighter tighter, than it released from Dean all at once.

His lungs sucked in a breath, legs trembling and ass feeling raw and exposed and damn cold from lack of touch. He blinked open his eyes after the gasp, the water gathered on his eyelashes slipping down the sides of his face. His body was in shock for another moment as he processed that he wasn't tied to the nines anymore, that Sam was kissing next to his eyes, probably worried to all hell about the tears but Dean had no idea where those came from because he wasn't sad or hurt just really fucking turned on and at least his big mouth had stopped blubbering and begging like a prostitute. He could feel himself shaking in Sam's arms, and it was sweet and all that Sam was trying to kiss his face and make him feel better but really Dean would just like to fucking come at this point, particularly by Sam shoving that big dick of his in Dean's ass. So.

"S-sam, master, please. I need you to fuck me. Please." Dean turned his head to the side to dodge Sam's lips, his voice sounding a little less wrecked than before but not by much. Sam's one hand was still wrapped around the base of Dean's cock, which was probably sensible because Dean would be coming right now if those long fingers weren't stopping him.

"Kiss me first," Sam demanded, his voice slipping a little from the usual dominance. Maybe the sight of Dean being a total wreck and slithering on the floor like a damn snake had broke Sam a little too. Well, good, that made two of them. But Dean was pretty willing to oblige to Sam's request. Not like he had much of a choice in the decision, but there wasn't a time that Dean was ever going to not want to kiss Sam.

He opened his mouth and shut his eyes, waiting for Sam to connect their lips. The moment their mouths met, Sam's tongue was quick to follow. He licked at the inside of Dean's mouth and Dean ran his tongue over Sam's, tasting him all over again and moaning from how familiar it was. He ran his tongue over Sam's teeth, that dog part of him still wanting to use his tongue for kisses instead of lips. Sam just sucked Dean's tongue into his mouth, sucking on it like it was Dean's cock instead, trapping it between gentle teeth. Dean's hips bucked up against Sam's, his cock meeting bare, warm skin. That's why Sam had taken so damn long once Dean started begging, the bastard had been stripping off his clothes. So now Sam was naked and hovering over him and all those muscles that were pressed to Dean's were grounding and straightening out his brain little by little. Okay, Dean seriously needed to have his hands on Sam like, thirty seconds ago, at least.

He whined and shook his wrists, making a noise into Sam's mouth and trying to get him the message that he really would like to be untied. Sam ran his big rough hands up the undersides of Dean's arms, making him pant into the kiss. By the time Sam's hands reached the bindings on Dean's wrists and pulled the belt away, Dean was a mess and trying to press his entire body up into Sam's. The freedom of his hands meant that Dean was instantly reaching for Sam and running his hands up the flickering muscles of that back, trying to get closer to Sam, closer to that warmth and safety and damn salvation from his horny torture.

"You want me inside you, Dean?" Sam murmured against his lips, separating their mouths and making Dean gasp for air. He might not be tied up anymore, but he was just as damn desperate for Sam right now as he had been five minutes ago. So the response came easily now, with the way his cock was throbbing and his body was so damn tight he felt like a guitar string about to snap.

"Fucking please Sam, need you in me. Please, master," Dean said the last two words with as much desperation as he could muster. This was so not something he had ever done before, he wasn't a begger, not with words anyways. Occasionally he might dirty talk Sam, throw in a couple of "i want you"s and such, but nothing this desperate and needy and so damn real and honest Dean could write it on his gravestone. He wouldn't, obviously, there was no one outside of Sam who ever got to know that this had happened. Because seriously, any bit of manly dignity Dean had in bed was entirely diminished for at least a month. Probably a lot longer.

Dean's brain went back to the whole overfried thing as Sam lifted off of him, rolling Dean's entire body over with an arm. Two steady hands grabbed his hips and hauled him up, ass in the air. Dean planted his hands and ducked his head down, trying to breathe through it all. The air of the motel room was cold and invasive on his entrance, but he didn't shy away. He was way too invested in having Sam in him to complain about how damn exposed he felt like this. Broad fucking daylight. Well, basically dusk by now, but still.

The two hands Sam had on his hips slowly kneaded their way backwards, coming around to cup Dean's cheeks, spreading them a little. A shiver went down Dean's spine, making his body tense up. That one part of his brain still remembered what a shiver's consequences was five minutes ago.

"Fucking hell, so raw for me, Dean," Sam growled low, his breath blowing warm over Dean's sensitive hole again. Dean let out a little cry and bit his lip, trying not to picture Sam back there, looking Dean over with his hungry eyes, seeing how raw and sensitive the leather strap had made him.

Sam's tongue sunk straight into his ass, no prep or outer rim or circling or anything. Dean's hands curled fists against the floor and he forgot how to breathe for a moment. Sam was so wet, so soft compared to the leather. He licked the inside of Dean gently, like he was apologizing for the torture. But the wait was only torture more. So Dean resumed his begging.

"Please master, please," Dean groveled, tipping his ass back against Sam's face and trying to get a move on. Dean had been in need of a serious screwing since this morning and with all the shit that had happened since then, he was not going to wait another five minutes while Sam ate him out all nice and slow. This master thing was totally not as sincere as it could possibly have been but Dean had never been the best actor so Sam could deal. He was pretty sure neither one of them cared about the sincerity of the nickname right now, though.

Sam drew his tongue out, dragging it over the reddened outer muscles as he pulled away. Dean's breathing was haphazard by now, his cock leaking yet another pool of precum onto his stomach which Dean didn't know was possible because he'd been so far beyond turned on for at least half an hour now.

Dean closed his eyes as the head of Sam's cock nudged against his leather-fucked ass, feeling slippery and huge. The skin was so smooth against him that Dean was pretty sure he could take the whole thing in one shot if Sam let him. With his eyes closed, the feel of Sam's head rubbing over his hole was about 800 times stronger. His teeth probably would have drawn blood if he was biting his lip, so he kept his mouth open, neck slack and leash temporarily discarded to the side. God, what they must look like right now. Dean on his hands and knees with a collar around his neck and a damp leash draped over the side of his shoulders to dangle on the floor with Sam behind him, tracing the head of his cock over the raw muscle of Dean's ass. It was a picture Dean was probably never going to lose.

So apparently, according to Sam, he hadn't teased Dean enough yet today because he still wasn't screwing Dean's brains out. No, he was taking his sweet time, rubbing his cock all over Dean's ass, making his hole drip wet and messy again. Dean could feel some mix of sticky cold, lube or precum or spit or something, drip down to his balls as Sam swirled around. Yeah, because he hadn't had enough constant stimulation yet today.

He was about to engage his vocal chords and say something again when the slow circling and pressing stopped, just over his entrance. Dean held his breath, or maybe his lungs stopped working but he'd lost track of that sort of thing a while ago. The head of Sam's cock nudged inside the rim, his hips snapping forward and sinking half his cock inside Dean. Dean's back arched and Sam put a hand on the center of his spine, silencing and stilling him. Dean just whimpered, trying to stay frozen as Sam inched his way inside, little by little. Dean could feel the walls enclosing Sam expanding as he barely pushed his way inside, filling Dean up so slow that he memorized the drag of every inch.

Once Sam's hips were flush against his, strong thigh muscles pressed to the backs of Dean's trembling ones, two hands wrapped over Dean's shoulders. Sam's hips tilted back, leaving Dean hungry and empty for a few tantalizing moments, then Sam was slamming inside, bottoming out in a hard, fast thrust that threatened to make Dean lose his grip on the ground. The thrusts were relentless from that point forward, fast and hard and so much friction and satisfaction and movement and everything that Dean had been craving, so much fuller than he remembered. He was surrounded by the smell of Sam and sex and leather.

Dean's fists were curled around folds of towel but he had no real grip with the way Sam was pummeling him from behind. The hands that started in his hips had moved to his shoulders and Sam just fucked into him, hard and deep and taking every bit of Dean's oxygen away. Dean didn't have time to moan with the way the friction between them was fast and slamming and repetitive. A plethora of whimpers left his lips, and there were a few groans from Sam's throat too. The strong fingers wrapped over his shoulders were the only things keeping him in place.

At some point of time, Dean had no idea what the concept of time even was anymore - that part of his brain had been left at the door as soon as he had a collar snapped on him - one of Sam's hands left Dean's shoulders. Dean recognized the absence of Sam's hand only because he was suddenly threatening to tip sideways. He'd become quite dependent on those hands holding him up and now that one was gone, Dean was struggling to find strength enough in his arms to keep him upright. In his focus he totally missed the purpose of Sam's hand leaving in the first place, until there was a sharp tug on his neck.

Of course, Sam had the fucking leash wrapped around his hand now. The corrective tug made Dean lift his head, taking some of the collar's pressure off his neck. There was no verbal command - Dean was pretty sure Sam's vocal chords were just as far gone as Dean's - but he got the message anyways. He kept his head up, no longer letting it drape. He was just taking it before, taking it like a rag doll, but Sam wanted more, he wanted Dean engaged and aware every second of what Sam was doing to him.

Teeth scraped over his shoulder as Sam folded his body over Dean's, pumping in and out with rapid speed now. The coil of tightness that had been wrecking Dean's body earlier was building higher again, making his skin feel hot and and his everything else totally insatiable. Sam's hands closed down over Dean's now, their bodies as flush as possible for this position. Sam worked his mouth over Dean's shoulder, the collar pulling constantly now as Sam just held the leash in his hand, not bothering to adjust how tight it was on Dean. Somehow that made the whole thing hotter.

It wasn't like he had the will power - let alone the brain power - to speak, but based on how the rules seemed to be so far, Dean only had so many options. He forced his head to work for like three seconds, that was all he needed to ask the question. Although the word came out broken and breathy, punched by the thrusts wracking both of their bodies.

"P-please," Dean asked, shuddering under Sam's weight and the energy he felt all over his body. That one word was all Dean could manage out but he figured Sam would get the gist of what he was asking. He better. Because otherwise Dean was going to put this all to waste and just come anyways. There's only so much his body and mind could take. Sam tightened the leash a little with a tug, gasping over Dean's shoulder. Dean had to fight every urge in his body to let his head down and just take it but he didn't, he held himself up for Sam.

The sensitivity and tiny movements of leather from earlier had been the most suspenseful, tension-building things ever and now that Dean was on the verge of getting rid of all of that tension, it was like he was barely in his body. Everything felt surreal and immense and the way Sam was sliding back and forth inside him was enough to get Dean to not hate Sam for making him wait. But he was at the end of his last straw and he needed that last word, that final permission from Sam. His body rocked as Sam moved their hips together and they breathed in shaky tandem. The world felt a little blurry around him, with the floor and Sam's hands over his the only things he could really see. He was pretty sure they'd only had sex in this position a very minimal amount of times, which was a bit ironic considering that this is like what the assumed-gay-sex position was. Not that Dean was gay, it was just that Sam...

Sam totally fucking rocked his world. He was probably never going to say that out loud but goddamn the kid was good in bed and Dean was probably the luckiest guy ever.

Although he was quite ready to hit the bliss portion of this afternoon's crazy sex adventure because the past hour had been torture and tension and tight heat. Bliss sounded about right at this point. If the sex-god fucking him ballsdeep would just give the word sometime within the next century...

Sam's fingers curled in between Dean's, holding him in place and sending Dean's head back to this morning, when they'd walked around the bunker holding hands. Holding hands. And here they were again, with Sam's fingers in between his, somehow something familiar in the middle of this crazy kinky sex thing Dean was definitely never going to forget and Sam was probably never going to stop teasing him for. Maybe that's what made Dean hit so hard when Sam finally whispered it into his ear.

"Come."

Every bit of tension, every movement of that damn leather leash, every flick of Sam's tongue and his hands, every tug of Dean's collar - especially the hard tug Sam gave him now - all just compiled into one moment and Dean was shooting off the nearest cliff and somewhere in the vicinity of a cloud like 800 times higher than cloud 9. He painted his stomach in white in the moment of release, all of the tight and hot and wet all pouring out of his body and somewhere around there everything kind of just went black.

Which for Dean, when it came to Sam anyways, wasn't that irregular. Waking into reality again with a collar on was still irregular, but Dean was way too sated to care. He blinked his eyes open as Sam was lowering them both down to the towel, Dean on his stomach and Sam on his side, heads facing each other as Dean tried to remember where the fuck he was.

"You okay?" came a quiet voice. Sam was looking at him worriedly, asking questions the moment he saw Dean open his eyes. Dean looked at Sam for a moment, then just closed his eyes again. If he couldn't see Sam, Sam couldn't see him. Valid logic.

"Mmphm," Dean responded as Sam reached out and stroked his cheek. Sam was not very good at that whole tough-guy thing because he always caved and ended up acting like a girl when it was all over.

"I do not," Sam's voice interrupted Dean's thoughts. Dean peeked an eye open, seeing Sam's face was very very close to his.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"You did."

"Oh. Well it's true."

"But you love it."

"Do not."

"Do too."

Sam's lips closed over his, and Dean opened his eyes in surprise for a moment before he closed them again, kissing Sam back. It was all lips and soppiness and then Sam pulled away - barely, his face like three inches from Dean's.

"Okay, maybe," Dean relented, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips. Sam's eyes flashed down to the movement at Dean's mouth, then they were kissing again.

"Told you so," Sam smirked as he pulled away.

"Oh, good for you," Dean grumbled, closing his eyes again. He was way too tired for this shit. Then Sam's puckered lips touched the tip of Dean's nose and Dean was batting him away and attempting to roll over.

"You are a girl!" He complained, rolling onto his back. On his very sore ass. Which meant he was quickly rolling back in Sam's direction, whining. "Ow, ow, ow."

"Well, if I was a girl you wouldn't be saying ow right now."

"Did anyone ask you?"

"You did."

"I did not, you just like inserting your opinions everywhere."

"That's because my opinions are valid."

"That's what you think."

"I love you."

Dean's eyes got wide as Sam suddenly blurted out the three words, his mouth open to get ready to banter back but suddenly at a loss for words. Sam's five-inches-away face was just looking at him, his expression sincere but not expectant. He wasn't looking for anything, he just for some reason thought that right now was the opportune time to just say that in the middle of their debate. Dean searched Sam's eyes for a second, then his gaze dipped down, looking at Sam's collarbones instead.

He opened his mouth to say, "yeah, you too," but it felt like it just wouldn't compare to Sam's random interjection. Saying that would seem like he'd said it only because Sam did. So he did the next best thing he could do. Which was to lean forward and connect their mouths again. It wasn't enough, Dean might never be enough for Sam, but it was the best he could give him. Dean just wasn't...he wasn't Sam.

Sam seemed accepting enough of Dean's response, opening his mouth and scooping Dean's body up in his arms, rolling them over. Dean rolled them back his way, then they were smiling into each other's mouths. Sam rolled a final time, and Dean didn't have enough energy to fight back. Sometimes Sam just made Dean feel so small. He was 6"1', there was no reason Dean should ever feel small, but he did in Sam's arms. It wasn't a bad kind of small though, it was just like he was tiny enough to be protected. Safe held a lot more meaning in Dean's life than it did in most people's, and when Sam gathered him into his arms so easily it made Dean feel small and safe. Which with Sam, was better than Dean could ever have hoped for.

Dean spent every waking (and sleeping) moment of his life on the red alert of Look Out For Sammy and that meant he never was content unless he knew Sam was okay. And when it was Sam holding him, Dean was 100% sure Sam was okay because he was here and Dean's and that mattered more than everything. But it also left a little room for Dean to be safe too, when Sam held him. His biggest worry was obviously taken care of, since it was Sam's arms, so Dean could let himself be cared for a little too.

That's why it could only ever be Sam. If they were ever apart, Dean would be in a constant state of worry. But so long as he knew Sam was okay, got priority #1 down, then he could open his heart a little. It may seem crazy and thinking it made Dean think he was a little dysfunctional but it could be worse so he wasn't complaining. Especially when Sam was kissing him slow and sloppy and happy and cradling Dean's whole life in this one moment, where his body was surrounded by the thing he cared about more than everything.

When they finally broke apart, Dean was panting and looking at Sam with hungry eyes. There was no way his body could take anything more right now though, and they were also kind of in the middle of a case. They had to be at the restaurant tonight when it got dark, so they still had a few hours, but they should probably spent those prepping and getting energy back and forming a plan instead of wasting their energy screwing more on the floor. Besides, Dean could really use a nap. And a shower.

"Sleep. And shower. You workin or joining?" Dean kissed the corner of Sam's mouth after the question, mentally noting that he was going to research whether girliness could wear off on people through making out or exchange of bodily fluids or whatever. Or maybe it was genetic and only got activated by making out or something.

"Joining," Sam said, smiling and ducking his head. His dimple was really damn cute. Sam's fingertips traced over Dean's chest, his eyes following the pattern. They stopped over Dean's tattoo, tapping it twice before looking back up to meet Dean's eyes. "Except the sleep part, because somebody has to go get you dinner."

"I knew there was a reason I keep you around."

"I'm pretty sure you have a lot more reasons than food, but okay," Sam laughed. Then his fingers were running up higher, wrapping around Dean's neck. There was a metallic sound and then a weight was being lifted off of Dean's neck that he had totally forgotten about. Sam pulled the collar away, the leather looking strange in Sam's hands. That had been on Dean this whole time. Even when they'd been rolling around and kissing just now. The leash was still attached to it, dragging over Dean's hip. Sam rolled it up around his hand, meeting Dean's eyes again.

Dean wasn't sure what to say, he hadn't even seen the collar until now. It was black and leather, thicker than the leash by a ways. The little clasp the leash was attached to was silver and simple. There were a few silver dots on either side of the loop, but it was fairly simple other than that. He couldn't believe Sam had actually put a collar on him. The kinky bastard.

"Did you want me to toss it, or is it coming with us?" Sam asked the question a little quiet, an awkward stumble in the middle. Yeah, Dean was pretty sure he would've botched that question a lot more than Sam just did. Well, Dean was still in the most blissful post-sex bliss he could recall (although a big part of post-sex for him was blissfulness that was like, not ethereal, so it's not very easy to recall), although the road there had been a little crazy.

They could keep it around, just for kicks or in case Dean ever wanted payback a ways down the road. Although the likeliness of either of them being into a collar and leash again wasn't very likely, unless they stumbled on another case where somebody had to down the disgusting dog-juice. Because that was the reason for the collar in the first place, and the spell was supposed to wear off eventually...so they really wouldn't need it again. Maybe they should keep it anyways, just in case the opportunity arises where somebody gets animalized again.

"We could keep it in the dungeon?" Dean suggested, because there were all sorts of kinky things down there that they may or may not use some day. Obviously not when Crowley was still in there, but once he was long cleared out.

"Sounds like a plan. Meet you in the shower, then?"

"Yeah." Dean kissed Sam's mouth one more time, then Sam was on his feet and carefully helping Dean up. Dean shuddered from standing, but he managed to get his footing fine. He was going to be walking funny for eternity. Normally the walk to the shower would accompany an ass-slap from Sam but Sam decided to take pity on him today, thank god.

There was a reason leather was reserved for the really kinky stuff. It had a bit of a lasting effect.

Of course, Sam was a total girl in the shower and washed Dean down all gentle and careful with soap, not even being the slightest sexual. Dean was surprised he hadn't rolled his eyes out of his skull by the time they finally shut off the water. He at least managed to get his own towel before Sam wrapped him up in one. Then it was on to clothes and research about the restaurant and Dean refusing to sit down on anything that wasn't cushioned.

By the time it was dark enough to go to the restaurant, Dean had already gone out and seen the Colonel twice. The first time he'd commented on Dean's walk (and smell) the second he saw him. Dean got teased by a damn dog. Although he at least told Dean congrats for getting the whole heat-thing out of his system. Dean just made a lot of faces.

"How you doin?" Sam asked, literally the second Dean sat down shotgun. Bad timing, because as wonderful as baby was, not the best for cushioned seats and yes, he was wincing as he sat down. Just another perk to sticking his head out the window, it meant he didn't have to sit on his damn ass.

"Paws-itively great. Case now, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, just checkin." Sam shot him a look Dean didn't feel like deciphering. Sometimes being brothers got in the way of being partners and sometimes their...relationship thing got in the way of being partners and being partners got in the way of everything all the time but they were used to that, always had been.

The worst part was when they were all three: brothers, partners, and lovers. Because then, when Dean saw his partner, lover, and brother laying on the floor unconscious, he flipped the fuck out. Obviously. Because it was Sam, that was how that worked.

And quite frankly, Dean was very done with this Chef Leo guy because he had already been tied up for like half of today and his wrists were complaining, not to mention he was sitting on like a concrete floor, which obviously was uncomfortable as hell. He stalled anyways though, ignoring the soreness and the chafing on his wrists as he rubbed at his bonds. Sam was much better at tying him up that Double-Sick Shaman Chef was.

Although he'd been quite surprised at first. The damn chef had made some smart ass comment about it smelling like dog (Dean did not smell that bad - but at least it wasn't Colonel's flat response of you smell like sex. Yeah, talk about awkward) and then he'd proceeded to dodge Dean's bullet. And thrown a damn machete at him. Thankfully those travel pretty slow in the air because Dean was able to get out of the way, although not without being put off guard. Which is precisely when the Chef punched him.

Dean could normally take a punch fine. Even from strong guys. Hell, even from Sam. But this punch sent him to his knees. He inwardly cursed himself for letting himself get this weak during a job. Messing around was cool until there were consequences like still not being 100%, therefore quite able to be punched and choked to death with a cord from a dirty kitchen floor because three hours ago you got your brains banged out of your skull. Chef Leo wrapped the cord around his neck, tight, and Dean was reminded yet again of a few hours ago. Although that collar had been a lot cleaner and nicer and a lot less trying to choke him, a lot more turning him on. This was just painful.

"All dogs should be leashed," The smartass chef hissed, yanking Dean back to the pillar and snagging his hands with the cord, successfully tying him to the pillar in like three seconds. Goddamn John would be disappointed. Tied up easily without even a hint of a proper fight. And all because of sex, in the middle of the day. And the mind-blowing, walk-funny-for-days kind, too. They really had been professionals at one point. Just...not lately. Like, at all.

As soon as Dean looked up, peeved as hell he got tied up again, his eyes instantly shot to the body of his brother. Partner, lover. Lying on the floor, his silky hair flopping every which way and his eyes closed. No. No, no, no.

"What did you do to my brother?" Dean demanded, looking up at the freak with an entirely new level of hate. No one who hurt Sam got to live. Especially if it was a killer in the first place. This guy had just guaranteed his death sentence.

"Your brother? What was your mom smoking when she had you two?" Dean fought to not squirm against his restraints at that. When people talked about Mom...sure, he had no idea about Dean's mother, but still. Smoking was not the best choice of word there. Although, on that thought process of word choice, Dean vaguely noticed that he instantly called Sam his brother before anything else. Partner was the safest thing, because that showed commitment but a level of detachment that gave Dean the possibility of an edge where the bad guy wouldn't use Sam against him. As soon as he said lover, then it was a knife to Sam's throat and Dean was expected to surrender his everything. And the second Sam was family, then Dean was on fire and anyone in the way was screwed, but that was the worst of all. As soon as Dean accidentally labeled Sam as brother, then people suddenly realized just how damn much Sam meant to him. Which meant the sons of bitches used it against them. So really, partner was ideal, but Dean's head wasn't always the one shooting for ideal. He had bigger priorities.

But thankfully, Sam was apparently fine, taking a cat nap. Dean cringed at the word but mostly he was just scanning Sam over with his eyes, trying to assess his injuries from halfway across the room. He couldn't tell much, except this smell. This really obvious smell, but it wasn't coming from Sam. It was coming from the chef. Wait, what was that? Was that...

"You're sick," Dean said, his voice a little surprised. He actually could smell that. Somehow, Dean could tell.

"Been told that once or twice," the chef sassed back, sharpening his knife with that familiar scraping sound.

"No, no. Not in the head. I, uh – well, you are that, too, but I mean sick like cancer," Dean was basically amazed he could tell that. But it was kind of cool. Not to mention really useful. At least it gave the guy a motive. Now, if only Dean could sniff out how bad Sam was from here. The problem was, even if he was closer, Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to tell much under the overwhelming smell of Sam. He'd known that smell his whole life, but with dog senses it just made everything that much stronger and obvious. Except Sam's injuries, of course.

The moment that Dean saw the Colonel had Chef Leo more than covered (it was actually kind of gross to watch a dog pack rip apart a person but hey, the guy was evil), he was running back inside to get to Sam. He rounded the corner and Sam was still lying unconscious on the floor. Dean rushed to his side, sliding on his knees to cup Sam's face. That beautiful face, that better be damn okay. The face that had been kissing his just a few hours ago, now slack and unmoving in his hands. No, no, no.

"Hey! For the love of God, Sammy." He was trying not to sound desperate but with the way Sam was still not responding to him, what was Dean supposed to do? Dean smacked Sam's cheek - gently - in an attempt to wake him up. Nothing. That was definitely not good. How long had Sam been knocked out for now? He had to have taken a serious blow. God, they should not have split up. Not when Sam still wasn't full health and Dean just kept on pretending he was because it was so much easier that way and Sam kept shoving his okayness down Dean's throat.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean moved Sam's head with gentle hands, but Sam's pretty hair just swayed, his face still slack. God, he wasn't moving. It didn't even look like he was breathing. Okay, door #2 time. Dean's tone changed, demanding now. "Zeke?"

Nothing. Still nothing. Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, looking for even the tiniest of movements. He couldn't find one.

"Whoever the hell you are. Hey. Come on." Dean had both his hands on Sam's head now, fingers brushing through Sam's hair distractedly as he pushed it away from Sam's temple. He wasn't getting anywhere. How was Sam still not --

"Don't make me lick your damn face," Dean threatened. He was so not below waking Sam up canine-style. Especially if Sam woke up. It was weird, how he actually had the urge to do that. That his head made that some sort of legitimate solution mentally. Like licking Sam's face would wake him up. It might. There was always that chance. He'd yell at him one more time first though, because if Sam didn't wake up approximately right now...

"Hey!" Dean shouted at him, putting a hand on Sam's chest, the other supporting his head, and shaking. Hard.

Hazel eyes shot open and the chest underneath Dean's palm heaved upwards as Sam filled up in his lungs in a deep gasp. Relief flooded his heart and Dean bowed his head in mollification. Goddammit, Sam was always doing that to him.

Dean's heart resumed its normal rhythm pattern and his voice lost its shakiness from fear. Maybe he was paranoid but Dean had lost his brother too many times to not be. He fisted the front of Sam's jacket and hauled upwards, placing a supportive hand behind Sam's neck as he helped him to stand.

"Come on," Dean breathed, ridiculously relieved. Sam took a few seconds to gain his footing, then he was shooing Dean off of him. Dean kept his hand on the small of Sam's back anyways.

"I'm okay. Really."

"You're okay when I've stripped you down and checked your injuries, that's when you're okay," Dean grumbled in response. Sam rolled his eyes, but he didn't move to push Dean off of him again. Thank god. Dean just needed a few moments of having Sam under his palm, safe and breathing and not passed out on crazy Shaman chef's floor.

It wasn't until Dean pulled Baby into the bunker's garage that the case finally felt over and he stopped fretting about Sam. The dog thing was gone, the Colonel was gone, and Dean was pretty sure he finally understood why Sam liked dogs. They were nice to have around, a lot less complicated than a person but still caring somehow. Like he said, nice.

And while it was extremely not cool for Dean to miss Colonel's whole final speech about the dog conspiracy thing, it was pretty great not to smell everything in a five mile radius. And not to have a constant itch behind his ear. Or any of the other three hundred weird dog symptoms that had kind of run his life the past couple of days.

Now that he was normal and Dean and human, he was shaking his head just thinking about the collar thing. He'd been so damn into that. Part of him wondered if he would still be right now (probably) but he was so not up for testing that for at least a century. Or longer. Because he still wasn't sitting without wincing.

How come that never happened to Sam? Oh wait, that's right, he was a dominant bastard in the bedroom. That and he always seemed to be wincing for other reasons. Dean was pretty sure Sam had gotten hurt on more hunts than any other hunter he knew, and that included Dean who was constantly throwing himself in front of monsters and bullets for the kid. Sam was just bad-guy-prone.

It was the hair. Had to be the hair.

"You up to a long, hot bath?" Dean asked, turning to Sam, who was sitting in shotgun, looking at Dean with raised eyebrows. He'd just shut down the engine but hadn't moved to get out yet, so Sam was apparently anticipating some sort of talk and had stayed in the car too. The garage was dark around them, but Dean liked the idea of Baby finally having a home too. It wasn't often his car got a roof over her head, too.

"Depends, is it in a doggy pool?" Sam smirked and Dean smacked his arm, hard. Sam laughed and shot out of his door before Dean could throw another punch.

"Oh screw you," Dean shouted over the hood of the car, figuring the best route with the car in the way to get to Sam before he could escape.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam shouted back, raising an eyebrow invitingly.

They had to christian the garage sometime, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is a manip for you of that beautiful man in a collar: http://flybynightgirl.tumblr.com/post/90193824925/but-seriously-here-he-was-hunter-of-the-week
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Dragonfli:
> 
> "I loved this and was so glad to see an update. I want to go back and see this episode again now with Dean in a collar in my mind's eye!"
> 
> FlyByNightGirl:  
>  "Aw yayy! I'm so glad. Sorry it's been forever since I've updated, life has been getting quite in the way as of late. But I hope you enjoy :) (P.S. Dean in a collar is a very lovely mental image, I can absolutely agree) Thank you for reading darling! xx"


	18. Inadvertently (Heaven Can't Wait 09x06)

During the daytime, Cas could do it. He could wake up and turn on the lights and scrub his face, avoiding catching his gaze in the mirror until his face was fresh, just in case there were tear tracks to wash away. The routine helped, and working made it so much easier. When he had a job and a purpose and a schedule, something to do every day, something to learn every hour, the gnawing pit inside him could be ignored. He could drown out the waterfall of tears and the silent cries that engulfed his nights with the ring of the cash register and the organization of his work.

As soon as the darkness creeped back in, Cas was curled in his sleeping bag in the back room, hands over his face and body shaking as he attempted not to cry himself to sleep and failed most nights. There was something about the lack of light that let all of the words creep back into his heart, all of the memories come knocking - but not like someone who wanted to visit, knocking as in knocking over what sheer facade Cas put up to tell himself he was okay. It wasn't just Dean's green eyes and enchanting laugh that haunted him now though. Dean had evolved into a sum of memories, a rolled compilation of tender moments that was suddenly squished by the heavy block of every biting, uncaring word.

The movie played out nearly the same every night, a torturistic creature that turned his daily composure into a wet mess. It normally started with darkness, flickering red, damp screams and a last wall of demons that his angel brothers held back with swords and snarls. Cas slipped through, past the mayhem, dodging stalagmites that oozed some sort of bloody liquid he didn't want to think about. His brothers screamed and fought below him as his wings soared, angled him deeper in the pit of darkness. He could smell the rack before he could see it. It smelled worse than anything Castiel had encountered in all of his days. He soared on, eyes searching, finally catching a glimpse of something shiny, some sort of torture weapon. He flew down, his celestial mind pounding from the heat and the pain in the fog around him.

Then there it was. There he was. Broken and terrifying and terrified and suddenly Castiel's entire world. His entire being started to heat up, more than the fires of hell around him, but different. It wasn't a painful kind of heat, it was warm and comforting to the core. Cas hadn't placed it, hadn't named it, for a long time. Profound bond. The feet between them became inches and then Castiel's hand touched bare skin, and there was something bright and flashing and Castiel was crashing down through any bit of sanity he'd had for the first billion years of his life. That one touch sent electricity flying through both of them and suddenly Cas's memories took a shift, long after he left his handprint on Dean's upper arm.

The bright flash took him to another moment, green eyes and that warm profound bond echoing around him. I haven't laughed this hard in ages. That was a kiss, Cas. Don't ever change. This is Cas we're talking about. Cursed or not, I'd rather have you. I need you. I need you.

The moments all blended together, touches and kisses and punches and a blur of love and hate, betrayal and good intentions and everything they'd had between them, all driven by the back force, that pull of I need you.

Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas. I thought I was doing the right thing. Yeah, you always do. I was right here, where were you? You can't stay.

You can't stay.

Dean, I don't understand. Cas, I hate to do this. You know I do. But it brings danger down on all of us. The bunker is the one last safe pla- You don't have to make excuses, Dean. You don't want me here, I'll go. Cas-- What, Dean? You know, I thought that since I was human now, at least you'd finally...never mind. I'll go.

Scrape of a chair, and Dean never moved a muscle to stop him. The whole way out the door Cas had cursed himself, over and over. He had sworn he'd never let himself go running back to Dean, not after last time made his grace the key ingredient to expelling his people from his home.

But he'd been stupid, he'd been so damn foolish, thinking that things might be different now that he was human. Dean had come for him, that had to count for something, didn't it? He'd come for Cas, only to kick him away.

Maybe it was revenge. Malicious, twisted revenge for all the times Cas had let Dean down.

Maybe he deserved it.

You can't stay.

So Cas cried in the dark because there was nothing waiting behind his closed eyelids but those three words. He cried and remembered a time when the three words that were theirs were so so different. I need you.

I. You.  
Need. Can't.  
You. Stay.

He'd wake up shivering most mornings, from nightmares, cheeks blotchy and dark bags under his eyes. He'd wash away the evidence before he let himself see a mirror. Then it was busying himself, busying himself into a life where he had a purpose and meant something more than just a broken doll.

The daylight and the store, his nice blue vest and the familiar sound of the cash register all healed him and saved him and made him forget.

Even if he'd picked a gas station for the two dumbest reasons. First of all, it was the first place he could ever remember liking. One of the first memories after Cas had embraced his emotions - during the few days he'd been with Dean after their first kiss - Dean had taken him to a convenience store and kissed him in the aisles. There, you have a good memory in a convenience store now, Dean had said with a smile. Cas had just been so overwhelmed with the beauty of it all, the beauty of Dean.

So maybe that's why Cas showed up at the Gas'n'Sip, holding the Help Wanted sign in his hand. The longer that he worked the counter though, the more he realized it was a lot more than just a distant memory. Every time the little chime over the door went off, his eyes darted to the incomer and his heart sunk a little lower each time he realized it wasn't the green eyes he was looking for.

If there was one place to run into Dean Winchester, it was at a Gas'n'Sip. Dean was always on the road and he practically lived in these places. He got all of his food from the closest convenience store and maybe one day Cas would bd the closest. Maybe he'd denied it to himself for a while, maybe he'd told himself something finally wasn't about Dean. But it so, so, was. Cas was working the counter at this place every day and hoping for a man to walk through the door that had promptly kicked Cas out of his life.

Dean wasn't going to come looking for him again, Cas knew that now. But if there was any sort of tiny possibility that he might one day run into him on accident, it'd be here. So Cas wasn't waiting exactly, but maybe he was hoping.

And when the TV started talking crazy deaths and making a pretty clear case, Cas considered doing nothing about it. Actually, his first thought was that maybe he should take care of it himself, but then he was vividly reminded in a flashback that he was quite unworthy as a hunter. So he himhawed and pondered it but he knew no matter how much he put it off he wasn't going to let innocent people die. Not when there was something he could do about it. Cas couldn't sit by and watch his town get terrorized by a monster when he had the most adequate monster killer in the world's phone number memorized, all because he was too much of a teenage girl to talk to a boy he used to love.

So that's how he found himself pulling out his cell phone and staring at it for a little while before deciding to press the little buttons. He made sure to do it at a time when he was busy, had a distraction in his hands to keep his head in reality from the phone pressed to his ear.

He jumped and nearly dropped the phone at the first ring, but it was too late to hang up now. He was calling and he could do this. It was just Dean, what was the worst that could happen? Alright, a lot of bad could happen. He considered pressing end call but he'd just end up calling back because he wasn't going to let these people die. He couldn't.

"Hello?"

It was that voice, Dean's voice on the other end. The voice that had said -- no. Cas was not going to think about that this was a business call and he needed to treat it like one.

"I may have a case for you." Cas didn't know if Dean recognized his voice and he didn't want to know either. He scrubbed the slurpee machine a little harder. "Four missing in Rexford, Idaho."

Dean hadn't said anything besides hello yet but Cas was pretty sure he didn't want Dean to. He just wanted Dean to take care of the case and not break his heart all over again. He just kept straight on talking, giving him all of the information he had so he could hang up. He might not hear Dean's voice but he was breathing on the other end of that line and Cas wasn't sure he could do this. Dean was somewhere with his phone to his ear, listening to Cas talk, maybe recognizing his voice and maybe having no idea who it was.

"Presumed dead, but no bodies have been released to loved ones. And, there were reports of a strange substance at the scenes." Cas could hang up there but if Dean had questions about the case...besides, Dean might just call him back if he hung up now. And some masochistic part of him wanted to know if Dean recognized him.

"Oh, well, hello to you too, Cas. How are you?" Dean's voice was a mix between amused and honey and Cas found his vocal chords didn't work anymore. Dean had...he'd not only recognized him, he wanted to know how Cas was and he'd wanted a hello and Dean wasn't like that maybe Cas was daydreaming or maybe this was some sort of sick prank or maybe Dean was actually a little concerned about him and Cas didn't want to deal with any of those situations.

"I..." Cas started, his voice freezing again. I cry myself to sleep thinking of you was probably not the best thing to say here. Although it was exactly what the truth was. No, instead he could focus on the good. On the daylight. He was okay in the daylight. "...am busy."

There was silence for a moment and Cas held his breath as he lifted the blue slurpee ingredient out of the machine. His hands were shaking. It was just a phone call but Cas was a wreck right now.

"All right." Dean's voice came again. Cas's hands shook a little more. "So, how do you want to do this?"

Cas heard the question and it took a second to process but by the time it did his hands were already tipping the slurpee liquid sideways and blue slurpee was sloshing over the sides of the machine and did this really have to overflow right now?

"You want to meet up at the latest scene? You want me to pick you up? What?" Dean's voice was so casual and ordinary and still asking questions in his ear but Cas couldn't handle what all that meant right now. He had slushy on his hands and he was only supposed to tell Dean about the case Dean wasn't supposed to ask if Cas wanted to be picked up and it was just too much.

"Um … I've got my hands full over here. I just – um..." He was being quite literal about the hands full thing. Cas tried picking up the bucket and he didn't have the balance to do all of this at once let alone when the love of his life was on the other line with a question that meant seeing each other and he barely even heard as Dean asked again. "Cas? Hello?"

"— thought you would want to know about the case." He pulled the phone away from his ear before Dean could interject. If he had heard that gruff, familiar voice say "wait!" there was no way he'd ever have hung up. He threw his phone into his pocket like it was made of holy fire.

Cas looked down at his hands and at the floor and everything was blue and icy and cold and it all felt strangely fitting to everything in Cas's life.

 

"Hey, you sure everything's —" a click sounded in his ear and Dean looked down at the phone. Call ended. "O-kay…"

Dean wasn't sure what he'd been anticipating, but it wasn't that. Cas just...didn't want to talk to him. What did he expect? He'd kicked the guy out with no reason the one moment Cas needed him most. His best friend was human and confused and broke and terrified and Dean threw him out on the street.

Honestly, he was surprised Cas called him at all. But people were dying and Cas was a good guy, so. If anything, too good. Too good for Dean, at the very least. He deserved so much better.

Dean closed his phone and tapped it on his closed lips. God, Cas. He'd been trying so damn hard to forget the guy existed and then Cas was calling him and Dean was melting and basically jumping with excitement.

He threw his head back and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. God, he'd been so stupid. All where can I pick you up's and over eager how are you's. Of course Cas didn't want to talk.

But maybe...maybe he'd see Dean. It wasn't like Dean could be in the same state as Cas and not see him. You know what? So fucking what if Cas was upset. Dean was going to fucking see his best friend, whether Cas liked it or not.

And if Dean's heart was invested with a lot little more than just best friends, so what. Just the idea of seeing Cas again, spending time with him...it sounded damn wonderful.

"Who was that?" Sam's voice came out of nowhere and Dean jumped a little, stuffing his phone in his pocket. Sam had that jealous-boyfriend look on his face and Dean did his best to ignore and not wither under it but Sam was fucking tall and with his hands crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised he made Dean feel like he'd already cheated on Sam or something. Not like he was planning on it because he wasn't but seriously it was just a phone call. To a man. That Dean was possibly a little in love with.

"Uh, Cas." The name was almost unfamiliar on his tongue, he'd been avoiding it for so long. Sam's body builder stance melted a little, but not much. He got that worrisome look in his eye, but Dean had a feeling it was more worried for him than for Cas. Which Dean didn't get, he was fine. And not the Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, Emotional kind.

"What did he say?" Sam was crossing the room now, his face reading a mix between kissable and pissed. Dean was not about to read that wrong though, so he turned on his heel and started for his room, looking over his shoulder to see if Sam followed. He did.

"There's a case, out in Rexford, Idaho. Undisclosed bodies and a mysterious substance. Figured I'd check it out." Dean had reached his room by now and he grabbed an overnight bag from under his bed, dragging it out and watching as Sam perched on the edge of his bed. Dean sat the bag next to Sam's leg and turned back around, digging through his drawers for clothes.

"You're headed all the way to Idaho to check that out? Sounds like you're pulling a Lisa Braden and going just to see him." Sam had that skeptical, jealous boyfriend look on his face again.

Dean plopped a few shirts into his bag, stepping over to the side to stand in front of Sam. He leaned in closer and pressed a chaste kiss on Sam's lips, rubbing Sam's knee as he pulled away.

"It's not like that. He isn't gonna help, apparently he's pretty busy. Besides, that turned out to be a real case, remember?" Dean turned back to his drawers, checking his favourite gun for ammo.

"Changelings, yeah, I remember. How is he busy?" Sam's scowl had taken a little bit of a lighter turn but he was still interrogating Dean full force. There wasn't much else Dean could say, though. He wished he knew more, but Cas had been tantalizingly brief.

"Don't know. He didn't say much. Just stuff about the case." Dean threw the last of his stuff in the bag and tossed it over his shoulder, starting for the hallway. Sam still followed.

"That doesn't seem weird?" Sam pestered. Dean turned around in the hallway and drew Sam in again with his free arm, putting his mouth over Sam's to make him quiet for just a moment. Although the quick peck turned a little longer as Dean's eyes drifted his closed and he got a little lost against Sam's lips.

When Dean pulled away he tapped his palm over Sam's chest once, hesitating there just a moment to look in Sam's eyes. Sam wasn't genuinely upset, just a little annoyed. And worried. Definitely worried.

"Sure, it's strange, but I don't think it's anything to worry about. You worry too much," Dean smiled as he said it and Sam didn't return the grin, his head was still in lawyer-analyzing mode with that tell-tale crinkle between his brows.

Dean adjusted the bag up higher on his shoulder and turned around again, headed towards the room Kevin was probably still in. Apparently, though, kissing Sam only shut him up as long as Dean's lips were actually on his because as soon as Dean turned around Sam was back at it again.

"So, he said nothing about where he is or – or what he's been doing?" Sam's voice followed him into the computer room and Dean sighed. Kevin was in fact in geek mode, checking out some book on a counter. Dean walked up a few steps, but turned around again to respond to Sam.

"This is Cas. In case you forgot, he's not exactly Chatty Cathy." And there's a possibility he hates me, Dean added in his head. Then the jealous, incredulous tone was back and Dean had to turn around again.

"And you're not even gonna see him when you're in Idaho?" That question sounded like bait but Dean had no problem answering it. Because as far as Cas knew, they weren't going to see each other. Like Dean could actually keep away.

"Well, like I said, as long as he's catnip for angels, he's keeping his distance." Dean said it as logically as possible and it wasn't a lie. It wasn't an answer to Sam's question but it wasn't a lie either. Well, it was forced distance initiated by Dean, but still.

He turned back towards the direction of the door and kept walking up the stairs. So yeah, maybe he was in a bit of hurry but it was the first time he had a pinpoint on Cas's location in a few weeks and that was pretty relevant.

"So -" exasperated Sam sound "-then, what's the point, Dean?" Sam was standing by Kevin now, finally done puppy dogging Dean but still looking at him with that's same expression. That question wasn't fair because that was implying that Dean was only going to see Cas and even if he was which he totally was that wasn't fair of Sam to accuse him of. "I mean, it's barely even a case."

Dean paused at the balcony, looking down at the two of them. If Sam wasn't so logical sometimes, goodness.

"That's why I'm just gonna go have a little look-see, and … we're not gonna waste a whole lot of manpower on a big pile of nada." It was a fairly legitimate sounding excuse but they both just gave him sass faces from the ground.

"In other words, a perfect excuse to bail out on research." Kevin interjected, looking like a disappointed kid at Christmas. Dean just stared at them both for a moment. He hadn't even remembered the research.

"You got me," Dean snapped, turning on his heel and walking out. He wasn't even going to go there. Wasn't even gonna mess with it. He was just leaving them all very much behind.

The car ride wasn't too bad up there, a little lonely, but fine other than that. Dean kept catching himself drumming his thumbs impatiently on the steering wheel. Cas was in Idaho. And busy with something, apparently. Maybe Dean shouldn't see him then. If he was busy...

But Rexford wasn't big enough to entirely disappear in. Dean could find him somewhere, then he'd have a reason to stop by. Just so long as he wasn't exactly looking for Cas. More like...keeping an eye out. That might be the safest bet.

Dean knew Sam was probably fretting over him right now, but if the situations were reversed, Dean would be too. Actually, Dean probably wouldn't have let Sam go alone. Or at all. Did Sam trust Dean more than Dean trusted Sam? Probably.

It wasn't like Dean was forgetting the vow he made, it wasn't like he was choosing Cas over Sam or anything. He was just going to check out a case for a friend, a really good friend that he used to have a habit of kissing. It wasn't a big deal.

Even if Dean's hands were shaking a little. He looked down at his fingers, curling and uncurling them in fists. His hands were a little cold, maybe that was it. The past couple of car rides one of Dean's hands had been wrapped up in Sam's. So he might have gotten a little used to the extra warmth.

He and Sam had been closer than ever lately. It wasn't just the sex, either. Sure, Sam had the stamina of a race horse and they ended up tumbling into bed every night with intentions to do more than just sleep, but it was more than that. Sam kept holding his hand, giving him spontaneous, short little kisses, back rubs after dinner. The whole thing was extremely girly and Dean was past the point of even calling it that anymore, there wasn't much of a point. It wasn't like calling Sam a girl stopped him from dragging Dean into the bathtub with him, soaping him down and making out over the suds.

But the thing is, with all the fluffiness came an even more attached side of Sam. If Sam would act like a normal brother, he wouldn't care that Dean left for a bit, let alone where he was going and who he was seeing and why why why. Dean wasn't going to ask himself why either, the answer was too damn complicated. But the whole jealous-boyfriend act had upped the same time the hand-holding and sweet coffee kisses did.

Honestly, he didn't mind the possessive streak most of the time. It was rare Sam acted like he cared that much, he was normally more chill about things. But the way Sam was acting like he wanted Dean all for his own...it was kind of flattering. Dean liked the idea of being somebody's. Especially if that somebody was Sammy.

His head had analyzed his conversations with Cas and Sam as many times as possible by the time he reached Idaho. His phone hadn't rung again, which was good and bad. Sam thankfully hadn't called him with more worried questions, but that also meant Cas didn't call with a "hey, come pick me up" either. Dean hadn't expected Cas to call, but he was kinda hoping he might've.

Sam was probably waiting by his phone for a "hey I'm alive" update at the least, but Dean waited until after he scoped out the crime scene. He needed something to report back about, even if a little part of him did want to call just to hear Sam's voice. They hadn't been apart since...since like, before the trials. And Dean's hands were feeling a little cold.

The pink splatter on the walls definitely was something to call home about, though. Besides, he felt just a smidgen of guilt for abandoning Sam and the kid to 24 Volumes of hellish research.

Sam picked up on the second ring, and his voice was considerably less peevish than the last time Dean heard him.

"Hey," Sam said, the scrape of a chair scooting back sounding over the phone.

"Hey. You two geeks booked through those 24 Lingustic Hell Volumes yet?"

"Yeah, we're almost through the texts over here." Based on the distance from Kansas to Idaho and the speed at which those two read, Dean wasn't that surprised. Sam sighed dramatically. "We got nothing."

Dean adjusted his arms over the hood of the Impala, coffee cup in one hand and phone in the other. When he stood like this, he could picture Sam leaning on the other side of the hood, hair rustling a little in the wind.

"Have you tried Professor Morrison?" Dean asked, sipping at his coffee. It was an hour later in Kansas, but Sam might have a coffee cup in his hand right now too. They could be halfway across the country and still in sync. Besides, phone call coffee dates were adorable. Wow, all that recent girliness was getting to his head. Sam's voice came back over the line, saving Dean from his distracting thoughts.

"Yeah, he's unreachable. He took a sabbatical to live amongst the Trobrianders of Papua New Guinea. Needless to say, we're pretty burnt." Who the hell goes to Papua New Guinea? So now they needed someone else skilled in dead linguistics. Oh, duh.

"Well, there's one guy there who is nothing if not well-rested."

"Crowley?" Sam sounded skeptical, and Dean trusted the demon as far as he could throw him, but it was still better than Papua New Guinea.

"I'm just saying we're not keeping him chained up for the one-liners," Dean considered adding and marriage declarations but he refrained. It was good to give Sam a reason to keep Crowley around, though. He'd been questioning Dean's decision on that for a while now and Dean hadn't exactly been able to come up with a legitimate reason besides "he'll be useful."

"It's worth a shot, I guess," Sam had his doubtful face on, Dean could tell over the phone, but at least he wasn't protesting Dean so much anymore.

"Just be careful, all right? Don't fall for any of his "quid pro quo" crap." They'd already gone down that whole legally married path and who knows what else Crowley had up his sleeve. Obviously, they'd decided marriage was definitely not for them, it was way too mainstream and rules-y, but Dean had a feeling that was just the tip of the Crowley's Wicked Plans Iceberg.

"Noted. So, what about you? How's Cas's lead panning out?" Sam kept his voice level at least, which meant he had either gotten over his spout of jealousy or his curiosity just overruled it. Either way, Dean sighed with relief. Having Sam against him was gonna make this a lot harder.

"Four victims suddenly exploded. I tried EMF. I've looked for hex bags, sulfur – nada." Dean could swear he heard Sam's case-gears turning in his brain from over the line.

"Spontaneous combustion? Maybe the Thule?"

"No, no, no. I already ruled them out. The bodies were vaporized. They weren't burned." Dean was really damn glad it wasn't the Thule because they were nasty as hell and he'd definitely need backup for that.

"That sounds like a real case. Dean, I should be there." Sam had his worry voice back on. As much as Dean would usually love to do this case with Sam, Cas was here and Dean couldn't do anything to mess up this thing between them even more. He needed to do this on his own. Wanted to do this on his own. Especially if he ran into Cas.

They did not need crazy love triangle mess on top of everything right now. Besides, this place probably couldn't hold a fight that monumental. Dean scanned his eyes over the view in front of him. Convenience store windows and a gas pump, tiny no name burger joint next door and coffee a block over. Not much.

"Naw, man. That's – That's uh ... not necessary. No, I, uh – I got this one covered." His excuse to Sam was half-assed and questionable but Dean clicked his phone shut before Sam could protest more. Dean's eyes wandered over the setting when his eye suddenly caught movement and a flash of blue. Dean looked closer on the convenience store across the street. His brain wasn't in a place to concoct a better excuse, not when his eyes just recognized what was right in front of him. His gaze was locked across the street, in a dark window, a figure moving. His whole reason for driving all the way out here.

Cas was dressed in blue, bagging something for a customer in the convenience store. Cas. It was Cas, he was here. Dean had found him. Accidentally. Dean had no idea how he'd managed to catch sight of the ex-angel through the window, but it was pretty damn ironic. What were the odds that Dean would pick to stand right here to call Sam, only to see Cas just across the street.

Dean tapped his phone on the hood thoughtfully. Cas had said he was busy, but he was actually working. In a convenience store. Why the hell was he working in a convenience store? Well, Dean was about to find out.

Cause agreement or not, Dean couldn't just see Cas and walk on by. Especially not when he was in blue.

 

 

Cas was working on being more positive. It was good for the customers, good for him. He found the more he interacted, the better he got at drawing smiles out of people. When he handed the blonde woman her lottery ticket, she seemed surprised at his thumbs up. But she returned it, after a moment of hesitation. Cas was grinning as the woman moved aside and he straightened up.

Every ounce of positivity and change and smile bled out of him in an instant. Dean was next in line. Dean. The same beautiful, haunting man of his nightmares was standing in front of him. He stepped forward, closing some of the space between him and Cas and Cas could feel the electricity between them, angel or not. He was suddenly immensely glad of the counter in the way of their bodies.

Dean smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides with deep, etched crows feet. His mouth was stretched up in a curve that was so rawly happy Cas was fairly sure he hadn't seen it before. There was a bit of amusement there, and his eyes were a little snide. He was beautiful. And closer to Cas than they'd been in weeks. Cas had worked so hard at healing, was trying so hard to do better. And then out of the blue it all came crashing down and he'd have to start back at square one because the next customer in line was Dean.

"I'll have some beef jerky and a pack of menthols," Dean said teasingly, his voice a low rumble. Cas didn't remember it to be that low. He just stared. Didn't even register or consider getting Dean what he'd just asked for. Dean was here, and he wasn't supposed to be. How in the hell had he even found Cas?

"What are you doing here?" Cas said quietly, nervously, his eyes not meeting Dean's until here, looking down and afraid and upset all at the same time. Dean wasn't supposed to be here. Cas had counted on Dean never showing up but here he was, smiling and happy and expectant of something, right before Cas's eyes.

"Gee, it's nice to see you, too, Cas." The smile faded and Dean looked offended. He'd been here only a few seconds and Cas had managed to upset him. Maybe Dean would leave. He didn't look like he was leaving. Cas had better amend his words, then. If Dean was sticking around long enough to talk Cas wasn't sure he could live with Dean hating him through it.

"It's … Steve now." Cas corrected, gesturing towards his employee name tag. That was standard, having a cover. He wasn't expecting Dean to be proud, it wasn't for Dean and hunting and a good cover and what not. No, it was for Cas, just in case there was some other person who walked through the store and happened to say Cas's name close enough to how Dean did to break him. Cas didn't look at Dean. If he let those green eyes capture his, Dean might see everything. He might see the tearful nights and the screams and the way Cas hated himself for ever loving Dean and he didn't want Dean to see any of that. The less Dean knew, the better. He thought quickly of an excuse to cover up his rudeness, but at least it wasn't a full lie. Just, part of the truth. "And... uh, you know you surprised me."

"Well, the feeling is mutual." Dean's low voice responded, a little gently. Cas was looking off to the side, but there were no other customers in the store. Nothing to make it not obvious he was avoiding Dean's gaze. He reluctantly turned his head back to face Dean. He didn't have very many other options. "I mean, I knew you had to lay low from the angel threat, but, uh, wow. This is some cover."

Dean's eyebrows went up on wow and he still sounded offended. Cas didn't know what he did this time but the little, frequent glances between Dean and the store around them might have something to do with it. Or maybe he just didn't like Cas's job. Cas liked his job. It was the only thing he had left anymore. He used to be so much, and now he was pitiful and human and stuck in a terrible rut and this had given him purpose, which is more than he'd had since he lost all the things most precious to him.

They couldn't talk about this all here, though, right by the cameras. He lead Dean slowly to the other counter, - well, he didn't lead, he just walked and Dean followed, looking a little amused - leaning over and speaking quietly.

"My Grace is gone. What did you expect?" Dean made a confused face. He didn't get it. Cas explained a little more. "Do you have any idea how hard it was? When I fell to earth, I didn't just lose my powers. I -"

I lost you.

Cas wasn't going to say that. No, he'd paint the bigger picture for Dean. He glanced around again, just to be safe, and to give him the few seconds he needed to think so he could say something that didn't give his heart away to Dean again.

"I had nothing. Now... I'm a sales associate." Cas said the last two words - his title - proudly. It was a purpose, he was helping people. There was nothing for him not to be proud of. It was certainly better than how he was living before, stuck in poverty and sleeping next to the homeless.

"A sales associate?" Dean asked, maybe mocking or maybe confirming (he looked very surprised), but it didn't matter. Dean wasn't going to change Cas's opinion on this job. It was a good job, it was respectable, and if Dean didn't understand that, fine. Not everyone could save the world and hunt down monsters for a living.

A delivery man interrupted, walking up with a clipboard. Cas checked the top, it was for the alcohol.

"Hey, Steve. Sign here?" Cas took the clipboard from the man's hands, furthering his explanation of his position to Dean. Surely Dean would get why Cas liked the job. He was responsible and helpful and that was important when you were human. Two of the most important things, actually.

"I'm responsible for inventory, sales, customer service. I keep this place —" Cas finished signing his name and held out the clipboard to the alcohol delivery man. The man said a quick thank you which Cas returned sincerely, ignoring the way Dean's eyebrows went up in amusement again. Then he turned back to Dean, finishing what he was saying. "— clean and presentable. And when my manager's busy, I even prepare the food."

He was looking at Dean now, waiting for Dean to get it. Cas had a lot of things to do here, he hadn't lied about being busy. He was efficient, and good at what he did. He could see no reason for the look on Dean's face, no reason for the disdain in his next words.

"Wow. So you went from fighting … heavenly battles to nuking taquitos?" Dean looked skeptical but at least Dean had made the connection. He got it now, and Cas nodded proudly. That's exactly what he did.

"Nachos too," Cas added. Dean just looked at him for a moment.

"Really, Cas?" Dean said after a moment of them looking at each other. Cas sighed. Dean still didn't get it. He swiveled on his heel and walked around the counter. If Dean was going to stay and pester him, Cas might as well get work done. Dean just followed him. All the way to the back room, when Cas promptly told him he wasn't allowed to come into Employee only area. Dean started to protest but Cas just shot him a death glare. Dean sighed and stayed put, leaning against a wall and waiting for Cas as he stepped into the back. There he picked up the extra box of small jars he still had to label. Cas walked back out, a little smidgen of him hoping Dean was gone and it had all been a dream. His face sunk just a little as he recognized Dean to still be leaning against the wall, but his heart jumped with a flutter of joy. Which made him scowl even more. As soon as he was back in the public part of the store, Dean started following him again, hot on Cas's heels.

"This is not you, man. You are above this. Come on," Dean said in his best condescending and convincing voice. Cas just kept his face straight and stubborn. There was nothing to be above. Dean didn't know.

"No, Dean." Cas set the jars of peanuts down and turned back to face Dean. "I'm not."

Dean was looking disgustedly at the peanuts, at Cas carrying the peanuts. This was Cas's life now, and he caught Dean's eye. He'd make him understand. As soon as he started talking, his eyes shot away again, looking at the past instead of Dean's face. He still could see the thousands he'd killed, the angel's he had made fall to earth. He'd caused this whole mess, and the mess before that, and the mess before that.

"I failed at being an angel. Everything I ever attempted came out wrong. But here …" Cas looked up at the furrowed eyebrows, the angry Dean who at least wasn't interrupting him right now. "...At least I have a shot at getting things right. I guess you can't see it, but … there's a real dignity in what I do – human dignity."

Cas rearranged the jars as he said the past few words. Based on the way Dean was still looking at him funny, Cas would assume his statement of I guess you can't see it was the most accurate thing he'd said all day. Then Nora's voice was piping up from behind him and Cas turned around quickly, attentive.

"Hate to interrupt you guys, but, Steve? Customer had an accident in the men's room." There was nothing for her to interrupt. It was strange, having Nora see Dean, it was like the two halves of his world - past and present - were colliding. She looked apologetic so Cas gave her a reassuring smile.

"I'm on it." Cas turned back to the jars, but Nora spoke up again and he looked back at her. She was pretty, even with her hair swept back for work. She seemed dim in comparison to the towering, gorgeous man beside him, but Dean wasn't going to be here long. So it was easy to smile at Nora.

"Oh, and tonight – 7:00 at my place work for you?" Cas felt Dean's expression more than he saw it. His chest puffed up, eyes going wide as he looked at Cas with a new kind of recognition. Cas ignored him, looking at Nora instead.

"Great," Cas responded, truthfully. He needed Nora right now. And not just as a distraction. Well, mostly. But she was a very sweet distraction.

"You're the best," she smiled shyly, nodding at Dean before turning back to the employee work area. She said it like a nickname of sorts, like a reminder. Like it was definitely not the first time she'd said it. Which was true. Cas kind of liked that, having the best as his label.

Then Dean was leveling Cas under his gaze, his entire body riled up in disbelief. And possibly offense. Surprise. A lot of things, Dean was feeling a lot of things.

"That's what this is about!" He said, his voice shocked and his mouth hanging open. He sounded upset. Cas wasn't sure what in the world he'd done this time to upset Dean.

"What?" Cas asked softly. He looked at the employee door, but Nora was out of sight now. Dean's eyebrows shot to the sky and his temporary expression of recognition and upset switched quickly over to amusement. The switch was too fast to be entirely sincere, but the look on his face was exaggerated enough to the point that it covered the initial reaction. He looked almost happy now, he was so amused. Cas just looked back flummoxed.

"The girl," Dean accused. There was a sharp intensity behind his exaggerated smile and head tilt that should be scary but just seemed to put Dean's words in reality. Maybe Dean cared about the girl. Even though she wasn't exactly what Dean was thinking. But Dean was smiling, hidden layer of malice or not, and Cas's mouth automatically curved up a little too.

"No, Dean. It's not." Dean gave him a look that said he was 100% sure Cas was lying and he knew Cas better than Cas knew Cas and he'd better fess up right now because Dean could see right through him anyways. It was a cute look on Dean. Everything was a cute look on Dean. Especially the bit of jealousy Cas might have imagined underlayed in his voice. "Nora – she's a very nice woman, I'm pretty sure she's not a reaper intent on killing me … and she's asked me out."

Dean was listening intently, his face screwing up a little when Cas mentioned April, but Cas wasn't sure what it meant. So he clarified his purpose with Nora (well - part of it. She also had a lot to do with forgetting Dean), turning to the jars and asking his question like he needed advice, needed confirmation from Dean. Which hopefully would multi-task with telling Dean why he was going out with Nora. "Going on dates – that's something humans do, right?"

Now it was just a human-experience Cas was trying to get, and nothing more. Dean looked a mix between relieved and disappointed and Cas wasn't sure what that meant either. He used to be much better at reading Dean. Maybe that had been part of his angel powers.

"Yeah. I mean, my dates usually end when I run out of singles, but, uh, yeah. Yeah, that's something that … humans do." He went to smile at the end, but a shrill ringing pierced the air. Cas tried not to pay attention as Dean picked up the phone. His eyes couldn't help but follow Dean as he turned his back though, walking a bit away to receive his call.

"This is Agent Lee Ermey." There was a pause of silence as someone communicated something to Dean. Cas put one of the jars on the counter, lining it up straight next to the other one. "I'll be right there."

There was a click as Dean hung up then he was turning back to Cas, his voice in a low whisper. An excited whisper. Cas could practically see his face, all puppy excited. Cas wasn't going to look.

"There was another kill, over at the high school. You comin'?" Dean said it like it would be the funnest thing in the world. Cas didn't hunt. Hunting was entirely off limits. He remembered exactly what happened last time.

"I wouldn't be much use. I don't have my powers," he said quietly to the jars of peanuts. Dean heard him and responded quickly. Cas just wished that sometimes he'd be as quiet as the jars and not push at Cas's buttons. Most things Dean did pushed at Cas's buttons.

"So? I've never had powers." Not the angel-kind, but Dean certainly did. Cas didn't bother explaining that to Dean. He just looked up, staring at the Gas'n'Sip logo on the wall instead. He spoke to the orange curved letters, still not looking at Dean. It was a bit of a sensitive subject.

"You are a hunter."

"And you're a hunter in training, remember?" Dean made it sound so nice and fun and Cas was offended because it had been nothing at all like that and Dean was going to use his sweet talk voice on Cas to make him come hunting with him.

"Yeah, I remember. You said I sucked." Cas glared at Dean on the final word, finally turning his head for emphasis. Just a baby in a trenchcoat. Right, in training. No, Cas remembered fine, thank you.

"I didn't say that." Dean argued, crinkling up his nose like it was a ridiculous thing to say. "I said that there was, uh, uh, you know, "room for improvement." Come on."

He bit his lip and beckoned at Cas with a hand. The way he said it left basically negative room for argument or protesting. Dean said it like Cas had already said yes. Cas glanced at him. Here he was, Cas's best friend, his charge, the man he loved more than anything in the world, scooping his hand towards Cas because he wanted Cas to come with him.

There was never much of an argument anyways.

"All right, my shift's over in five minutes, and my date's not until later, so..." Cas stared at the floor and spoke quietly and caved like wet cardboard and Dean lit up like a firework.

"Attaboy!" Dean smacked his arm. Cas pretended not to notice Dean had touched him. Then Dean was headed for the door, practically bouncing. "I'll go get the car."

"Not just yet." Cas reached out and touched Dean's wrist, almost grabbing it but quickly taking over his brain and just brushing the skin there instead. It sent sparks through Cas's body and Cas inwardly cursed himself for being so stupid. He didn't want to touch Dean, be reminded all over again...so if his next words came out a little rude, his insides were curdling and he had a right. "I have to clean the bathroom?"

It was just a reminder but the moment Cas turned around, walking to the employee only area again, he was cursing at the entire situation. Here he was, running off with the one man who had managed to ruin his life a thousand times over. The man who Cas had ruined a thousand times over. The man that had inadvertently, in some way or another, made Cas ruin the world a thousand times over.

And they were about to go spend the rest of the day together.

Cas was such an idiot.

Truly foolish, love-struck idiot.

~*~*~*~

Cas didn't prove as entirely unuseful as he thought he would be. He recognized the pink splatter, to both of their horror, and now it was five thirty and Cas was sitting next to Dean in the car and unsure of what to say. It didn't matter, because only about twenty seconds of silence passed between I need a ride and Dean opening his mouth to speak again.

"We've got," Dean checked his watch before looking back up at Cas. "about an hour before your date. You up for ice cream?"

"I thought you liked pie," Cas said confusedly. It wasn't exactly a good response but it was the best he could think of right now. Mostly he just wished it was 7 already.

"I do. But you like ice cream. So, what's the best shop in this town?" Dean glanced over at him from the driver's seat, his eyebrows raised and waiting for an answer. Cas fidgeted under the gaze.

"How do you know I like ice cream?"

"I saw a Twister's on the way in, how bout we hit that one?" Dean looked back at the road and Cas looked out the window. Apparently they were going out for ice cream.

Dean hummed contentedly along to the radio station, a song Cas didn't know but was probably going to look up tomorrow at the store. Cas had realized a long time ago that music was something Dean really enjoyed and he'd spent a lot of efforts since trying to learn what he liked. He hadn't had much access to understanding why music was important until recently, but it was almost...celestial to human ears, something so beyond every day life that made it special and exciting and lovable. So Cas had kind of been collecting a mental library of what music Dean listened to, so he could try to understand why. It was a part of being human, understanding someone's tastes, and so if Cas spent a few hours in a hard-to-find CD store every now-and-then, it was his best attempt at "getting it."

They were at the ice cream shop pretty quickly, and Cas looked up at the white and blue striped shack skeptically. He'd never been here before but it looked falsely happy.

Just as Cas reached for the door handle, it opened up from the outside. Dean held the door open, waiting outside with a grin. The last time Dean had opened Cas's car door, Cas remembered quite well what had happened. It had been the leading point up to their first kiss.

Cas was out of the car and closing the door behind him so fast Dean stumbled a little and almost pitched forward from where he'd put his weight. Dean straightened up and looked at Cas funny, then he stepped up next to him and they walked side by side up to the door. Cas took a quick step forward as they neared the building, holding open the door for Dean just in case because he didn't want to have that same situation all over again repeat itself. Dean thanked him with a skeptical look and a nod and they stepped inside.

Everything was colorful inside, but the lights were dim and it had a vintage atmosphere. There was a bar with red swivel stools, a few booths. Cas headed for the bar stools but Dean grabbed his elbow and guided him to the ordering counter by the booths.

There was a red head with freckles behind the counter, dressed in a vest like Cas's, except pink. She was chewing bubble gum and had a pink visor to match.

"What can I get you two?" She held up a little notepad and looked at them with eyebrows raised. Dean removed his hand from Cas's elbow, looking over at him with a grin.

"He'll have..."

"Strawberry."

"A strawberry waffle cone, and I'll have a...moose tracks." Dean snickered and pointed at the menu, turning away from the girl and back to Cas.

"I figured I'd try moose tracks, you know how Crowley calls Sam..." Dean trailed off and his smile wilted a little. They hadn't talked about Sam yet, and Cas could see it written all over Dean's face that that was for a reason. The moment of silence that fell between them was suddenly uncomfortable and for some reason Cas wanted to save it, wanted to make that space fill up with Dean's smile instead. He'd been doing the best he could to deny how badly he wanted Dean here, but in those few seconds of silence, Cas felt the pain and rejection threatening to bubble up between them. He wasn't going to let that happen if he could help it.

"Moose. Crowley calls him moose." Cas finished for him. Dean's smile refurbished a little, then he was turning back to the red head running the counter. Cas breathed a sigh of relief, now that Dean was smiling again at his side and the potential cliff they'd been teetering on the edge of had been entirely avoided. Dean hadn't known where Cas stood in regards to Sam, but of course Cas didn't hate Dean's brother. Sam was genuinely Cas's friend. Basically as much as Dean was his friend, although Cas just happened to be in love with Dean at the same time.

How long had Cas known Dean? And he and Sam had been together basically that whole time, Cas wasn't expecting anything different now. If Dean and Sam weren't together...that would just be strange. Cas wasn't sure how he'd handle that. Thankfully, he didn't have to think about it much more because Dean swiveled back around and handed Cas his cone, then he was walking towards the booths and Cas hurried behind him. He wasn't sure why they weren't sitting at the bar, that was more Dean's MO. The bar would be easier, sitting next to each other and not forced to look directly at each other's eyes. They'd sat at bars together before and that felt normal, but Cas followed Dean anyways.

Dean slid easily into a secluded booth in the corner and Cas maneuvered into the plush seat across from him, managing not to spill his strawberry ice cream everywhere. The plush cushion was red and it sunk a little under Cas's weight, but in a comfortable sort of way instead of just deflating. Once Cas was seated and his feet were clear of running into Dean's, he turned his attention back to the pink ice cream in his hand. He licked a circle around the base of the ice cream where it met the cone, catching any potential melting places.

"So, speaking of Sam, how is he?" Cas looked up from his ice cream at Dean, who was licking along the lines of caramel in his cone. Dean paused in his caramel efforts, meeting Cas's eyes.

"Good. Healing, thank god." Dean breathed out in relief. Cas nodded. He was glad to hear it. He'd been worried about Sam, he'd been through a lot. Cas tended to worry about his friends, and Sam definitely was one of his closest ones. Just one who he was pretty jealous of most of the time.

"Are you and he still--"

"Yeah." Dean looked back down at his ice cream. He closed his lips over one of the mini peanut butter cups, sucking it into his mouth. Cas tried not to stare.

He opened his mouth again, to fill the silence that had just fell on them with any sort of generic question when Dean was suddenly perking up, swirling his tongue around the top of his ice cream before drawing off it and speaking excitedly.

"A little bit ago, we had this case where a dog was the only witness so I downed this nasty potion Kevin researched that let me talk to animals so I could totally understand the entire species and what they were thinking and they all had these different voices and it was crazy, I'll tell you what." Cas raised his eyebrows and licked the side of his strawberry ice cream. The strawberry flavor was actually really good. Not as good as Dean looked licking his, but Cas was keeping that thought buried very deep.

"I get why Sam likes dogs now, but it turns out the monster was this Shaman who had cancer--"

Dean talked and Cas listened, laughing at Dean's story of how he barked at the mailman and played fetch with a burger wrapper. Dean blushed a little when Cas laughed which made him even cuter somehow.

Cas flicked his eyes down to his ice cream to avoid staring at the adorable blushing Dean. The strawberry was the same color as the tint on Dean's cheeks. He licked over the frozen food gently, doing his very best not to picture Dean's cheek under his mouth instead.

Then there were stories of more cases, one about the Wizard of Oz, which Dean had to explain to Cas was a very famous book, and a movie.

"We should watch it sometime," Dean laughed, his eyes sparkling. "I wonder who you'd identify with...definitely not the tin man."

"Who's the tin man?"

"The heartless one."

"Oh." Cas looked down again. He wasn't sure what Dean meant by that. He didn't really want to know, either. If it was the compliment it sounded like, Cas wasn't up to dealing with his pounding heart. He's reached the top of the cone by now and was nibbling a circle around the edges. It was harder to reach the ice cream now, since it was lower down in the cone. He stuck out his tongue and managed to catch a piece, drawing it into his mouth. The frozen sweet berry flavour filled his mouth and he lifted his head back up in satisfaction.

When he looked up, Dean was watching him. The green eyes were on him and it wasn't the first time today, wasn't the first time since they'd sat down with their ice cream. But unlike every other time Cas caught him staring, Dean didn't flick his gaze away. Instead of the slight blush or embarrassed shooting of his eyes in another direction or turning of his head like Dean had done every other time, he kept his eyes on Cas. Instead Dean was now leaning forward, reaching across the table. Cas sat frozen as Dean's hand got closer and closer and finally reached his face.

Dean was entirely off his seat now, his arm extended and his eyes focused on Cas's mouth. Cas's head should have been running over a thousand things that could be happening or an escape plan or something but it was just Dean's hand and not his lips and it was taking too much too process so Cas just sat numbly as Dean reached for him. His thumb brushed over the side of Cas's lip, warm and rough over Cas's cold lips, drawing back with a drop of pink smeared over Dean's thumbprint. Cas stared at Dean and Dean's eyes flicked back upwards from Cas's lips, crashing his gaze into Cas's with a wave of electricity. Now they were both frozen, Dean with his hand cupping Cas's cheek and his thumb hovering over Cas's lips.

Then the spell broke and Dean was leaning back to his seat and wiping the strawberry ice cream off his thumb on a napkin. Cas was still frozen for a moment, then his tongue flickered out to the side of his mouth in a very delayed reaction. The side of his mouth tasted like Dean, but maybe that was his imagination. It was just a thumb-swipe over the corner of his bottom lip after all. It wasn't the end of the world. Even if Cas was blushing darker than the pink ice cream now.

"Sorry, you had..." Dean gestured to his own mouth as explanation for the drop of ice cream Cas gotten on his mouth.

"It's fine," Cas lied.

"So anyways, um. Yeah, Charlie jumped in front of me - you really should meet her sometime - and the wicked witch..."

Dean rambled on with his story and Cas nibbled the rest of the way down his ice cream cone, very careful not to get any on the side of his mouth. Cas listened distantly, watching Dean's hands and his mouth and his eyes as he spoke. He was so bright, so damn alive. The whole world saturated a bit more when Dean was there, it was impossible for Cas to be the only one to see it.

Part of Cas wanted to stay frozen in this moment forever. Just him and Dean in the back of a vintage-looking little ice cream shop, propped up on red plush cushions with yellowed lights overhead and a stretch of worn, shiny table in between them. Their feet had run into each other a few times under the table, but nothing so dramatic that Cas flushed red again. Dean's laughter was shinier than the table and his voice was sweeter than the sugary strawberry on Cas's tongue.

They were both smiling and there was something magic about that. Something magic about this, about the soft 60s music playing in speakers somewhere, the glow around Dean's face as he chased down all of the carmel streaks in his white ice cream and took big bites out of his cone, commenting with a smile on Cas's tiny nibbles around the edges of his own.

There was a time at some point that Cas had forgotten the past few weeks, had forgotten the pain and the tears, and everything was just now and Dean and so much brighter than Cas had ever felt before that it just consumed all the rest of everything. He stopped shying away from Dean's eyes on his, he stopped keeping his feet tucked up under the booth as far from Dean's as was comfortable. Instead, he let them fall into their old habit of just looking at each other, eyes saying and asking and never answering each other, just looking and wondering and staring. Sometimes in silence, sometimes with happy interjections from Dean or little questions from Cas. Cas let their ankles brush, let their shoes bump without panicking. No matter how high Cas built his walls up, Dean was just so easy to be with, to be around, those walls softened and Dean bled through all the cracks Cas hadn't been able to seal properly.

Their ice cream was gone at some point, but there was a content silence that fell on them and they stayed for another few minutes. Then Dean was standing and Cas was following him out of the booth, crossing the room with his feet knocking the checkered floor in time with Dean's. The jingle above the glass door that sounded when they left echoed as they stepped into the night outside, the glow of the ice cream shop falling behind them as the world outside descended in darkness instead. There was a single street light and all the light hadn't left the sky just yet, so it was easy to see the sleek black of the Impala in the little parking lot.

Each step further away from the golden glow of the little building Cas's memories started to take back over. The night air was chilly, not enough to be cold but enough of a contrast to the warmth of Dean's ankle touching his to make Cas shiver a little. It was sharp out here, nothing like the soft of the smile Dean gave him over his moose-tracks ice cream. The surreal magical feeling was shifting, but Cas had it stored in perfect detail in his head and he could hold on to that if he needed to. He looked up at the sky, looked up at the dim glow of the street light and decided he had better let that feeling go for now. It was dangerous, to hold on too. Wasn't it? They made it back to the car without any more terribly defining moments, although Cas made sure to rush to his door and open it before Dean could. Again.

He just couldn't take any chances.

Not when Dean was looking at him that way from the driver's seat, body angled towards Cas instead of the steering wheel. Not when the moon was already out and bathing soft light onto them through the windshield of the car. The wind couldn't get to them from in here and the chill that had made Cas's mind clear up a little had faded back into the warmth of worn leather and the smell of the car. It smelled like Dean. The golden glow of the shop may be gone, but the sun had just set on the sky, leaving streaks of pink and gold to wash over the side of Dean's face, a mix between strawberry and caramel. Strawberry and caramel playing over Dean's features, outlining the side of his lips and highlighting the tip of his nose, his brow bone. Making his eyes glow.

Cas couldn't tear his eyes away from Dean but he couldn't let this happen, couldn't let anything happen. This night had been as close to perfection as Cas could have ever dreamed and if something happened, there was the potential of ruining it, ruining everything. Cas couldn't. He had a date he had to get to. A sweet, pretty woman who thought he was caring and thoughtful and that should be more than enough for Cas but all he really wanted was the beautiful boy sitting in the car seat next to him.

They had been in the car for what felt like a few minutes now and Dean was just looking at him. Well, Cas was looking back. There was no buffer now, no shiny table and ice cream cones and soft music and case stories sitting safely and comfortable between them. Just a stick shift and a foot of space, easily destroyed space, and the moment that space was destroyed, the whole night might be. Cas was running out of options short of leaving the car, because there wasn't any way he could tear his gaze away from Dean or speak or somehow break the silence and the looking that didn't ruin everything. So he reached over and put his hand over the one that was resting on the car key, the hand that had yet to turn the key in the past few minutes or however long it had been. Cas put his hand over Dean's skin, trying to ignore the shock and warmth that sent through his body. Cas put his hand over Dean's hand and turned them both, revving the Impala's key in the ignition.

The engine roared to life and the noise startled Dean back to reality, startled Cas too. Or maybe it was Cas withdrawing his hand from Dean's too-warm skin. Either way Dean shook his head, like he was clearing water out of it or something, then he shot a grin at Cas and threw his hand to the back of Cas's seat, turning his body to look behind him as he backed out of the parking spot. Dean's hand was burning warmth into the seat above Cas's shoulder but he didn't flinch away like the scared part of him wanted to. Because the part of him that soaked up the warmth and wanted to bathe in it was so much grander.

The drive to Nora's house was filled with little comments from Dean on people's mailboxes or yards or strange colored doors or brands of cars. It was easy being with Dean like this. The more street corners they turned, the more space each one of the houses put in between them, the closer they got to the one that meant Nora, the more Cas didn't like how comfortable he was with Dean. He started glaring a little at the houses, wishing none of them was Nora's.

Looking over at the smile in the driver's seat, Cas could hardly believe this was the same man he'd cried himself to sleep over. The one who had kicked him out and broken his heart and ruined his life a thousand times over. Now driving him to his first date, after his first unofficial one.

Cas wondered if maybe Dean had done that on purpose. If some selfish part of Dean had wanted to be Cas's first everything, and took him out for ice cream before his date with Nora. For some reason, that sounded a lot like Dean. Or maybe Cas was just looking too much into it.

The glares at the houses faded with that thought. Dean wasn't evil, Cas had to remind himself of that. But sometimes it was so unfair and it hurt so bad that it was easier for Cas to hate this. To pretend to hate Dean. Or the apple pie houses that flew by. But Cas's grumpy resolve crumbled each time Dean grinned at him again and Cas was a mess. This whole thing was a roller coaster and it was just that Dean was so perfect, so perfect for him, that it hurt. But with a comment about how that house had shutters the color of Cas's eyes, the anger slipped away entirely and Cas was just filled with nerves again, with butterflies in his stomach for the boy with his hands on the leather steering wheel.

What if it wasn't like this with anyone else? What if Nora still felt dim, even when Dean wasn't in the room, just because it wasn't Dean? That thought made Cas even more nervous. He needed Nora to work. He needed to be able to do this, to date people and be normal and okay by the time Dean pulled the Impala up in front of Nora's house Cas was nervous for his date. So much so, Dean probably could assume Cas was damn excited about it. Nervous, sure, and a litle excited. Because if it was anything like the hour and a half he'd just had, Cas might be okay when Dean packed his bags and left again. Some part of Cas already knew it wasn't going to compare with the past hour with Dean, but he was wishing to the highest heaven that he'd be wrong. He needed this to work out with Nora. She was the sign of whether Cas could do this or not. It wasn't going to be easy, no one was as easy to be with as Dean. Maybe that was another reason why he was nervous too.

"Okay," Dean announced, signifying their arrival. Cas glanced over at him. He'd spent the whole day driving Cas around, taking him out for ice cream, shooting memories of happiness into Cas's head and now got him a ride to his date that could possibly save him from the torture of Dean's absence.

"Thanks, Dean." It wasn't enough to even begin but it would have to do. Cas had to go do this before he chickened out and came running back to Dean. He needed this, they both did. If Dean felt even a smidgen of what Cas did for him, it would be easier for him if he saw Cas happy. If Nora could make Cas happy, at least a fraction of what Dean did.

Cas started on the handle of the car, sucking in a breath for courage.

"Cas. Wait." Cas turned back before his head could tell him not to. Dean was looking at him with a face Cas couldn't decipher. Dean breathed in and sighed deep. Cas held his breath. It was a good thing he was sitting down. "I can't let you do this."

The world stopped spinning on its axis.

"What?" Cas choked out, looking at Dean with wide eyes. How was this even real? He would think it was a dream except that Dean hadn't turned evil yet, so there was no way Cas was sleeping. All of his dreams turned to nightmares at one point and Dean was much too vivd and beautiful for Cas's head to create.

Dean had just said the words Cas had never even imagined he could hear.

His eyes were grazing over Cas's body and Cas felt hot all over, disbelieving and overflowing with so many emotions he couldn't even pin them down and put names on them.

"You're gonna wear that, on a date?" Dean's tone made his entire statement axiomatic and Cas felt the world begin to move again, the axis resuming it's tilt. He looked down at his clothes, at what Dean was looking at. What he was talking about. The reason he couldn't let Cas go on a date. His clothes. Not his feelings, not anything else.

Cas sucked in a breath. He was used to temporary heartbreak by now and he had a quick recovery face.

"This is all I have, Dean." Dean chewed his lip for a moment then nodded.

"Okay. Uh, lose the vest." Dean looked up at Cas's eyes and Cas felt his entire body flush red. Dean had just told him to take off his clothes and Cas was reading this all wrong again.

"What are you –"

"Lose the vest, come on," Dean pushed. Cas didn't have the willpower to question it twice. He slipped out of the vest quickly, handing it to Dean. Who was telling him to strip. Eyes raking over Cas's body, determining his appearance as worthy of dating or not.

Dean tossed the vest in his backseat. Clearly, Cas was going to have to see Dean sometime before his shift tomorrow if Dean was storing his vest in the backseat. Cas wanted to shiver at Dean throwing his clothes in the back but he didn't, he somehow kept his very stiff composure.

"That's a little better. All right. There we go. All right." Dean looked him up and down appraisingly. Cas was still not breathing. Every muscle in his body felt tense and stiff and under complete watchful guard of Dean's eyes.

"And do the buttons – why don't you unbutton it?" Cas felt like he was featuring in one of Dean's movies but he obediently followed Dean's instructions anyways. His fingers somehow cooperated which was brilliant because if they fumbled Dean might reach over here and do it himself and Cas wouldn't be able to take that. He wasn't sure he could even get out of the car right now, as it was.

"Okay. Th- that's far enough, Tony Manero." Dean laughed softly and Cas's heart melted to about the same level as the rest of his wrecked body. Here he was, after everything crazy that had happened to day and Dean was stripping him with his words and his eyes. There wasn't much more that could happen to Cas right now that could make him crazier.

First the doors and the ice cream incident and then Cas's hand over Dean's to start the car and now stripping Cas down after giving him a mini heart attack about not letting Cas do this.

"Um..." Dean looked up and down Cas's body, eyes moving slow and so hot over Cas's skin it might as well have been Dean's mouth. That thought made Cas shiver. Dean's eyes finally made it back to Cas's, and he'd be damned if Dean couldn't read every single one of his thoughts right now. But he just spoke instead, not what Cas's ears had been wanting to hear.

"Yeah. Good. All right. Listen to me. Always open the door for her, okay? Ask a lot of questions. They like that. And, uh... Oh, if she says she's happy to go Dutch … she's lying. All right?" Cas just nodded. He couldn't speak right now, he didn't trust his voice. He didn't trust what he might say, too.

Dean's hand was on him again, slapping his chest, over his heart. Cas wanted Dean to never stop touching him, but then Dean's hand was gone and Cas felt colder and smaller.

"Go get 'em, tiger," Dean smiled. He'd said that once before, Cas remembered perfectly. It had been the night of their first kiss, about twenty minutes before. Chastity was beckoning with her overly-lotioned hand and Dean pushed him in the blonde's direction with a go get em, tiger.

He had to get out.

Cas stumbled out the door and the world was swirling but he was pretty sure he kept upright and unsuspicious. Dean might be watching him right now again. Cas took a few steps but then he had to turn around, had to see if Dean was watching him.

He was.

Cas smiled nervously. This date could save him from the beautiful, unavailable man watching him who had Cas's clothes in his backseat. He didn't want to mess it up. Almost as much as he wanted to run back to the car and jump inside, leap into Dean's lap and kiss him until they couldn't breathe, make Dean's and his ice cream date the only date of the night.

Dean gave him a thumbs up through the window. He looked so damn excited for Cas, like he really wanted this for him. Cas couldn't disappoint him.

He returned the thumbs up, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Then he swung open the gate and walked up towards the front door. He sighed nervously and put one foot in front of the other, very aware of the two burning holes in his back from Dean's eyes.

There were roses on the way to the door. Cas stooped to pick one, stabbing himself on a thorn first. When he straightened back up with the rose, he decided he couldn't have Dean watch this whole thing. His hands were shaking so badly he'd stabbed himself with a damn rose thorn.

He turned back towards Dean, waving at him to go. Cas couldn't have his head on Nora and his heart tethered to the car behind him. Dean waved back happily, then recognition crossed his face. He pointed at the road, a question in his eyes. Cas nodded and Dean signaled that he was going. Cas watched for another moment as Dean attempted to maneuver his way around a truck, them he was turning back to the door. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He held the rose behind his back and waited another few moments until he could hear the Impala in the distance. He let out a sigh, the pressure of Dean's eyes gone. Dean was just so consuming. It hurt his heart even having Dean in the vicinity, but for some reason it felt totally worth it.

Cas held his breath and knocked.

 

 

Dean was looking down at the photo of the man, the one who was now out smiting people into pink goo that splattered everything all because he sucked at determining pain that was live-past-able and pain that people should die to be put out of their misery. He looked at the photo, and the background suddenly caught his eye. Sandy gray ford.

"Is that his truck?" He asked, hoping for a no but expecting otherwise. Dean recognized that truck. It was the deuschbag who nearly boxed him in when he dropped Cas off at his date. That was the same gray, sandy ford.

"Yep," the sheriff confirmed. Dean stared at the picture, his eyes wide as he connected all of the dots. He knew who the destructo angel's next target was. He'd been there, waiting, setting a trap for him when Dean had almost gotten hit by the truck.

"Cas ..." Dean said, his world crashing down. Cas was human and killable - they'd already proved that once - and already found by a killer who could pulverize his entire being.

And if the angel had targeted him?

That meant Cas was hurting a lot more than he let on. Dean cursed himself for not seeing it sooner the entire drive over. His foot had the pedal almost on the floor and his head ran through a hundred different options.

Was it the job? Loneliness? Missing his grace? Wishing he was an angel? What in the world was so bad in Cas's head, made him hurt so much that a damn destruction angel wanted to smite him and put him out of his misery?

Dean tried to avoid the question that was nagging him, the one that he was so afraid was true.

Was it him?

Did Dean kicking Cas out make him hurt? Make him feel like he was in so much pain that dying might be better?

Had Dean done that?

He pressed the pedal down further.

 

Ephraim stepped towards Tanya, his voice calm and collected and his hands deadly and dirty with the blood of all those innocents he'd killed.

"Allow me," he said quietly. Tanya was crying in the background. Cas took a step closer, glad for his height that went unnoticed around the people he was used to being with. But he towered over Ephraim and he used it to his advantage, making his voice rougher as he glared down and threatened the psychotic angel with his words.

"Don't. Touch. Her."

Ephraim just looked at him, still calm. He didn't move to go around Cas though. Instead he furrowed his brows, looking a little amused as he redirected his attentions to Cas.

"You think I came for her? No, Castiel. I came for you."

He came for-

Cas just stood there, stunned. Ephraim moved around him and Cas didn't stop him. Ephraim was here to take him out of his misery, to kill him because his wounds were so bad that death was a better option than the pain he was in.

Ephraim started pacing while he was talking and Cas automatically reached for the rose. The first prick in his thumb brought a few of his senses back, the physical pain unclouding some of the shock. Ephraim had come all this way for him but damned if Castiel wasn't going down without a fight. He could analyze why Ephraim chose him later.

"So much pain and despair, so many voices begging out for relief," Ephraim walked around the room, looking about it as if all those unfortunate, moody people were in here with them. The prick on Cas's finger started to sting.

"How'd you find me?" Cas lamented.

"Because you're warded? The same way I find all my patients – I just followed the sound of your pain. You have no idea how loud it is. I could hear you for miles." Cas backed away. Now that Tanya was safe, at least. For now. Ephraim followed him out of the baby's room.

"Do you really think you're doing Heaven's work down here?" Cas was trying to be logical, but most angels were too dead set in their ways to change. It was in their hardwiring. It took more than one extreme push for Cas to fall as far off that wagon as he had, but there was always a chance he could talk Ephraim off the ledge too.

"I know I am," the young angel answered cockily. That was one thing Cas did not miss about being an angel.

"Well, you're wrong," Cas corrected gently. As gently as possible when talking to a murderous serial killer with the power to smite anyone and anything. "Earth can be a hard place. But these humans, they can get better. They're just doing the best they can."

"Is that what you think you're doing, Castiel – the best you can? Well, I'm sorry. But if this is the best that the famed Castiel can do, you're a more urgent case than I thought. I used to admire you. You failed more often than you succeeded. But at least you played big." There was a pause. Cas swiped the first mark of the sigil over the door. Ephraim stepped a little closer and Castiel looked up. He pinned Cas with his eyes, his mouth curling into a smirk. An distasteful smirk, like he'd just eaten a rotten lemon.

"Right up until the day you fell. For him. I can see it all in you, every ounce of regret. Not even counting the guilt that ways on you for everything you did in his name. In humanity's name. It's always been that way, hasn't it Castiel? You were so great, until you tangled up with the filth of humans. With the filth of the green eyed man you see in your nightmares. I can feel it Cas, how much he broke you. It's some of the worst heartbreak I've ever come across. That's the thing about suffering, it tends to fester in places that have suffered before. How many times has he broken your heart, Cas? How many times do you just keep on running back? See, this is why God created angels without love for anything but him. No need for hurt if there's no love. I can take that all away for you, Cas. You don't have to be haunted by him anymore."

Cas was just staring at him. Staring, not noticing the way the blood dripped off his finger, splashing loudly on the floor. Ephraim's eyes flashed down. Cas could see the recognition over his face as he saw the sigil on the door, saw Cas's bleeding finger Cas had disregarded with Ephraim's cruel words. Then it was all happening in so fast and Cas's hand was being yanked away, something was snapping or cracking and his wrist lit up on fire with pain and there was someone who screamed and it was probably Cas's throat because that hurt like hell. He was on his knees now, hand twisted up awkwardly and still bleeding. Ephraim looked more disappointed than anything.

"Now what are you doing? Burying your head in the sand. Right when your kind needs you the most. All because of a man." He hissed the last word like it was poison and twisted Cas's wrist. Castiel gasped at the pain that shot through him. The steel blue eyes looked down on him, almost sympathetic now.

"Shh-shh-shhh. It'll be over soon. I'll take the pain away. You don't have to live with the way you feel about him." Ephraim ran a hand through Cas's hair, smoothing it down, and Cas managed to choke out words that would probably not be enough but was all he really had left.

"I want to live."

And he did. Even if it meant crying himself to sleep and missing Dean and living with a broken heart, because there would be days, maybe just one more in his lifetime or maybe never another again, that Dean would come and find him and take him out for ice cream and everything would be okay and all the days in between would be worth it. Cas could do that, could live for Dean. Even if that wasn't really living.

"But as what, Castiel?" Ephraim asked, his eyes narrowed. "As an angel? or a man?"

There was a plethora of pain shooting through him but Cas sucked in a breath anyways. His eyes locked on the cold steely blue ones and he spoke as levely as he could.

"It doesn't matter. So long as I have him, it doesn't matter."

Ephraim raised his other hand, fingers lighting up a little with a pink glow. Cas tried to flinch away when suddenly a loud crashing sound startled them both.

Cas's knight rushed in, knife in hand and look of beautiful determination on his face, a stark contrast to the happiness that had been on it earlier when he'd looked fondly over ice cream at Cas. Dean was here, Dean had come for him. Ephraim nearly dropped Cas's wrist in surprise.

"Speak of the devil," Ephraim cursed as he flicked a hand, sending Dean flying into a corner. Cas winced as Dean hit the wall. Dean had come to his rescue. Somehow, Dean had known. Tanya was starting to cry again. Cas's head was pounding and his wrist had it's own heartbeat and everything was happening so very fast. He could see Dean struggling and he just wanted to go over there and make Dean okay but he was useless for healing anyhow and Ephraim still had him in a painful death grip, was still spitting evil words out of his righteous mouth.

"You say you want to live. For what, for him? But you can't see what I see. By choosing a human life, you've already given up. If you love him so badly, you can die like him too. You chose that man, you … chose … death." Ephraim's hand raised again and Cas ducked his head away. Just in time to see Dean's hand slide something bright and shiny across the floor. With the one hand that wasn't twisted into malformation, he reached out and grabbed the streak of white light. The blade nearly cut his fingers but Cas was fast. He used to be a knife man, used to be a soldier in a heavenly war.

White light was bursting out of Ephraim before his fingers could even turn pink. His screams filled the room the same time the flash of white did, and Cas sent up a silent prayer to no one and nothing that Baby Tanya had her eyes closed. The light faded eventually and Ephraim's vessel collapsed dead to the floor.

Cas stared at the body. Dean was panting and hurt and Cas should be helping but he didn't want to get up. He didn't know how much Dean heard and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Cas-"

"Don't."

Dean didn't. He stayed quiet and they both looked at the body for another minute before Tanya started to cry. Cas finally stood, crossed the room and offered his not-limp hand to Dean. Dean took it, silent and looking worriedly at him. But he followed Cas's request, didn't ask.

Because there wasn't much Cas could tell him anyways. I want to live for you but I know I'll never have you? You made me see the honor of a human life and I want to prove to myself that I can survive without your touch in my life? Cas kept his mouth shut. If Dean had heard Ephraim, at least he hadn't heard the worst of it. God knows they both got accused of being in love with each other often enough, it was just too bad it was one sided. A guardian angel who fell in love with his charge. And his charge could never love him back.

Dean waited with him and Tanya for Nora to get home, which was only another ten minutes. Dean held Tanya and hummed her something that sounded like Smoke on the Water and Cas cleaned the blood off of Nora's door and floor. Dean had already taken care of the body. It was eerie how good he was at that.

As soon as Nora showed up Dean clapped Cas on the back and told him he'd be outside when Cas was ready. As soon as Cas stepped out, Dean put his cell phone back in his pocket, looking over the hood at Cas with those same concerned puppy eyes. Cas walked slowly to the car.

"Where to, Cas?"

 

The Impala rolled up in front of the Gas'n'Sip in slow motion. Cas wasn't looking at him. Dean hated that he had the address of this place memorized. He hated that it was so damn far away from Kansas. Really, Idaho? He looked at the building, at the window where he had first spotted Cas. That moment had felt like Christmas morning and now it was like that was all being ripped away from Dean, all at once. He had felt stupid to even be hopeful, but he had been. When Cas had walked out of Nora's house that last time, so much of Dean was just aching for Cas to tell him, take me home. back with you and Sam and the bunker, where I belong. Even though Dean had told Cas he couldn't be there. It was all Dean's fault they were like this anyways.

"Listen, Cas …" Dean cleared his throat, looked down at his hands. This was hard to say, talking to Cas was hard, but Dean managed to get out the next words without tearing up. "Back at the bunker, I, uh... Sorry I told you to go. I know it's been hard on you, you know, on your own. Well, you're adapting." Cas's baby blues were looking at him, so innocent and young somehow, even though he was born on the second day. There was a sort of softness there that Dean was dying to protect. And apparently hadn't needed to. Cas had saved himself, all on his own. He'd found a job, a life. A girl. Kind of. He'd blown the rest of them out of the water when it came to normal. He'd learned things Dean had never taught him, because he had things Dean never could have dreamed of having. It amazed him. Cas amazed him. At least the next words were easy. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Dean." Cas sighed, looking out the windshield. He didn't look so troubled as he had when Dean first showed up. They were healthy for each other, happier around each other. Dean would love for the moment Zeke left, to drive up to Idaho himself and refuse to leave without Cas in the backseat back home. But Dean couldn't do that to him anymore, not when he saw how Cas was on his own. He deserved that. Cas deserved the world. He was...for now, he was out. He was good and happy and safe, safe as a wanted ex-angel could be, and Dean owed him at least that. Cas suddenly turned to him, mouth set in a worried line. Not that Dean was looking at his mouth.

"But there's something Ephraim said." Dean held his breath. He thought he'd heard something, but maybe he'd been imagining it... "The angels — they need help. Can I really sit this out? Shouldn't I be searching for a way to get them home?" There was no way to get them home, Crowley had confirmed that. But either way, Cas didn't need to know. Not when he had all this. Dean could protect that one last piece of Cas's happiness. Even if Dean was a little disappointed Cas wasn't going to clear up the rest of what Ephraim said.

"Me and Sam will take care of the angels. You're human now." Dean was not getting teary eyes but it was getting harder to look at Cas. He looked so enraptured with Dean's every word, like what Dean said really mattered. He was so human it hurt. Human enough now to finally want Dean back...but that was too much to ask. Of everyone. Humanity came with pain and Cas had had his fair share inflicted already. It was time to let go and just be okay for once. Dean studied his face, trying to memorize all of it. The slope of his cheeks, the way his chin tilted. Because it was all going to be over soon. Far too soon. He finally got the courage to say the last words, his throat choking up just a little. "It's not your problem anymore.

They sat in silence for a moment, then everything was moving so fast. Dean was leaning over from his side of the car. His face was getting closer and he had that look and Cas knew exactly where this was going. Cas's heart nearly jumped out of his chest, but he managed to turn his head to the side in time, stopping Dean in his tracks.

Dean was just about to kiss him. Dean was going to kiss him. One last, final, goodbye kiss. Cas couldn't.

"Dean, I can't." Cas said quietly, looking out the windshield and trying not to glance over at Dean, who was leaning halfway between his seat and Cas's, frozen. "Sam," Cas explained weakly.

Dean was frozen another moment, then he was leaning back to his side of the car and Cas ventured a glance at him. Dean had two fingers on his lips, looking down at the leather seats and not at Cas.

"Yeah, yeah. You're right. Sorry." The last word sounded nothing like the other reasoning ones, all broken and upset. Cas furrowed his eyebrows and Dean glanced up, clearing his throat like he'd only had something caught in it and hadn't just almost kissed Cas. The pink and gold was bright in Cas's head but the green eyes were brighter and Cas didn't think those were tears rimming the edges but if they were he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

They looked at each other for a moment before Dean glanced out the windshield, his face sentimental and emotional for once. Cas almost leaned over and finished what Dean had tried to start just because Dean's walls weren't up and that was so damn rare, but he couldn't do that to them. Any of the three of them.

"You're gonna be a great human, Cas. So don't worry about all the other stuff, yeah?" Dean's voice sounded funny, like maybe he was even more upset than his reminiscing face was letting on. Cas studied the expression for one more moment, then decided if he didn't get out of the car now, he might never.

Dean's eyes met his, and they let their eyes say the goodbye their mouths were too afraid to voice. It was one more moment, one more staring contest that had no winner and no answer and no satisfaction other than melting in each other's eyes, in the reassurance of each other's souls. Then Cas was opening the door and the handle felt cold on his fingers. The air outside the car was colder too, and everything already had that dimness that came with Dean's absence.

His body turned him around before his head could say otherwise and Dean was watching him through the car window. Cas watched back. His head had memorized Dean's face a thousand times but he looked one last time anyways.

Both of their hands lifted, and they were waving goodbye soundlessly, their souls separated by a piece of glass and a thousand years.

He didn't want to know if Dean kept watching him as he walked up to the Gas'n'Sip door. His fingers fumbled with the key in the lock for a moment. The roar of that familiar Impala's engine started up behind him. Cas wasn't going to turn around. If he had turned around and seen the look on Dean's face, he would've been in shotgun again before either of them could process what was happening. But he didn't turn around, and he didn't see the way Dean looked at him. Instead, he opened up the cold handle and stepped a foot inside.

He closed the glass door behind him but he still heard the slow roar of an engine roll away. The last thing to go was always hearing anyways.

His feet carried him across the store in a daze, something between sleepwalking and autopilot. His hands and some minute part of his brain reserved for kicking in gear when the rest wasn't functioning worked together on the automatic list in his brain, first the coffee then the cash box in the cash register, then flipping on the TV. There was some report about the angels falling. Cas watching it for a moment, eyes frozen to the screen, to the balls of flame falling to the earth. Remembered that cold field, looking up and seeing them, wondering if Dean was somewhere looking up too.

Cas was never going to be able to look anywhere without seeing Dean in everything.

His body turned around to blink on the neon open sign and his eyes wandered to the last place Dean had been, the last place Cas had seen him. The sleek black wasn't there, just a Dean-shaped void. Cas moved out of the glow of the sign, walking to the next window and staring at the space in front of him. Everything he had just let go of.

Dean had almost kissed him.

You're human now. It's not your problem.

He's not your problem.

Not anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam was waiting in the garage. He was propped on the hood of one of the Motel T's, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed. He wasn't breathing deep enough to be sleeping, and his eyes popped open the moment he heard the Impala's engine roll into the garage. Dean swung Baby into her spot, shutting off the engine and just sitting for a moment.

Cas was gone. Dean had been an idiot and almost botched the ending but it didn't matter now, it was over anyways. He had a life and he didn't need Dean. He never really had, but it was always easy enough to pretend like he did. Until now.

Dean just wasn't good at goodbyes. His mouth worked faster than his brain most times, not that that was an excuse for putting Cas in that situation. At least nothing happened. Why had nothing happened? Cas was such a better person than Dean did. He deserved so much better. And now he finally had it. Happiness, at the least. Cas could do better than a Gas'n'Sip.

Funny, Dean's love life. First, he falls in love with his little brother through some stroke of terrible luck and living in each other's pockets and being raised codependent and needy on each other. Then, the story of the boy who fell in love with his guardian angel. Cas had saved him, a countless number of times that he'd never truly know. Dean had fallen for the sad smile and the confused looks and the ruffled hair and blue tie that matched electric eyes. For the standing-too-close and lack-of-filter and the dedicated loyalty. For the way Cas looked at him when he thought Dean wasn't looking. Now all of those things were human, more tangible than ever, and Dean didn't deserve a bit of it. Cas deserved happiness and someone who put him first no matter what, and Dean couldn't give that to him. Dean could only let him go.

A knock on the window made Dean jump, then he snapped out of his thoughts and recognized the silky hair falling in his view. Dean rolled down the window, his body still not getting out of the car. Cas had been in shotgun, then he was gone.

"You okay?" Sam's hands rested on the frame, fingers curled inside the car and body bent over to be short enough to look inside at Dean's face. Dean, who was pouting in the car.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." He said, a mix between quiet and a little gruff. Dean had called Sam again in the car ride home, filling him in on Cas's current location. Which was not with Dean. Sam reached inside the car and popped the door latch, opening Dean's door up for him. Dean was just about to do that.

As soon as Dean was on his feet Sam was pulling him in by his hips, bringing his chest flush to Sam's. Dean tucked the Impala's keys in his jeans pocket, looking up at Sam's face. He looked sympathetic, but Dean didn't really want Sam's sympathy, he'd just like to--

Sam's lips were on his and Dean's eyes automatically shut. Okay, he could dig feel-better kisses. It was a hell of a lot better than talking about it. Yeah, no matter what Sam said he wasn't doing that. He wasn't talking about Cas and the way he felt torn into a lot of pieces all over again. It was a different kind of hurt now, but the hurt wasn't any less. He couldn't talk to Sam about it. But he could open up his mouth and let Sam stick his tongue inside, let his lover take him right here on the hood of the car. Make him forget he'd just left his best friend behind.

Sam closed the driver door with one hand and pushed Dean onto the hood with the other. The metal was cool under his back but Sam was warm over him, so Dean didn't complain. The kiss got deeper and Sam's hands got bolder, running over Dean's chest and pressing him harder to the hood.

Dean would be totally cool with Sam flipping him over and just bending him over the car, fucking him rough from behind. But Sam had other ideas, which were becoming clearer as clothes were getting removed. Sam didn't bother with either of their shirts, just removing jeans and boxers enough for everything to work.

Both of Dean's knees got curled into his chest and he was not nearly as flexible as he used to be so odds are his muscles were going to be complaining later. But he didn't say anything, just let Sam position him, laying his head back on the hood and closing his eyes.

Dean had been gone for what, a few days, and they don't even make it back to the bedroom. Which Dean's head was extremely thankful for because the longer he had to go with a functioning brain the more he could think about Cas and he would really prefer to just be numb and boneless and out of his mind right now. Sam could carry him down to the damn bedroom later if he had to. Anything that meant Dean didn't have to think about the past 24 hours. About letting Cas go. Telling him to go. Cas choosing a regular life over Dean. What was Dean expecting? He'd kicked him out. Without even giving him the real reason. In truth, Dean could give a damn if Cas brought danger down on the bunker and all their heads. Wasn't that what friends were for, helping each other past the dangerous stuff? Apparently not in Dean's case.

He was a shitty friend. And a shitty boyfriend too, almost kissed an old flame the first chance he got. Maybe he should tell Sam. After. After Sam fucked him and Dean was feeling a little better.

The thing that sucked about this position was that Dean couldn't kiss Sam through it. He just had to lay here and feel an absence of Sam on his mouth. It was a different feeling than Cas's absence there. But with Sam standing and Dean half curled on the hood, there was going to be a lot of momentum and that should make up for it.

After a quick prep Sam was bottoming out in a stroke, no ordeal of teasing or driving Dean crazy, just fast and efficient and to the point and Dean was so damn lucky he had someone who knew him this well, knew exactly what he wanted. Well, not exactly, Dean would really prefer for his stomach to be on the hood and for Sam to take this a little rougher, but Sam wasn't willing either of those things so Dean was going to take what he could get.

Which was still more than perfectly efficient in both making him forget his Cas and getting Sam back under his skin. If Dean was a therapist, sex would be the only drug he would ever subscribe. Between that, whiskey, and the way Sam wrapped his big arms around Dean at night, most of the nightmares in his life could be kept at bay. Even the ones with big blue eyes and sad smiles.

"Uughh, Sammy," Dean moaned, hands digging crescent moons into the jacket sleeves covering Sam's forearms. Sam was holding him by his ribs, using the angle to fuck him fast and hard into the car. It was a good thing Kevin never came in the garage.

The friction between their bodies was earth-shattering, and Sam was hitting a bundle of nerves with every thrust. Dean was rock hard against his chest, the sensitive head of his cock brushing against the fabric of the shirt he was still wearing. He didn't have much mobility at all, he was basically pinned in this position, at the mercy of Sam's dick and the rapid pace of his hips. The car rocked a little on its suspension but Dean didn't have the words or brain to yell at Sam for it.

"Fuck, Sam," he said instead, whining by now, his words getting breathier and his body pulsing with heat, everything around him slipping besides the feel of Sam inside him, crushing his ribs and reaching every muscle in Dean's body from the inside out.

"Got you, Dean," Sam breathed, words as stable as possible in this situation. Dean wasn't sure if it was a reassurance or a declaration but he didn't really care, everything was too hazy right now to matter anyways.

The tempo this time was just so damn fast, driving Dean crazy, especially with the position Sam had him. Like this, Dean had no options, couldn't stop Sam if he wanted to. But stopping Sam was the last thing Dean wanted to do. His body was at the mercy of Sam's hands and hips and the fast, deep thrusting of his dick and it was overwhelming just enough to the point that Dean didn't have to think about anything else. Which was exactly what he wanted.

Between the creaking of the car under his back and the wet collide of their bodies every few seconds, the only other sound that filled the garage was their breathing, bodies exerting too much energy and having been separated for too long to be perfectly in sync. But the distance between them over the past couple of days had absolutely no affect on the way Sam fit inside him, the way he knew just the spot inside Dean to make him moan and see stars. They could be apart for years and still know each other so well they could pick up right where they left off. Well, physically, anyways. When Dean got back from purgatory a year and a half ago, they had a lot of mental discrepancies and problems, but they were so far past that no one even really remembered anymore.

And curled up on the hood for Sam, barely undressed and held tight like a rag doll, Dean had the luxury of not really remembering lots of things. Well, the one thing in particular he was trying to forget. Like this, with Sam pushing in and out and rubbing along every muscle Dean had inside him, the blue eyed ex-angel sales associate was just a distant piece of Dean's mind that he didn't have to think about anymore. There was only Sam and the building, choking heat that was coiling through his abdomen. Everything was tightened in his chest and his arm muscles were straining just holding on to Sam's arms.

Dean's mouth was open, trying to breathe, and his eyes were closed now against the distant overhead lighting of the garage. With the loss of his sight, all of his other senses upped in intensity a little and Dean could smell Sam, smell their sex and the hint of perspiration on the back of Sam's neck, wetting the underside of his hair. The taste of Sam's mouth was just a distant lightness on his tongue. His nerve endings upped a bit in intensity too, which made the fast pumping dick inside his ass feel sharper, more clear and obvious and powerful.

Dean wasn't trying to hear much, but through the increasingly louder and punched moans falling from his own lips, Sam's mouth slipped out a word barely above a whisper. "Mine." Dean's body lit up higher in response, a choked sound coming out of his mouth. His body teetered on the edge, the slip slide of the head of Sam's dick brushing over his prostate making his body shake and tremble.

A few more pumps from Sam's hips and Dean was coming, warm cum shooting onto his shirt over his chest, muscles seizing as Sam's name slipped past Dean's lips in a groan. The thrusts continued into his body, dick twitching and spilling a mess over the blue button-up's fabric. Right now he didn't even notice, but he was probably going to be pretty annoyed later if he had to wash sticky white out of his jacket too.

Only a few hip withdrawals and slams later, Sam was filling his body with warmth and white and the hands around his rib cage tightened, probably making more bruises on top of the lightly blossoming purple fingerprints that were already forming on Dean's skin. Sam slowed as he worked through the end of his orgasm and as Dean began to shudder from the aftershocks that started him trembling. As both of their bodies emptied and the weight of the workout finally started to set in, Sam pulled Dean more towards him, hips flush, sliding Dean down the hood so that his ass was entirely off. Dean might've asked Sam what he was doing but he didn't particularly care at the moment. Sam could do basically anything to him right now and Dean would just mmhm sleepily and attempt to curl up somewhere and sleep. He hadn't slept well since Cas called and all of the mental stress was wearing out his body a lot. Not to mention that he did get angel-flung across a room, which was always an efficient way to make your body complain to all hell.

Sam's hands slid down Dean's body and around, palms riding over the top of his bare ass that was completely off the car and held up by Sam. He planted his hands around the upper flesh of Dean's ass, taking a step backwards to pull out slowly, both of them conscious of how very spent those parts of their body were. Then Sam was balancing the weight of Dean's lower body on a hand and tugging at his clothes with the other, gently pulling Dean's boxers back on. Dean's hands were braced basically uselessly against the edge of the car hood, eyes still closed as Sam partial dressed him.

"Can you walk?" Sam asked gruffly after tucking Dean's softened dick in his boxers too. Dean didn't bother opening his eyes yet, the darkness of his eyelids was nice and he'd be staring directly at the boring ceiling and overhead lights if he opened them anyways.

"No," Dean responded, a little sass in his undertone. Sam snorted.

"Ugh. Fine," Sam relented, tugging his free hand at Dean's jeans. Yeah, getting jeans on someone else one handed when you were both tired and sated and way too far from a comfortable bed did not sound that feasible. Apparently, Sam thought so too because he gave up trying pretty quickly and just pushed Dean back up on the hood so he could tug Dean's jeans off around his ankles. As soon as Dean's boxer covered ass slid onto the metal, cold and wet bunched the material. Dean groaned. That was why Sam had pulled Dean half off the car to pull out, he didn't want to get the cum leaking from Dean's ass all over the paint of the car. Yeah, that would be a bitch to clean. But now Dean had the boxer brief material as a buffer which meant that he'd have to deal with soiled boxers plastered cold to his ass until he could take these off and wipe down. That was a little disgusting.

"Saamm," Dean whined quietly, fist reaching for Sam's jacket arm. He missed. His voice was still not anywhere near his normal deep gruffness, still full of breathiness and sleepiness and how damn tired he was. "Your spunk is all over my boxers, gross."

"Mm, you'll survive." Sam answered distractedly, finally wrestling Dean's jeans off his right ankle - having had to have dropped Dean's boots to the ground too. Now Dean was in wet boxers and socks and a full get up on top, jacket and all. Yeah, great look.

Sam tugged him back down the hood and it was a good thing Dean was clothed on top because otherwise the Impala's hood was not slidy enough to be dragged across bare skin. One of Sam's arms wrapped up underneath Dean's shoulders and the other tucked under his knees, lifting his bridal style off the car. Dean curled into Sam's torso, head turned in to the muscle of Sam's pec, eyes still closed and hand fisting the material of Sam's jacket. He was just so tired and the closer he could be to that warmth, that safety, the familiar smell and feel of home the more okay he was going to be. Sam stumbled a little at first but all of those annoying hours spent lifting weights finally came into good use and he managed to get a fairly safe feeling grip on Dean.

Dean heard the creak of the Impala's back door opening and he curled his fist in tighter against Sam's jacket. It was the automatic response, anything to get Sam closer, tighter against him. To curl up in the safety of his brother's overgrown arms. That were currently planning on wrestling Dean into the back seat, which was not at all soft or comfortable enough for the way his body felt right now. There was no way Dean was going to get his strength back without a nap and napping in the backseat of the Impala was impossible with his current condition. Especially since it would probably mean Sam wasn't going to be wrapped around him.

"Bed," Dean protested weakly against Sam's chest, the word muffled by his lips over Sam's shirt. His mouth dampened the fabric a little with the word and Sam sighed. He hoisted Dean in a little closer to his chest then there was a creak of a door again and the telltale sound of it closing shut. Dean would have smiled in victory but the edges of his consciousness were pulling at him. The darkness of his eyelids was getting more and more comfortable and Sam was warm around him and Dean's body felt safe and cared for and there was going to be a soft, comfy bed soon - his own soft comfy bed - and there wasn't much anchoring him to stay awake.

His last thought was somewhere around how Sam was a superhero for wrestling them both down a flight of stairs like this when Dean was too sated to even move. It wasn't like that was any less of a workout on Sam, but he supposed Sam had been only doing research over the past couple of days whereas Dean was getting thrown into walls and driving halfway across the country. Most of the way across the country.

But then it was just too warm and everything smelled like Sam with Dean's nose buried in his shirt and he was asleep in Sam's arms before Sam even reached the computer room. Where Kevin happened to be, but a single glance up from the book he was looking at and he just shook his head with a disturbed/amused look on his face. Thankfully Sam had Dean tilted in towards his body, so the white streaks of cum on his shirt weren't visible to the young prophet. Kevin just saw a passed-out, strangely dressed Dean who was being bridal carried into his bedroom. Something to tease Dean about, for sure, but nothing to scar the kid.

Sam shouldered the door to Dean's bedroom open farther, kicking it softly shut behind them. Dean was breathing peacefully in his arms, eyes closed and lips parted slightly, making a circle of dampness in Sam's shirt. The trip to see Cas had definitely knocked him out. Sam already knew that over the phone, was anticipating how bad it would be, but he'd been prepared as part of the clean-up crew for half an hour before the Impala pulled into the garage. Seeing Dean's face as he just sat there in his car, staring at nothing and inwardly thinking too much and probably concocting reasons to hate himself, Sam was really damn glad he'd decided to wait in the garage.

And based on how Dean had turned to sex in the absence of Cas before, Sam had figured that would be the best step one to try to nip Dean's guilt at the bud. If he could extinguish the inital flame of hatred Dean found for himself as he lay awake the night of whatever-he-did-this-time, then maybe Sam could talk to him in the morning and convince him into a reasonably okay state of mind. Everything was worse at nighttime, but based on the way Dean was sleeping in his arms, Sam was willing to bet that he'd won this round with the moon.

Some part of his figured it'd be the sweet thing to do to take off Dean's boxers and wipe him down, dress him fresh and lay him in bed that way, but Sam was beat to hell and had just carried a six foot one muscular man down a flight of stairs after a vigorous round of sex and his arms were killing him and his head was dozy and Dean would survive if he had to wait til morning.

So he stooped over and rolled Dean out of his arms as gently as he could, jostling him just a little in his sleep. Dean pursed his lips and made a quiet sound, but he didn't snap out of his slumber and Sam breathed out a sigh of relief. He unbuttoned Dean's nice blue shirt (which he pretended not to notice Dean only wore when he wanted to look good - Sam was avoiding the knowledge that Dean had just spent time alone with Sam's competition), having to wipe off his fingers on Dean's boxers when they got slippery from the mess Dean had made on it. There was a pretty good possibility those stains weren't coming out.

Then Sam carefully rolled Dean up on one of his sides, tugging both his jacket and the blue button up off of his shoulder. Then Sam rolled Dean up the other direction, tugging off both of his outer shirts and tossing them aside. Now Dean was in just a tshirt, boxers, and socks, which was a much more comfortable way to sleep than in a jacket and button up. Dean curled into the sheets, face turned to the side and legs sprawled apart, stomach-down on the top of the covers. Sam shrugged out of his jeans and shirts too, stripping his tshirt off as well, then tugged the covers out from under Dean, successfully scooting him over enough to give Sam room.

Sam slid under the sheets and fluffed them over Dean's ass. When he'd turned over, his tshirt had ridden up to reveal a half-moon of tan, muscular skin dotted with just a few of his freckles. Sam stayed propped on his side, one hand resting over the half-moon of bare skin on Dean's back and the other curling under Sam's pillow. His ankle slipped beneath one of Dean's, and Dean's foot curled up a little in response. The slow, steady breathing of Dean's exhausted body was hypnotizing, and Sam found Dean was drifting in and out of his vision pretty quickly as his eyelids drooped and his head fought incoming sleep.

It wasn't long before the slope of Dean's shoulders down to his ass turned from a beautiful image to a dream behind closed eyes and Sam let sleep take them both, Dean safe and warm under his palm. And finally, finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Cali:
> 
> "Can you write some bottom!Sam?"
> 
> FlyByNightGirl:  
>  "Actually, there was already a plan for bottom!Sam in the next episode, as well as the episode after that surprise surprise! I know I tend to lean towards bottom!Dean because the majority of the fandom does, but I totally am happy to write both. Thank you for the suggestion! I'm on it. Hopefully it will be as awesome as possible. Thank you for reading! xx"


	19. Nonpartisan (Bad Boys 9x07)

The room around him was still dark when Dean blinked open his eyes. He stared into the darkness for a moment, noting it was there and wishing for just a moment that he had a window. But the bunker was mostly underground, so windows would be windows to dirt. Basically pointless. The next thing his body automatically searched for after time and place was Sam. There was a limp hand draped on Dean's lower back, like it had been supporting and possessive at one point and now was just kind of resting on him. A little tension eased out of Dean's body, Sam having been located and accounted for and safe.

Dean lifted his head and laid it back down facing the other direction, blinking against the darkness to see the outlines of Sam's features. There was a mess of disheveled hair falling in Sam's face, covering one of his eyes and most of his forehead. Sam's lips were just barely parted, a centimeter or two open along the front of the seam. His nose was turned against the pillow, where his other hand was tucked underneath. It wasn't one of Sam's usual sleeping positions, which was a little strange, but not the end of the world. Yet.

There was a foot of rumpled sheets between them which Dean shimmied over, scooting closer to Sam and kicking the sheet to untangle it from his legs. He'd much rather his legs be tangled with Sam's. Once he was only a few inches away instead of a foot, he repositioned up on his side, arm snaking around Sam's waist. The hand that had been on Dean's back was just draped over his side now, having slid off to lay on the sheets instead. Sam didn't respond to the touch of Dean's arm, not so much as a twitch. Weird but whatever, Sam just must be sleeping pretty deeply.

Dean tapped his foot against Sam's ankle, his wordless way of asking Sam to tangle up their legs in the dark. Sam still didn't move. Dean was impatient and his feet were cold from moving to a new spot in the bed so he just pried apart Sam's ankles with his foot and slid their legs together. One of Dean's pressed between Sam's, the other bending at the knee to wrap around Sam's outer leg. Dean breathed in against the warmth shooting through his body, closing his eyes for just a moment at how comfortable Sam was tangled up with him.

The room was getting lighter by now, little streaks of light illuminating the floor from the crack underneath the door. It was wake-up-Sam time then. Dean breathed against Sam's throat, pressing a warm kiss to his jugular. Sam barely twitched. Okay, challenge accepted. Dean attached his lips to Sam's neck, kissing wet and hot and messy over his adam's apple, trailing over to the side of Sam's neck, kissing his skin over and over with loose lips and warm breath and hell, this was turning Dean on there was no way Sam was not going to be up. In more ways than one. Dean snuck his hands up Sam's back, pressing them closer, kissing harder. There was a quiet sound from Sam, something like acknowledgement. That was more like it.

Dean pushed up against Sam and rolled him over on his back, pressing down his hips against Sam's, rocking their boxer-covered pelvises together as his mouth continued it's hot and wet pattern over the side of Sam's neck, tracing his jawline. Sam still wasn't making the sounds Dean was expecting though. He pulled up his head, rolling his hips against Sam's in an exaggerated circle as he sat up. Sam's eyes were still closed and he was barely harder than a mild morning wood. What the hell.

"Sam?" Dean asked, stroking a thumb over Sam's cheekbone. Sam grumbled something but it was entirely unaudible. Dean tried again, leaning in close to Sam's face. "Sammy."

"Mmm," he hummed softly, a sleepy sound.

"Sam! Dude, wake up already." Dean's eyes were searching back and forth across Sam's face. He wasn't budging. Okay, maybe something was wrong. Something with Zeke? "Sammy, you okay?"

Dean was getting worried now, running his hand into Sam's hair, looking for signs of how deep his breathing was. His breathing looked fine.

"Sleepy," Sam mumbled, getting a tighter grip on his pillow and wrapping it around, over his face and nearly hitting Dean's with it in the process. Sam buried his face into the pillow and attempted to turn his hips to the side, which Dean still had pinned down. Dean climbed off instantly, watching with worried eyes as Sam rolled over and adjusted his hips, face down in the pillow and ass up in the air, like how he slept when he was drunk. Which he wasn't.

Dean ran a hand over the slope of Sam's back. It wasn't like Sam to be so tired, not within the past couple weeks. And he was always interested in waking up if it meant Dean was touching him. Hell, Dean had been on top of Sam and he still hadn't been the least bit interested. But maybe he really just was tired. Dean had been wiped out and he still felt more than rested, which meant they'd been sleeping for a while, but whatever. Dean should just let Sam sleep for another couple hours, and if he still wasn't up, Dean could worry then.

He stooped down and placed a soft kiss on top of Sam's hair, smoothing it down carefully after he leaned back. Sam didn't even twitch in response. Dean sighed and scooted off the edge of the bed, padding to his dresser and grabbing fresh boxers, jeans, and an overshirt. He watched Sam sleep as he got dressed. Sam looked dead, but for the slightest rise of his back as he breathed. Dean threw on a pair of socks too while he was in here, then he was closing the door to his bedroom quietly behind him, letting Sam get some peace and quiet to sleep in.

As soon as he was in the hallway, Dean slid a little on his feet. Okay, he was so not a walk-around-in-socks person. Where the hell were his boots...oh wait, yeah, they were probably still upstairs. He'd almost forgotten about his welcome home party last night. His boots were probably sitting right in front of the hood of the Impala. Dean started for the garage, doing his best not to slip or look like an idiot as he walked on slippery floors in just socks.

He had to be especially careful on the stairs. Wow, Sam had legitimately walked down these steps carrying a 190lb man. And only minutes after just having an intense orgasm. Dean shook his head in amusement. His little brother could be a damn body builder sometimes. Although...that would explain why he was so tired this morning.

Dean paused on the stairs, thinking. He'd made Sam carry him down the stairs when Sam was still healing from his coma and the trials and was only walking because he had celestial wheaties. How selfish could Dean be? He should've slept in the damn Impala. Dean cursed, tramping up the rest of the steps to the garage. Great, just great. He was not making any of this easier on Zeke. The angel probably hated Dean by now, with the way Dean kept working Sam out and taking him on cases and almost getting him killed and letting him overexert himself on a nightly basis. Okay, he didn't make Sam pick him up often, but still. Sam was supposed to be resting. It was just that, between Sam acting and looking entirely normal and fine and Dean having so many damn issues in his life lately, he'd been pushing aside the whole Ezekial thing.

He had to get better at remembering Sam was actually half dead, or Sammy was never going to get better. Dean did not want Zeke in his little brother for that long. Dean didn't want Zeke in his brother at all actually, but it meant Sam was alive and walking and talking and doing lots of other things that they really shouldn't be doing but couldn't exactly stop because it was Sam after all.

Dean gathered up his jeans and socks from the floor in front of the car, tying his boots on and inspecting the hood of the car. No dents or sticky white to be cleaned off, thankfully. Although Dean himself could probably use a shower, now that he thought about it. He looked down at the clothes he'd already just thrown on and sighed. He could just put them back on after he showered, god knows he's worn a lot dirtier clothes than this. Besides, a good shower would be just enough time to see if Sammy had broken out of his enchanted slumber. Not to mention Dean still had a minute problem in the downstairs department that a nice hot shower could definitely fix.

As he worked a hand over himself under the spray, it felt like a waste when there was the most gorgeous body Dean had ever seen just down the hall. But Dean was going to be a good brother and let Sam sleep, even if it meant the boyfriend thing got put on hold for a while. Dean would survive. Besides, he hadn't done this in forever. Hadn't had a reason to. Dean leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and twisting his hand down his length.

Behind his eyelids Dean didn't bother concocting images and focusing on certain things, he just let his mind be free to play whatever movie felt right. Sam's laugh, his bright hazel eyes glancing over at Dean from behind a computer screen. Big callused hands that ran over Dean's body for injuries, then sloped over other areas, pulling Dean towards him to bite at Dean's lip. Sam's mouth on his, those perfect lips mouthing down Dean's chest, teasing at the elastic of his boxers. Pretty bright eyes looking up at him from where Sam's mouth closed over his cock, tonguing at the slit. Dean moaned and pressed his thumb where Sam's imaginary tongue was, the warm water over his body not as good as the warmth of Sam but sufficient enough to jack off to at least.

Dean moaned Sam's name to the empty room as he came, painting his stomach and the shower floor with white. He stayed leaning back against the wall for a while, stroking himself through the ripples of aftershocks until he was entirely empty. His legs didn't get so shaky and he didn't feel like collapsing and sleeping when it was just his own hand bringing on an orgasm, thankfully. The only person who ever wore him out that much was Sam. Girls were satisfying and all, but when Sam fucked him all of Dean's energy went out the window.

He cleaned himself up in the spray, running his hands over his face and through his hair, washing off all the suds he'd scrubbed himself down with earlier. Water opened up some part of Dean's brain that cleared everything up into crystal, which was really nice in his lifestyle. Now, he stood under the spray and contemplated just how much his life had changed. Jacking off in the shower to the image of Sam was definitely not a new thing for him, but he hadn't done it in a long time. Probably not since sleeping with Sam had become a regular thing. He used to have to bite his lip to keep from moaning Sam's name, terrified Sam might be standing on the other side of the bathroom door and hear him. Now, the images in his head were real ones instead of fantasies, the kind of life he never thought he'd be able to live his own perfect reality.

Dean shut off the water and patted himself dry, fluffing the towel through his hair, which was probably going to make it spike ridiculously. He'd gel it into rationality after it dried completely. Until then he'd just deal with the jabs from Sam about how disheveled he looked. If Sam was awake, that is. He took his time putting his clothes back on, might as well, it just gave Sam more time to sleep.

More than an hour had probably passed since Sam had gone back to sleep, between getting dressed the first time and getting the rest of his clothes upstairs, putting them in the laundry and starting up the machine with the rest of what was in the basket, taking a shower and dressing again. It was probably seven thirty, maybe eight, which gave Sam roughly nine hours of sleep. Which was a lot.

Dean peeked his head inside the door of his bedroom, that familiar tingle of seeing Sam in his bed making him smile a little. "Sammy?"

No response.

Dean creaked the door open a little further and slipped inside, a rectangle of light from the door arcing across the bed and illuminating Sam. He was in the exact same position Dean had left him in. Normally Dean would let Sam sleep but this was not a normal situation. Something was wrong and odds are it was Dean's selfishness that caused it, which meant it was Dean's fault and he had to do something about it. Dean's silhouette folded over Sam, blocking out the rectangle of light as he walked across the room. As soon as he was close enough, Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulderblade and shook lightly.

"Sam." There was a pause, then a low sound that was so quiet Dean nearly missed it. Dean dropped his head down in relief, supporting his weight on Sam's shoulder for a moment. "You awake, man? I thought you were gonna sleep forever."

His arms and legs each felt like they weighed a ton, pulling down into the bed like sandbags. Sam tried shifting them a little, but his head wasn't connected to them anymore apparently because he was pretty sure he didn't move. His eyelids were sticky, felt like they were glued shut to his eyeballs, and he attempted at prying them open but they didn't cooperate either. The darkness was pulling at him again and he was just so damn comfortable he could drift off again...but the voice was still there and there was something heavy on his shoulder. So Sam grabbed blindly at sticks in the dark, conjuring up his vocal chords to make the only sound he was pretty sure he could make right now.

"Dean?" Sam slurred, reaching out with his words. It was just that his mouth didn't even want to make sounds and the pillow under his head was damn comfortable. In fact, the whole pallet he was lying on was an amazing thing. He was simultaneously sinking and floating and it was warm under the sheet and it had been dark until a few moments ago. His comfort tilted sideways and there was something warmer, more enticing, on that end of the bed.

Fingers wrapped over his neck and they were warm and pressing and gentle too and Sam really wanted them to stay. They were even better than his heavy arms and the warmth of the welcoming mattress. His arm responded this time as he lifted it, barely inches because it weighed like 500 lbs. He landed his hand over Dean's, the fingers disappearing nearly entirely under Sam's bigger palms. Then the voice was back and dragging Sam out of the thick slumber.

"C'mon, Sam. If you don't get up I'm calling you Aurora for a decade." The voice was low and gruff and maybe Sam was imagining it but it sounded worried too. Sam drew at some of the warmth on his neck, some of Dean's energy and love that was anchoring him back to being awake. His throat felt scratchy and he was pretty sure he sounded ridiculous but he didn't really care, he still wasn't quite in the land of the present. But it was more like he was drifting than drowning in sleep now.

"You said you didn't know who that was," Sam grumbled, and most of the words came out reasonable sounding enough for Dean to get what he meant. There was a quiet snort, some form of half-assed amusement, then the fingers were joined by another hand, sliding underneath on the opposite side of his face, turning his cheek out of the pillow. Sam turned with the movement, let Dean adjust his head. It wasn't so comfy now. Sam attempted at dragging his eyelids open but they wouldn't pull up.

"I don't. Now you getting up?" Okay, maybe if he fluttered them instead of fought the glue. But not quite yet, not til he had Dean closer, more of Dean. Then an idea crossed his mind, moving slower than most ideas, but it made Sam's mouth curl up a little at the edges anyways.

"Aurora woke up from true love's kiss." Sam's words still sounded tired, even to his ears. He shifted a little, moving to turn his nose back into the comfortable pillow. The hands on his face quickly rotated his head back up, so Sam didn't get the comfort of snuggling back into the pillow. The one that smelled like Dean.

Then there was something very real and alive pressing up against his body, sudden and eager and setting off sparks in the sandbag-heavy limbs. Dean's entire body rolled flush against Sam's, going from sitting to covering Sam's body in just seconds. They were sideways on the bed so Dean was pinning him down and sinking him more into the mattress, he was drawing Sam into the world of the awake. It had to be early as fuck, but Dean wanted him up for whatever reason and Sam's body was getting more and more willing to go along with that.

The hands on his face tilted his head a little, then there was a mouth on his. Sam leaned his head into it, loose lips closing over Dean's. They kissed and Sam's head was spinning. He didn't give his arms and legs an option anymore, the spell of how damn tired he felt was snapped and much bigger priorities showed up. Sam pressed closer, pulled Dean closer with funny feeling limbs, but one moment he was just begging to sleep and the next he had Dean and his body recognized that much, knew how to pull that body in closer.

Dean pulled away too quickly and Sam chased his mouth, tipping forward a little too far. They were on their sides so any bit of leaning sent them rolling, gravity pulling them down to the bed as they fell over from the imbalance. Then Dean was on his back and Sam was kissing him proper, not letting that mouth get away. The kisses felt warm like sunshine, sticky in the morning quiet and dark. Sam's hands skid up Dean's sides, his body more than awake now.

Sam paused as his hands encountered damp, his fingers brushed over a few droplets of wet on the small of Dean's back. He drew back his mouth, eyes fluttering open as he looked down at Dean. Dean was panting and his eyes were bright and he was searching Sam's face still a little more worried than he had reason to be. Sam flicked his eyes over the rest of Dean he could see, noting the disheveled, damp hair and shirt sticking to golden skin. So he'd showered, then. That would explain why he felt and tasted so fresh and cold and alive.

Sam lifted one of his hands off the bed, putting all his weight on one side so he could run his fingers through Dean's hair. His fingers slid in with the water, making the little spikes reshape around him. The green eyes looking up at him looked hungry but hesitant, like he wanted Sam badly but didn't want to initiate it for some reason. That was a little unlike Dean. He normally did exactly what he wanted, wasn't afraid to tell Sam what he wanted when he wanted it. Sam kept his fingers in Dean's hair, looking down at him with a little smile.

"What do you want, Dean? Anything goes." Sam lowered his voice a little for the last two words, feeling more than seeing the chill that ran through Dean's body at the suggestion. His big brother looked like he could eat Sam alive. But he shook his head a little instead, more for himself than for Sam by the appearance of it.

"Breakfast," Dean answered, looking up at Sam. He was ungodly cute like this, laying down with crazily spiked up hair and a pretty smile under Sam. Sam ducked down and kissed him briefly, twisting their mouths together before reluctantly breaking apart. Then there was a beat or two of silence as they looked at each other and Sam considered Dean's answer to his question. Not exactly what Sam had meant.

"Can't we do something else before we have to leave the bed?" Sam rolled his hips into Dean's on the word else, the cotton of his boxers threatening to catch on the denim of Dean's jeans. But it made Dean's lips part in a little gasp regardless. He struggled for a moment to regain control, then he was attempting at a signature sly smile.

"Already jacked off in the shower. You missed it, Sleeping Beauty." Dean was grinning and Sam huffed out a breath.

"What, now you're suddenly too old to go again? You walked in here on your own two feet, so clearly you didn't orgasm hard enough anyways." Sam kissed the side of Dean's face, peppering light kisses down his cheekbone to his ear. He was just slightly scruffy this morning, stubble over his chin and cheeks and above his upper lip. Sam kissed the line it made on his face, where smooth skin met the rough hair. Dean squirmed.

"You don't have to be boneless and crippled every time you come, Sam."

"Yes you do," Sam replied with a grin, hauling himself back up onto his hands so he could look at Dean. Dean huffed out a little laugh, hand reaching up to Sam's cheek. His thumb ran over the corner of Sam's lips, eyes trailing all over his face.

"Raincheck?" Dean asked, looking up at Sam with all of that wet adorableness. Sam furrowed his eyebrows. Dean was actually being serious about this. Since when did Dean deny sex, that was definitely out of character for him. But Sam wasn't going to push it, he'd never do anything to make Dean feel uncomfortable. So he rolled off, landing on his ass to sit and watch Dean. Dean pulled up on his elbows, then he was sitting up too, looking still disheveled, even more so disheveled actually. But still a lot more dressed than Sam was.

"Yeah, sure, raincheck. Any particular reason why?" Sam got up off the bed and made his way over to the dresser as he spoke, getting dressed as he turned back around to face Dean. Dean watched him with observant but controlled eyes, his mouth twitching up in a little smile as Sam wiggled into his jeans. Then he was looking down at his hands, folding them together, worrying his thumbs, and looking back up at Sam. Yeah, something was definitely up. Dean looked like he was legitimately worried about something and attempting his best at hiding it. Which was always going to be a failed attempt when it came to Sam.

"Well, you're tired already, no reason to wear you out anymore," Dean said way to nonchalantly. Sam paused with his tshirt halfway over his arms.

"Is that what this is about? You think I'm not feeling well or something? Because I'm fine, Dean." Sam resumed dressing and tugged the shirt over his head, smoothing down his hair with his hands. He hadn't even gotten the chance to tease Dean about his ridiculous hair yet, but apparently Dean was too busy being worried about some extra sleep to talk about anything besides that.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just...later, yeah?" Dean stood up from where he'd been propped on the bed watching Sam, crossing over to him and reaching up on his tiptoes to kiss Sam's cheek. Then he was headed for the door, without even waiting for a response from Sam. Sam turned around and watched him go, dark brown overshirt clutched in his hands. As soon as Dean was gone, Sam looked down at the shirt in his hands, speaking softly to the empty room.

"Yeah, I guess." He sighed and unfolded the shirt, shrugging it on over his shoulders. Sometimes Dean was confusing as hell. Especially lately. Sam had no idea what that was about, but it was like Dean had never broken out of the habit of babying him after the trials.

They'd work on it, though. Worrying was in Dean's blood, so Sam was never expecting that to disappear entirely, but a little less intense version would be nice. After all, he'd like to sleep with his lover on mornings they had off. But whatever, he'd find something else to do. Sam hopped on a foot as he worked a sock on. What could Sam do? He used to have a few hobbies before the trials, before life was so damn busy all the time. Before he had someone who was constantly in his bed. Well, technically, Sam was in Dean's bed, but still. Most of his hobbies lately were between the sheets. Not that that was bad, it was great, but if they were doing a raincheck Sam was going to do something else in the mean time. Maybe he could read. He hadn't read a legitimate novel in like, a year. It was different than research, to pick up something fiction just for enjoyment. It meant for a moment, Sam got to enter other worlds without having to actually enter them and fight off evil. It was the perfect break.

That's what he'd do. As soon as they were done eating breakfast, Sam was gonna read. After all, Dean was bound to go clean his car from the cross-country road trip he got back from yesterday. Idaho was pretty far, and he'd want to make sure his car was in perfect shape. Maybe Sam could make sandwiches and bring them out to a wet, grease-stained, sweaty Dean for lunch. They could make up for their raincheck then, couldn't they?

Sam smiled at the idea and finished the tie on his boots. Books, and a working Dean. It was going to be a good day.

They both split after breakfast to go wash up, Dean volunteering to do the dishes like he did every other day. Then the plan was to unpack the car from yesterday, and as Sam had guessed, clean the car. Sam went back to Dean's room to straighten up his bed, then brush his teeth, and get onto his own activities for the day. It was probably half an hour after breakfast by the time Sam was wandering into the library.

He looked around, seeing the room to be empty. Even Kevin wasn't in here, searching something.

"Dean?" Sam called out, seeing if his brother was anywhere within the vicinity. No response. He must have made it upstairs to the garage by now, then. "Kevin?"

Still silence. It was just him, then. For the first time in what felt like forever.

Sam headed straight for the bookshelf, eyes already scanning titles before he reached them. There was another copy of Oz in here. Sam hadn't read that book since junior high. He pulled it off the shelf, looking it over. He was actually getting to read an actual novel. This did not happen enough.

He plopped down in a plush chair, smiling a little in anticipation. The book was just the right weight in his hands, not so heavy as a Stephen King but not some little thing either. He flipped open the cover, scanning over the official title before opening it up to the first page.

In the country of Gillikins, which is at the North of the Land of Oz, lived a youth called --

A loud vibration interrupted his thoughts. The cell phone on the table was buzzing, making a racket. Really, right now? It had to ring right now, before Sam even got in a sentence of reading on his own time? But it wasn't like Sam could ignore it. People could be dying and that was unfortuantely a prioirity before finding out the name of whatever youth lived in the North of the Land of Oz.

Sam set the book down, off to the side where he wasn't going to forget it, but would be out of the way if he didn't get back to it in a week. Or another year.

His feet were reluctant as he stood, but he got up anyways and crossed over to the table, scooping up the phone. He checked the Caller ID, but it wasn't a familiar number, or one Dean had saved in his phone. Odd. He answered it anyways, lifting the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" Footsteps sounded behind him. Apparently Dean heard the phone after all.

"I'm sorry, there's no, uh ˜ there's no Dee-dawg, uh..." A hand closed over his and pulled it away from Sam's ear. Dean's fingers wrapped over the phone and released Sam's hand, giving him a strange look.

"I got it, I got it." Dean put the phone up to his ear, looking away from Sam and down at the table. "Sonny, hey."

What? Sam didn't know a Sonny. He sat down on the edge of the table, one of his feet lightly knocking against Dean's shin. Dean kept talking, little words like okay that gave Sam zero sense of what the conversation was about or who Sonny was. Or why he called Dean Dee-dawg. How was it that there was someone Dean knew on a level that...weird, and Sam had never heard of? When Dean finally hung up, Sam gave him a curious look.

"So, what was that all about, 'Dee-dawg'?" Sam didn't bother keeping the amusement out of his voice, grinning teasingly at Dean from where he was sitting.

"You remember when we were kids that spring in upstate New York?" Sam raised his eyebrows. Dean hadn't even responded to Sam's jab, his voice was suddenly all serious and talking case. Okay, that was odd. "Dad was on a rugaru hunt."

Sam just looked at him. Dad hunted a lot of rugarus. He was wracking his memory though, trying to recall all the springs they'd spent in upstate New York. He didn't have their entire childhood documented into dates and ages and states and seasons and hunts like Dean did.

"We, uh – we crashed at the, uh ... the bungalow colony with the ping-pong table?" Dean clarified. Oh yeah, Sam remembered that hunt. He actually remembered it pretty well. And for good reason.

"Yeah. Uh, y-you disappeared. Dad came back. You were gone. He shipped me off to Bobby's for a couple months and went and … found you. You were lost on a hunt or something." Dean was looking at him like he was high on acid. Sam had only been like 11 or 12 at the time but he was pretty sure he could remember something like losing his damn brother.

"That's what we told you." Recognition crossed Dean's face and he turned on his heel, pacing casually in the direction away from Sam. "Right."

Sam raised his eyebrows and watched Dean's shoulders move under his tan button-up. He was still confused. Actually, moreso even.

"I'm sorry? That's what you told me?" Sam shifted his weight on the table and looked at Dean expectantly. Dean turned back to him, talked with his hands and making minimal eye contact. He was nervous, maybe even embarrassed. That wasn't at all like Dean.

"Truth is, uh…I lost the food money that Dad left for us in a card game." Sam made a face. Sounded like Dean, no surprise there. "I knew you'd get hungry, so ... I tried taking the five-finger discount at the local market and got busted."

Sam's eyebrows went up again. Dean, caught stealing? How had Sam not known about this? It was Sam he'd been stealing for in the first place. But they'd tried to move past the whole "Dean sacrificing shit for Sam when we were kids" thing because that fight never ended pretty. They just don't talk about it, mostly.

"I wasn't on a hunt. They sent me to a boys' home."

"A boys' home, like a … reform school?" Sam was just getting more and more surprised. He had had no idea Dean had been to a boys' home. That was huge. Sam had thought he knew most things about Dean, all the big life events to say the damn least. But apparently he'd been manipulated otherwise. He wasn't sure if he was offended for not being told or annoyed with himself for not knowing.

"Yeah, more or less. It was a farm, and the guy who ran it – Sonny – he, uh, you know, he looked after me." Dean had spent time on a farm.

"Wait. Does Sonny know what we do?"

"Yeah. He's good people. I gave him the number to the Bat Phone, and sounds like he's got something in our wheelhouse." Dean started for his bedroom, to pack presumedly, and Sam sighed. So much for the day he had planned. Then Dean was spinning back around, looking at him with those same worried eyes from this morning. "So... Hey – you gonna be cool to do this, or are you too tired?"

Of course, Dean was bringing that up now. Right when they were about to go on a hunt and a little extra sleep from this morning was worrying him into a mess. Sam's body picked that very inconvenient time to yawn, but then he was answering as convincingly as possible.

"Uh, no. Yeah, I'm just, uh ..." Sam wasn't as tired as this morning, at least. He might need another cup of coffee for whatever reason, but he should be good. Dean worried too much. "I'll be fine."

Dean leaned over a chair, looking at Sam with the strangest expression.

"And everybody's okay with … heading out to the Catskills?" Sam's eyebrows went up a notch again. What in the world was Dean talking about? His brother was acting strange as hell lately.

"I am everybody," Sam clarified, in case Dean had forgotten somehow. Maybe he should check Dean's forehead for a fever.

"Yeah. Right. All right." Dean started for the doorway again, giving Sam a final look before turning. "Grab your stuff, and we'll head out."

Sam stayed propped on the table for a moment, then he was starting after Dean, a final question on his lips. It was bothering him, that he hadn't known. Sam should have heard about Sonny long before he called them with a case. It was part of Dean's life, and Sam was part of Dean's life. Dean knew everything (well, most things) about Sam's childhood, the least he could do was not lie about his own.

"Hey, Dean ... I mean, why didn't you just tell me you went to a boys' home?" Dean paused, looking at the ground before he answered. He still was nervous about this, Sam could tell. He wasn't sure why Dean felt uncomfortable. But he was dying to find out. Although Dean was probably the last person to share stories about things he was trying to forget. It must have seriously sucked if he was this awkward about it. That made Sam feel even worse for not knowing.

"I don't know. Uh, it was Dad's idea. And then it just – you know, the story became the story. I was 16." Dean was off to his room after that without so much as waiting for Sam. Sam watched him go before he walked down to his room himself, packing his bag in a daze as he thought.

He remembered Dean at 16. He was strong and cool and older, in high school already while Sam was roughing his way through the beginning of middle school. Dean was mysterious at 16, kept a lot of distance that year. Well, a lot of distance for them was still closer than most people would be with anyone in their lives, but Sam remembered the way Dean felt further away. He'd started to sleep on the couch when he was 16, which had upset Sam for a while. Sam had spent the first 12 years of his life curled around Dean in his sleep, then suddenly Dean was "growing" and "needed space."

Although Dean would still crawl back into the Sam's bed when it was stormy or when Sam was scared. For Sam's sake, he'd make the exception. He always made the exception. Which, apparently, included snatching food so Sam wouldn't starve. And being sent off to a boys' home. It wasn't Sam's fault, Sam knew that. Dean wouldn't have had to steal if he hadn't lost at cards, and he'd never have been playing cards in the first place if John hadn't taught him to, if John had given him enough money in the first place. So, like most things in their childhood that sucked, Sam could attest the misery Dean had gone through to John's fault. Although Dean was obviously quick to defend Dad's honor when Sam brought it up.

They'd just rolled into the lot, parked the car, and were looking towards an old farmhouse, which wasn't in too bad of shape. Sam looked around, at the unfamiliarity of the place. It wasn't like it was top secret at all though, it was literally a farm in the middle of a little farming community.

"You were here for two months and Dad couldn't find you?" Sam walked around the car, getting up close to Dean's side. Dean had made a light note on the way here that Sonny knew they were brothers, so Sam kept his distance at a foot instead of inches.

"Oh, no. He found me. He found me quick." Dean stepped up closer to Sam, maybe out of habit, and his eyes flicked down. He looked up Sam's body and Sam made a face at him in reminder but Sam was pretty sure Dean didn't notice it. "But he left me here 'cause I lost our money."

Dean snorted with a smile at the end, like it was some kind of joke. Right, because leaving a kid at a correction facility so god-knows-what happens to him because he gambled away - mind you, like John had taught him to - the tiny funds John supplied them with for things like not dying from starvation.

"You were 16. You made a mistake."

"Yeah. I made the mistake." Dean stepped in another inch closer, facing Sam directly and bringing their bodies close and this guy knew they were brothers so Dean should probably take a step backwards but Sam wasn't going to be the one to tell him to because he liked having Dean this close. Even if he was stupid enough to believe the crap John forced down his throat about responsibility. Losing some money was no reason to get abandoned to a place like this for two entire months. Then Dean was giving him this look, interrupting Sam's thoughts and the argument he was about to protest with.

"Look, I know how you think. None of this was Dad's fault." None of it was-

That wasn't even fair. Especially the little "I know how you think" comment. Sam huffed out a breath. Just because they were close and Dean knew everything about Sam didn't mean he had a monopoly on Sam's thought processes. But apparently he did because he was right, Sam did think this was Dad's fault. It was hard to have an argument with someone who contradicted what you were going to say before you even say it.

Then Dean was tugging on his elbow and Sam followed as they stepped up to the front door. Sam was taking in everything he could, memorizing every detail he could. Two months was a long time for them, longer than they stayed most places. So this place had to have been influential on Dean in some way, and Sam was intending to find out how.

Dean ended up handing him that opportunity, with his suggestion of "Why don't you take the house? I'll check out the barn." Sonny seemed nice enough and Dean remembered this place well, right down to who the very-generically-named Jack was. Sam watched them and their dynamic curiously. And Sonny already knew who Sam was so this must be Sam which meant Dean had talked about him. So Dean had known Sonny very well.

As he stepped into the bedroom, Sam's eyes scanned over all the decor and furniture. It was roomy in here, almost...comfortable. Then something caught his eye and he was stepping over to one of the beds, currently donned in pink paisley. Something was etched into the bedpost. Sam leaned down, finger tracing over the wood. It was a pentagram.

He knelt in front of the bed in curiosity, name tags overlapping each other on the front. Sam would bet anything this is where his brother would have slept. He peeled off the first name carefully, wanting to know everything he could about this place, this missing piece of Dean's life that Sam had a chance to glance into.

The second name came off, then the third. Sam hesitated a moment, then pulled off the forth. Underneath, sprawled in a younger version of Dean's handwriting was a name. Dean W. Sam looked at it for a moment, and sat back on his heels. This is where Dean had slept. It felt like proof, like this whole thing was real now. Dean had been here for someodd sixty days. Longer than the majority of places they'd been in their childhoods. And Sam felt like he was just scratching the surface.

He would've investigated more, maybe looked for a carving besides the pentagram, if it weren't for the strange sound in the next room over. Sam had to temporarily pause his investigation on Dean's life, get back to the real case they were supposed to be working. But Sam could work both, since Dean definitely wasn't going to share about this place.

Sam could try and dig though. Well, he actually was, literally - but with the darkness of the empty graveyard and nothing to do while they dug but talk, he might pry some information out of Dean. He didn't start in immediately, so it wouldn't be obvious he wanted to know so badly. But it was killing him, this piece of Dean he didn't know about.

They were standing shoulder to shoulder, already pretty deep in Howard's grave. It was the first time they'd been alone for a while and Dean was standing too close to him to properly dig, but Sam wasn't going to scoot away. Their shoulders brushed as they dug identical strokes, throwing dirt over opposite shoulders as perfect mirror images of each other. Sam was the one having to throw left handed but he wasn't complaining about it - even though it twisted up his shoulder - because it let him be inches away from Dean. Nobody got hit with a shovel yet, which was amazing by the way they were standing. Sam threw another scoop over his shoulder before he shot a glance at Dean.

"So … Dad didn't want you to tell me. How come? Was this place really so bad?" They shoveled as Sam asked his question, then Dean paused, turning to Sam and looking at him and they were at a proper kissing distance right now but they were also in the middle of a grave and Sam was really damn curious about this place. He wanted to know everything and if he kissed Dean, that was going to be an instant topic change. So he held back the urge and just looked at Dean as he spoke.

"I don't really remember. I mean, look, nobody bad touched me. Nobody burned me with their smokes, or beat me with a metal hanger. I call that a win." Dean bent over to scoop another shovel of dirt and Sam snorted a laugh. He had figured that much, because Dean had come back to the place after all. And there was a definite lack of burn marks on his body, well, none from cigarettes anyways. It was still comforting to know it hadn't been truly bad, but that wasn't exactly the kind of detail Sam had been looking for. He just wanted the story, all of it.

But as soon as they lit up the corpse, they were back on the road. Daytime meant pavement and yellow lines disappearing beneath the car and Dean was acting all nonpartisan about the whole thing, like none of the trip held any relevance. Once they were on the road and driving away from Sonny's, Sam started to think that maybe Dean was telling the whole truth. Maybe nothing eventful had really happened the whole time he'd been in the boys' home. Maybe he'd just worked the land and held his tongue and then moved on like every other place they stayed.

Sam was staring to think that those two months were just as boring as Dean made them seem. That is, until the diner.

They'd stopped at some quaint little place called Cus's, which was basically in the same town Sonny's place was. They never stopped for food this close. Sam wasn't sure why they were even stopping for food, he kind of was more in the mood to just get back to the bunker and take Dean up on that raincheck. But Dean had practically dragged Sam inside so here he was, sitting across the table from his brother with their ankles entangled as usual.

Dean had this sly smile on his face like he knew something Sam didn't. Sam shifted his ankle, catching Dean's attention so he'd look up at him, instead of the way he was eyeing everything else in here.

"Dean, you know I'm fine just grabbing a burger-to-go somewhere, right?" Most of the time that they stopped to actually sit down and eat, it was because Sam wanted to. And Dean always just went along with it. It was kind of strange that Dean was so instant on stopping, he usually complained about how much potential road time it took up.

"What, and miss out on the best banana pancakes you ever had?" Dean asked, looking down at the menu. So apparently Sam already had his order planned out for him. Banana pancakes. So Dean had definitely eaten here before, when he'd been at Sonny's, but Sam couldn't really see the significance of the place that required a revisit. That is, until the pretty brunette waitress stopped at their table.

"Hi. Welcome to Cus's. What can I get you two?" She asked, innocently enough. Sam shot a glance over at Dean, to see if he was planning on ordering or if Sam should even look at the menu since Dean was so sure what they should get. Dean's ankles shot apart from his instantly, feet tucking underneath his chair. Okay, weird, but Sam went along with it, just eyeing his brother. Dean was smiling wickedly, crinkles next to his eyes and full on grin on his face as he looked up at the waitress.

"Bet you never thought you'd see me here, huh?" Dean was smiling but the waitress - Robin - just looked back at him with a blank, friendly stare. Dean knew her, he knew this girl (there had been a girl - that meant there was more to the story) and she looked like she had no idea who he was. Dean kept smiling and waiting and silence landed on them all, then Robin was shifting her gaze back and forth between the two of them.

"Uh, look, I'm a little bit slammed right now. Do you guys want to hear the specials?" Sam opened his mouth and then Dean was speaking again, sounding way to hopeful for this just to have been another waitress. He wanted Robin to remember him, know who he was. She had to be pretty damn important then.

"Robin ... Dean Winchester." He gestured at himself and Robin still just stared blankly. Well, her eyebrows went up a fraction, like maybe the name did mean something, but then she composed herself in less than a second and kept looking confused. Sam looked at the both of them curiously.

"Um..." Robin responded, but Sam wasn't entirely buying it. That had been recognition that flashed on her eyes and Dean apparently hadn't seen it because he was still trying to clarify. But Robin was being stubborn in pretending she had no idea who he was. Why in the world?

"I used to live up at Sonny's," Dean continued. Sam shot them both looks. There was a major tension in between them. Dean had been what, 16? Sam was pretty sure he hadn't been hooking up with random chicks yet at that age, as much as Dean might like to pretend he had been. So what was with the building tension in the air?

"Oh, oh." Dean's face lit up for a minute as he thought she remembered, then she continued and every ounce of that joy drained. "Uh, look, sorry. There's just – there's so many boys that pass through there, it's – it's hard to remember every – every name and face."

She looked between them both as she spoke, maybe to make Dean feel less awkward. But whatever her game was, it was working. Dean thought she had no idea who he was and he looked entirely crushed about it. Sam still sat in silence, not having uttered a word, but he was absorbing as much information as possible. He'd just been thinking there hadn't been much to this place after all, but he couldn't be more wrong about that, with the way Dean had sunken down and was now staring at his menu like it was gospel.

"Yeah. Uh, no. Sorry, I just – I remember you coming up there with your mom. She'd give guitar lessons." Sam's furrowed his eyebrows in confusion before he could remember to keep a straight face. It was just...guitar lessons? Dean had taken guitar lessons? Dean avoided guitars like the plague. Maybe that was why, maybe he actually knew how to play but was trying to hide it for whatever reason. Sam had a feeling that reason had to do with Robin, to say the least. It was just strange though, picture Dean with a guitar in his lap. Sam couldn't help but stare at his brother. "It's, uh – it was a long time ago."

"Yeah. Mom – she loved helping out the boys. I guess that's why I kept giving lessons after she passed." Her eyes met Dean again and Sam determined that Dean looked destroyed. He'd figured the guitar thing would be the last trigger, and it hadn't worked. Robin and guitars and Dean and it all felt really damn important and Sam really really wanted to know everything.

Robin cleared her throat and an awkward silence fell on the table. Sam was about to chime in with a quip about trying said banana pancakes, when a voice called at Robin from across the diner.

"Um, would you excuse me? I'll be right back." She turned on a heel and the moment she was out of earshot, Sam was leaning over the table, kicking Dean lightly with a foot. There was no way Dean wasn't talking about this and the sooner the better because Sam was damn curious.

"Dude …?" he inquired, the question asking everything he wanted to know. Dean looked shifty and moody and then he was standing up, making a face.

"Let's go." Dean grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and Sam threw up his hands in confusion but Dean didn't even wait for him, heading for door across the diner pretty quickly. Presumedly, before Robin got back. Sam hurried after him, shrugging into his jacket as he caught up to Dean outside.

"Wh – what was that?" Sam bumped Dean's shoulder, walking close to his side and letting the warmth of his body attempt at some familiar comfort for Dean. Dean just kept walking, head down and dismissive.

"Nothing," he pouted. Right, because Sam was blind and hadn't known Dean his whole life, even if that thing back there hadn't been obvious as hell, basically big neon Vegas street signs of definitely-not-nothing. Dean's phone was ringing and Dean dug it out of his pocket as Sam pestered him with questions, shoulders splitting to walk to opposite sides of the car.

"Nothing? Well, obviously it was something." Sam waited a few seconds, then he asked the question he was pretty sure Dean didn't want to hear but Sam had to know. "Who was that waitress?"

"I said it was nothing, all right? Drop it." Dean answered so quickly it refuted all of his words, practically interrupting Sam to insist of the nothingness of the matter. Sam was getting it out of him one way or another. Because seriously, guitar lessons?

Dean finally wrestled his phone out of his pocket and answered it, pausing outside the car door.

"Sonny." There was a brief pause and then Dean's eyes went wide. "What?!"

So at least that meant they were staying on the case. So Sam was actually going to have the chance to get more intel on Robin, on this whole situation. Because he hadn't even scratched the surface with this place. It had been two months that Dean had been here and Sam was more sure than ever that they were very relevant two months in Dean's life. So he was going to find out as much as possible as they worked the case.

They were splitting up again the moment they got back to Sonny's, Dean to go interview the kids while Sam checked employee records with Sonny. Mostly, Sam was just grateful for some alone time with the older man. He might get the chance to ask some questions in the meantime, questions about Dean and his stay here. Sam had a feeling Sonny knew a lot.

They were walking briskly through the house in the direction of Sonny's office when Sam stopped, looking at the wall. It was plastered with frames and certificates and ribbons and names. It was kind of out of the ordinary, and everything different Sam had to question. That was how that went.

"Hey Sonny, wait. Um ... W-what is all this?" Sam scanned over the plaques, realizing they were all awards of some sort.

"It's our hall of fame. We had some pretty great athletes come through here, including your brother." Sam had just caught sight of Dean's name and now he was walking forward, looking closer at the frame. Dean Winchester. Dean was on somebody's wall of fame, had been for the past fifteen, twenty years and Sam had had no idea. Sam breathed out in surprise. All States Sports Meet. It looked like Dean was keeping a lot more from Sam about this place than Sam knew was possible. The big red words across the bottom screamed at him, something Dean had probably never been called since he won this. Champion.

"He was Sullivan county 135-pound wrestling champion." Sam looked it over, committing it to memory. Dean had been a wrestling champion. Sam wasn't surprised about the fact that he won, just that he'd ever been in wrestling at all. Sonny was looking at him, curious but not expectant. Sam spoke up anyways.

"He never told me," he admitted, turning away from the certificate. Sonny looked sympathetic, nodding his head.

"Sounds like Dee-dawg to me. Never really was the braggin' type." Sonny turned back towards his office and they continued their walk there, in silence for a few moments before Sam had to pipe up again. It was an opportunity he couldn't exactly pass up.

"Was there anything else uh - brag worthy that Dean wasn't planning on telling me about this place?" Sam asked the question as non-pryingly as possible but he had a feeling Sonny saw straight through him. And based on the way Sonny scoffed and smiled, he understood Sam to say the least. They'd almost reached Sonny's office by now but Sonny was walking slower, maybe because he wanted to tell Sam. Maybe he got how much Sam really wanted to know. Sonny was a good guy, Sam was glad Dean had had the chance to know him.

"Well, he was a damn good guitarist." Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise and Sonny laughed. "Yeah, I know. He started out a total mess but he picked it up faster than I've ever seen. He's quite the talented man, it's too bad he never lets it show."

Sam nodded absently, mind spinning back with that image of Dean, playing guitar. It felt crazy. His brother, on guitar? Sam just couldn't see it, couldn't see Dean making something as beautiful and simple as music. He'd loved music his whole life, but there was something delicate about guitar, something patient that Sam just didn't see in Dean and his big, mechanical hands that wrapped easy around a pistol instead.

Although Dean had a way of surprising Sam sometimes. Sam could forget how gentle Dean was, how many traits he kept buried.

But the moment that the ghost of Timmy's mother vanished, Timmy was running straight for Dean, bulleting into Dean's arms before Dean could even catch his breath. Dean embraced him automatically, pulling Timmy into his chest and cradling him in the protective hug he needed right now.

Sam had seen Dean connect with the kid, Dean connected with basically every kid who got caught up in a hunt. It was always amazing to watch, that paternal instinct that took over Dean whenever it came to the little ones. Maybe it was because Dean had spent his childhood raising Sam, or maybe it was just because he would be a great father. Either way, Sam felt a ping of regret as he watched Dean hug the traumatized kid.

Dean had saved lives with his words this time instead of his actions, but Sam was pretty sure Dean was never going to see it like that. Dean never did, never saw the incredible person he was, the power he held with just the things he said. God, Dean was never thanked enough.

He looked over Timmy's shoulder at Sam. Sam nodded once, a silent appreciation for Dean and all the good he did. Dean turned his attention back to Timmy, eyes closing from the emotion of the hug. The kid had come sprinting across the room for Dean after all. He was so good with kids, it almost felt like a shame that he didn't want to be a father. Or maybe some part of him still did, but he wanted Sam more. Sam was always going to be grateful for that, but sometimes it felt like he didn't deserve it.

How often did anyone do something for Dean? Practically never.

Sam watched Dean say goodbye to the kid and to Robin, who gave Dean a quick kiss on the cheek. So they definitely had been together, then. Sam wondered for how long. Probably not the whole two months, but if it had even been a month, it'd be Dean's longest relationship with a girl. Then again, he'd only been 16. No one really knew what they were doing when they were 16. Hell, no one knew what they were really doing at 30.

They were on opposite sides of the car as always, when Sam threw a question about Timmy over the hood of the car. Dean just shrugged and answered with his usual got lucky. Most times, luck had nothing to do with it, but Sam wasn't going to pester him about that. Dean wouldn't believe Sam's praise anyways. Besides, it gave Sam an opening to say what he'd been wanting to, ever since he'd really gotten to look in at this place. At the life Dean had led here.

"You just got lucky?" Sam asked. Dean nodded, kind of shrugging. "Kind of like you did with this place. I mean, here I was thinking this was the worst part of your life, and it turns out it was the best."

Dean looked taken aback by that, but he wasn't really denying it either. Sam wasn't exaggerating when he'd said the best, either. For the most part their childhood sucked, and here, it had been different for Dean. He'd been on a sports team in school, been a wrestling champion, had a home and people who cared about him, a purpose, never went hungry, had legitimate girlfriend, got taught to play guitar, and he didn't have to constantly be worrying about "looking out for Sammy."

"Why'd you ever leave?" Sam asked the question as sincerely as possible but Dean suddenly look pinned, his eyes shifty and looking down.

"Never felt right." How could it not? What in the world was there that Dean didn't have here?

"Really?" Sam deadpanned, not believing a word out of Dean's mouth. Sam wasn't sure what Dean was still hiding, that last detail about his departure, but he figured it had to be huge if Dean left this place. This place was heaven compared to the rest of Dean's shitty childhood.

"It was two months, Sam, okay? And I couldn't wait to get out of here. I don't know what to tell you. It wasn't me." Sam nodded, hearing Dean's words and processing them. But what part of Dean wasn't here? Wasn't all this Dean?

Sam opened up his car door and slipped inside, pondering in the seat for a moment. Dean had told him once who he was. Sam still remembered the conversation vividly, regardless that it had been years ago. Looking out for you, it's been my job. More than that. It's kinda who I am.

That was it, wasn't it? Dean identified himself as Sam's protector. He identified Sam as part of himself. And Sam hadn't been here, Sam had been with Dad. So the only thing that Sam could think of, the only reason Dean might leave? The one thing Dean didn't have here. Him.

This was another piece of Dean's life that Sam was discovering and he realized there was still so much sacrifice he'd never seen. Dean had given this for him, had given so much for him. He always had.

Sam stared at the dash in silence. Dean had given this up, all this up, to come take care of a twelve year old little brother who asked too many questions and elbowed him in the car and complained about Dean's food and then walked out on him six years later.

But that wasn't how Dean saw it.

Dean paused to look at the house, let the memories sink in one last time before he joined Sam in the car. He remembered the exact reason why he left, remembered wearing that tie, dressing up all nice for the school dance. How encouraging Sonny had been, how excited Dean was that he was actually taking Robin to this. Dean Winchester, going to a school dance. Dean had never thought it would happen.

And he'd been right. It didn't. Dean could see it broke Sonny's heart just as much as it broke his own as he delivered the news Dean was leaving. It was like ice water to the face, sharp and painful at first and then cold and numbing. Dean remembered Sonny's image getting blurrier as tears welled up in Dean's eyes. Dad had shown up in full on storm mode, insisting Dean hop back into his miserable hunting life. Of course, he'd shown up on the most important night of Dean's school career so far. That was just Dean's luck.

He still remembered Sonny's offer, the quiet words he'd said to Dean that had the potential to change Dean's life in a single stroke.

"So if you want, I'll stick my neck out for you, and I'll fight for you to stay." Dean stood speechless as Sonny looked at him. He was choking back tears with disbelief. He was wanted. Cared about. He could stay, have all of this, his life now, everything with Robin and Sonny and the boys at the farm. Even school was going well. School never went well for Dean.

He could give up the scars and the screaming and John's drinking and the constant disappointment. He could give up the fights and the ditching and the locking his heart up away from everyone and everything. Dean could have a real life, could go be a rockstar or whatever he wanted to be.

The Impala's horn honked. Reality. Dean's old reality. He stepped up to the window, pulling back the curtain to see. The Impala was there all right, shiny black and sleek as ever. And there was his little brother, his little Sammy, hanging out the backseat window. He had his spaceship in hand, the one Dean won for him at that carnival fair they'd snuck out to when Dad was on a hunt a few months ago.

Sammy had insisted it wasn't fair for Dean to play because of course Dean was going to win the bottle-shoot game, even Sam could win that, he'd been shooting for three years now! Dean had swallowed down the disgust that had made him feel, looking down at the little kid who knew his way around a gun better than most adults. But he'd raised the fake, light rifle and shot a perfect game anyways, laughing as Sam pushing him with a little hand. The man had handed him the spaceship and Dean had knelt down and handed it to Sammy, ruffling his hair. See, Sammy, it doesn't matter if you win. What matters is who you win for.

And now that very same thing that Dean had always won for was here, sitting outside the house and making spaceship noises with his mouth as the prize spun around in the air. So yeah, Dean was good at school now, was on the wrestling team, but all for what? To win for Sammy. Dean couldn't leave him behind. No matter what happened, no matter how green other pastures might look, Dean was always going to be doing it for that kid anyways.

Sam made another loose-lipped noise with his mouth that Dean could picture from here. A laugh bubbled up in his throat before he even realized Sam had made him smile. Dean stepped back from the window, the image of Sam on his mind. Dean wasn't going to leave him. Dean was never going to leave him. Not for guitar, not for wrestling, not even for Robin. The thought of Robin made Dean choke up again, but then he was turning back to Sonny.

Dean held out a hand. Sonny had saved him, in a way. Given him the best damn two months of his life. Dean could feel a tear leaking down his cheek, but this was all over now. He shook Sonny's hand, wishing he could explain to him about Sam. Make sure you're loyal to you, Dean, Sonny had said to him once. Well, Sammy was as much a part of Dean as his green eyes were, so that's exactly what he was being.

"Sonny...thank you – for everything. But I have to go." Dean said it as manly as possible. Sonny was one person Dean knew he could make proud. Somebody who actually gave a damn about him, who didn't look at him like he was a demon just for having Mom's eyes. Then Sonny pulled him into an embrace.

It had been worth it. Looking back now, Dean knew he made the right decision. Because as he slid into the driver's seat, the man he'd given it all up for was sitting right next to him. Looking just as beautiful as ever, hair windblown and eyes curiously trained on the house. Neither one of them looked at each other for a moment, both looking at their hands in their laps as Sam spoke.

"Dean ... Thank you." The thank you caught Dean off guard and he shot a glance over at Sam. Sam was still looking down, so Dean held his gaze.

"For what?" The question felt quiet, but everything was quiet right now. Sam had just thanked him and Dean was confused but Sam looked peaceful. Dean hadn't even done anything important recently. What in the world did he do to be thanked?

"For always being there, for – having my back." Sam must have put two and two together and figured out why Dean left. Or maybe this was in general. Either way, Dean was kind of sitting in shock. "Look, I know it always hasn't been easy..." Sam's eyes met his. Honesty was written all over his face and he looked so serious. Like Sam really needed to say this.

But Dean? This isn’t something he could take credit for. It wasn't like them to talk through things, to take a moment to appreciate each other. Dean could say you're welcome, or yeah, or something, but this was an I love you moment that Dean wasn't sure he could acknowledge. It was better than I love you, really, but what was Sam thanking him for? Just being himself. That wasn't something to be thanked for, not really. It was in Dean's soul and bones to have Sam's back. That'd be like thanking Dean for having green eyes.

"I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about," Dean said instead.

He smiled as he said it though, so maybe Sam would get it. Maybe Sam would see that deep down, that was a smile of relief. Because as much as Dean could pretend it didn't matter, it was nice that Sam noticed. Nice that Sam got to see Dean's sacrifices, got to know how much Dean gave up for him. For once, somebody appreciated a choice he made. And it wasn't just any somebody either, this someone was the most important someone for him in the entire world.

So Sam heard his I love you too. And then Dean was turning the key and starting the engine and they were rolling on out, back with Sonny's in the rearview again. Except this time, they were going home. They had a place to go and Dean had his brother by his side, and that was more than any wrestling or school or girl was ever going to get him.

~*~*~

By the time they were back home, Dean was so tired he'd fallen asleep on Sam's lap twice. They stumbled into the bunker and didn't bother turning on the lights, both just kicking off their boots and crashing tangled up on Dean's bed. Sam's body was still tired, but he'd gotten decent rest during the hunt, so he wasn't wiped out like he was a couple of days ago, thankfully.

Which also meant he was the first to wake up the following morning. And that was definitely a good thing because he had some errands he had to run without Dean being present. So he left his brother sleeping on his stomach and draped over Sam's pillow, tiptoeing out of the room. Sam scrawled a quick note and put it in the kitchen, just so Dean wouldn't flip out if he woke up while Sam was still gone. Because there was something he had to do.

The car engine felt impossibly loud as Sam started it up, but no one came running out with questions or accusations. Funny how Sam could charge head first into a fight with a monster who could easily rip out his insides but he got nervous any time he took the car without Dean's explicit permission. Besides, he wasn't going far and he wouldn't be gone for long.

Leaving wasn't the hard part. Buying it wasn't the hard part, Sam had a pretty good idea of what he wanted in his mind. Talking down the price wasn't hard, and neither was the trip back home. The whole thing probably took two hours, from the time Sam shimmied out of Dean's grip to the moment he pulled back into the garage.

He sat for a moment behind the now silent wheel, chewing his lip. This was going to be the hard part. He had no idea how he was going to get it inside with Dean noticing. There was that one unexplored hallway between here and the kitchen or Dean's room, so Sam would have a chance as long as Dean wasn't in the hall. Sam wasn't sure if there was even anything down that hallway, although if there was it was probably storage rooms or something. They needed a map of the bunker, that'd be really convenient.

Sam swung open the Impala's back door and pulled out the case. It was surprisingly heavier than Sam thought it would be. He made sure to grab the bag of groceries he'd gotten too - his cover for leaving - and slipped that over his wrist. The Impala door creaked shut and then Sam was making his way down the stairs as quietly as possible. He reached the bottom without running into Dean, and the mouth of the hallway he needed to get to was ten feet away. Sam legitimately went up on his tiptoes, could never be too careful, rushing around the corner.

As soon as he and the case were safely out of sight, Sam breathed out in relief, eyes flicking over his new surroundings. This hallway was darker than the one their rooms branched off of, which was understandable for its location. Sam was pretty sure he hadn't been back here before. The first door Sam came to was on the right, and he opened it up as quietly as possible. It didn't creak at all, so it was easy enough to slip inside.

The room was dark, but the angle of the open door illuminated the walls just enough to see most everything. In the far right corner of the room was a desk, old and antique and beautiful - even more so than some of the other furniture around the bunker. The desk had its own stool, another vintage carved piece. The surface of the desk was slanted downwards, but the upper platform of it held an inkwell and a few dusty journals which Sam would normally have scooped up by now, but he was on a mission. Just to the right of the desk were two pieces of lace fabric, hanging from the wall like curtains. They obviously weren't, unless they opened to dirt, but it was strangely a nice touch. Those were the two anomalies in the room, because the rest of it looked more like an abandoned storage room than a study. Propped against an inlay in the wall on the right was a mattress, not in bad shape for as old as it had to have been. Sam scanned his eyes over to the other side of the room, but couldn't see much. The far left wall looked like it held bookshelves, or storage shelves by the way the light caught the edge of something metal. There were some boxes piled on the ground in another corner, but other than that the room looked pretty empty. Like somebody had scooted things over in a storage room and turned it into their personal private space, to write and to research - and by assumption of the mattress, to sleep away from everything else.

It was perfect. Sam sat down the case on its side, striding into the room to pick up the desk stool. It was pretty heavy for as small as it was, but Sam easily took it to the center of the room. Then he propped the case up leaning against the stool, which thankfully weighed enough so that the case wasn't going to fall over. As soon as he had them both adjusted in the middle of the room, Sam was backing out and shutting the door softly behind them. He leaned against the door and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He'd actually managed to do that.

Sam's feet took him automatically in the direction of Dean's room, but a clank of dishes made him change his mind and turn into the kitchen. Dean was sitting at the table, spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. He nodded a good morning at Sam, lips temporarily preoccupied. Sam smiled and morninged back, setting the grocery bag down on a counter and grabbing a bowl from the cupboard to join his brother. Dean pulled the spoon out of his mouth, swallowing down his bite.

"How was the store?"

"Uneventful. How long did you sleep?" Sam turned back around with a found bowl in hand, pulling out the chair perpendicular to Dean's and plopping down. Dean stopped eating long enough to get Sam oatmeal from the little pot he'd made it in (Sam was immensely grateful they didn't own a microwave - the food was 800 times better when it was cooked for real) then he was back to chewing his breakfast.

"I've been up for half an hour or so." Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam over his spoon and Sam nodded, putting a spoonful of breakfast in his mouth too. It was good, obviously, and thankfully not too cloyingly sweet. They ate in comfortable silence for a bit. Sam pulled up his mental calendar and attempted to figure out the day of the week. He came up with either Thursday or Friday as his final answer. Probably Friday, though. "You got any plans for today?"

"There's a book I wanted to read. Maybe we could catch a movie or something later, I can set it up if you make popcorn."

"Deal. I have to clean the car too, Sonny's dirt roads do not mix well with black paint." Sam snorted in agreement, smiling at Dean as he scraped the last of the oatmeal out of his bowl. Once it was empty Dean scooted back his chair and stood up, carrying the bowl to the sink. He crossed the room for Sam's now empty one and put that in the sink as well, starting up the water to clean them.

"You need help in here?"

"I'm good. You go read." Dean smiled contentedly at Sam over his shoulder, shooing him away with a hand. Sam crossed over to Dean anyways, catching Dean's jaw with a hand and turning his brother's face.

Dean blinked at him prettily - although he'd destroy Sam for thinking that - and Sam just looked at him for a moment. After a quick scan of Dean's eyes, which showed he really was as okay as he said, Sam leaned in and pressed his mouth to Dean's. Dean tilted his head up and kissed back, both of their lips sticky from breakfast. Sam reveled at the feel of Dean's plump lips interlocked with his, all of that softness on Sam's mouth, then he was pulling away. If he didn't stop now he'd be cashing in that raincheck a lot sooner than he'd intended.

Sam's hand fell back down, releasing Dean's jaw. Dean flashed a smile at him, somewhere between flushed and just plain happy, then he was turning back to the dishes. Sam could hear him whistling cheerily as he walked away, some 50s sounding tune he'd probably played on their vintage sound system. Dean sounded happy. That alone put a smile on Sam's face as he made his way back to the library.

In truthfulness, Sam was dying to tell Dean about the case he'd gotten this morning - and the object inside - if only just to see his reaction. But patience was key and Sam had to have the right time to tell him. There was a science to these things. So instead he scooped the Marvelous Land of Oz back up, sitting down in the plush chair he'd been in a few days ago before Sonny had called. He had some reading to get done in the meantime.

And apparently, the youth that lived in the North of the Land of Oz was named Tip.

It was probably another few hours before Dean wandered into the library, sleeves rolled up around his elbows and hair styled a little differently, probably due to the water spray from cleaning the car. Sam looked up from his book, noting the changes and the look on Dean's face. He'd finished his car, and was looking for something to do. Perfect timing. Before Dean could open his mouth and suggest a movie, Sam piped up, closing his book with a finger holding his page.

"Could you put on a record? I think there are some we haven't heard in the storage room by your bedroom." Sam sounded as casual as possible and Dean leaned against the table in front of Sam, hands bracing his weight.

"What storage room?"

"The first one on the right in that dark hallway. There might be something in there," Sam suggested, opening up his book again and looking down, reading over a paragraph. Dean was watching him curiously, so Sam ended up reading the same line at least six times and still had no idea what it meant. Then Dean pushed off the table, throwing an alright at Sam before his bootsteps trailed out of the room. Sam breathed out in relief. It had worked.

He mentally followed the sound of Dean's footsteps as he turned corners and walked the bedroom hallway, the sound getting more and more distant. But he still heard the pause as Dean opened the door, even though the sound was faded and quite distant. It was also the only sound in the bunker, so Sam could pick it up. Then Dean was walking forward again, footsteps slower and hesitant now. So he'd seen it. Sam wondered what his face would look like...

He shook off that thought and looked back at his book. He would wonder about Dean and that case for the next twenty minutes if he didn't start reading. There had been a reason he'd put the gift in a back room instead of just handing it to Dean. It was supposed to be private, meant for just Dean without any pressure or ridicule from Sam. If Sam had judged Dean correctly - which Sam almost always did - Dean would want to be alone when it came to this.

So Sam read, getting back into the world of the four-horned cow. No matter how deep into Oz he got though, his ear still was trained enough to pick up the sound he was hoping he would hear.

The first note caught him off guard, a low pitch that was so quiet in the distance Sam could barely hear it. He strained his ears, turning away from the book, holding his breath in hopes of being silent enough to hear the note again. If there had been one at all. Then the low, metallic sound came again, followed by another note that clashed, dissonance still nearly inaudible in the distance. Sam didn't want to intrude, but he couldn't hear from here. He had to at least get a little closer.

He stood up from the chair, setting the book down and taking as quiet of footsteps as he could, crossing into the computer room. Those same two notes again, and the dissonance. Sam just couldn't believe Dean was actually playing. He turned the hall into the bedroom just as the low note dropped in pitch, winding down like Dean was turning the tuning knob. Apparently, he didn't just know how to play, he could tune it too. Sam took another hesitant step forward, hearing Dean thumb at the other note. Except this time, it didn't clash. Sam tilted his head curiously. Dean had tuned the string differently, and it worked. He couldn't help but be impressed. Especially since all this time, Dean had never even once hinted at any musical talent.

But as soon as Dean had perked up to Robin about the guitar lessons, Sam couldn't help but wonder. And once Sonny had confirmed that Dean not only took lessons, he'd actually been decent? What else was Sam supposed to do? The case Sam had carried so carefully into the bunker housed a golden wood acoustic guitar, the kind Sam had seen at Sonny's. It was just an every day looking guitar, but Sam figured if Dean were to have one, that would be what he'd want. Well, either that or a black fire electric. But Sam had heard playing electric and acoustic were pretty different, so he figured he'd stick with the basics. After all, Sam knew practically nothing about guitars.

Based on the way those two notes were suddenly joined by a third and then rotated into a pattern, Sam was going to guess Dean definitely did know something about guitars. Wait...Sam knew this song. He totally recognized it. Sam's feet took him hesitant steps closer, crossing through rooms and listening as the music got louder, the guitar sound became more clear. What in the world was this song? The beginning was the most obvious part, Sam's brain just instantly recognized it. He couldn't place it though, and that was driving him crazy.

Sam rounded the corner to the hallway housing their bedrooms. It was too dark to see, so he flipped on the overhead light. The music kept spilling out, rounded and repetitive phrases with rough breaks and hesitations in between. It sounded like Dean had played this song at one point, had known it really well, but he hadn't picked up a guitar in twenty years. So of course, the pauses and the occasional missed note made sense. Sam wasn't a musician but he could tell when Dean's finger slipped, hit the wrong string or something. Although that was probably because Sam's brain knew this song.

When Sam reached Dean's open bedroom door he hesitated outside for just a moment. Sam wasn't sure if Dean would stop playing when he walked into the room, which he definitely didn't want. But he wanted to be closer, wanted to watch his brother's face as he played. Wanted to see those agile hands turned from something rough to something delicate, picking strings and sliding over notes. Creating something, something recognizable. But Dean wasn't exactly the sharing type, and he definitely wasn't the artistic type. He'd probably call it girlie, not want Sam to see him play.

Sam turned the corner to Dean's bedroom anyways, expecting to find Dean propped up on his bed. The room was empty. Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He'd assumed Dean would find the guitar, treck back to the familiar territory of his own bedroom, and play there. But Dean wasn't in here, which meant he was playing somewhere else. Sam looked around, listening for the direction of the music. Sam would just follow the sound, then.

He went further down the hall, the waterfall of sound turning into a minor chord. Sam followed it, all the gears in his head turning to try to place the song. He knew that pattern, knew the intro. He could practically hear the words in his head as his feet took him slowly towards the sound. The minor chord switched into a pretty major chord, the sound opening up a little and getting more complicated. There's a girl out there, with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair, Sam's head voiced along to the chord change. He paused at the turn in the hallway, looking up absent-mindedly at the ceiling. What was that song? Something about planes, too. Going to --

Sam went to take another step and his foot froze before it hit the ground. Going to California. That was the song. Of course, it wasn't Page and Plant's masterpiece version, Sam was pretty sure that version had an acoustic and a mandolin overlapping. But that was definitely the song Dean was playing. A much simpler, broken down Going to California. Sam took two steps sideways and leaned against the wall. This song, this was Dean's default guitar song. He was pretty sure Dean couldn't have picked a more meaningful song if he tried.

When they were just kids, Dean used to skip to this song first on the Untitled album, which was saying a lot for Led Zeppelin. Dean was a huge Zep fan, although Sam couldn't remember if he actually owned their fourth on vinyl. Dean had it on cassette, Sam was 100% sure of. It was their biggest album, since Stairway to Heaven was on it and they never released that as an individual song. But Stairway or not, Going to California had been Dean's favorite song on the whole album, beating out When the Levee Breaks and Black Dog and like five others Sam would assume he'd like better.

For some reason, Dean was drawn to the quiet, complex acoustic sound. Or maybe it was the lyrics. Sam remembered when Dean was younger, the way music seemed like it saved him some how, like if he listened to enough Zep and AC/DC the monsters under their beds would vanish. Sam still remembered that one summer, probably 1996, when the two of them had been sprawled out on the grass next to the car, some rock song playing from the open Impala doors. Sam had stared up at the sky, watching the dark purple streaks take over the yellow and gold sunset.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you start a rock band? You like the music. And I'm sure you'd be good, you could play drums or something." Sam had turned on his side, rolled up to face Dean, who was a couple feet away and still sprawled out on his back. Dean snorted at Sam's suggestion, shooting a glance over him that was too fast for Sam to decipher.

"If I ran away to become a rocker, who would save your miserable ass from Poltergeists?" Dean's hand tangled in the grass and plucked a few pieces, tossing them in Sam's general direction. They fell short and Sam sighed, glaring a little at the grass.

"That's not fair! The poltergeist last night came out of nowhere, it doesn't count. I can handle myself, Dean. I'm not as little as you think."

"Still littler than me, Sammy." Dean's tone of voice was wistful and he was staring at the sky like he wanted it to swallow him up and take him away from here, somewhere higher, somewhere that little Sammy wasn't dragging him down. Sam huffed out a breath and rolled back onto his spine. He wasn't going to push it, Dean clearly wasn't interested, he'd never wanted anything besides the hunting life anyways.

As Sam came back to the present, he realized that maybe it wasn't that Dean never wanted that, maybe it was the opposite. Maybe that rocker side of Dean had just been suppressed, a combination of leaving Sonny's and hunting ruining his chances at anything more than some pretty diddles and guitar chords to match his favorite Zeppelin songs. Although the thing about this song was that Sam hadn't heard it in the past ten years, at least. Nowadays, every time they were listening to the ZOSO album in the car (Dean would kill him for even thinking that, but whatever it made more sense than damn Untitled) this song never really played. Maybe Dean always skipped it, Sam hadn't noticed. But he would definitely have noticed if it played. Because this song had meant a lot to him too, at one point.

Back when Sam was 18 and ready to leave and terrified of the real world, Going to California had - obviously, due to the title alone - been a song he'd turned to. The thing about hunting was that sure, it was technically a lot more dangerous and scary than running away to school would be, but Sam at least understood it. He knew nothing about "apple pie life" except that you worked hard and never got what you deserved. There were rules, unspoken ones he hadn't picked up on, little social things no one had taught him. Sam was a fast learner, but he knew nothing about being in the world on his own, about the world outside Dean and guns and monsters and Dad's yelling.

He'd figured it out eventually, but in the meantime he'd sometimes get freaked out, get worried he wasn't going to make it. But the lyrics in that song always made him feel better. It was like part of his childhood, the music of the car he knew so well, was encouraging him to leave, helping him ship himself off to the life he wanted to live.

Whenever it got bad and he was doubting his upcoming decision to leave his family for school, Sam would lay back on one of the last motel room beds he'd stayed in before Stanford, playing the song on the ancient walkman music player Dean had probably stolen. Sam would close his eyes, let the words take him forward a couple months, when high school would be over and he could be gone and out of here and on to California.

Made up my mind to make a new start, Going To California with an aching in my heart. It was going to be hard, leaving. Sam knew that, he knew that leaving his big brother and his life behind was going to make his heart ache a damn lot. It was something he had to do though, even if Dean didn't know yet. Sam had no idea how Dean would react, but he could imagine it wasn't going to be pretty.

But he had to let go of Dean, Sam couldn't hold onto his brother forever. Sam needed to get out, needed to find someone beautiful and understanding, someone who Sam didn't have to watch getting tossed across the room, someone Sam wouldn't disappoint or fail to live up to. Dean was a better shot, a better hunter. Dean was taller, bigger, stronger, beautiful. And always in so much danger, Sam was in constant fear of losing him. He needed something easier, something innocent and sweet and caring.

Someone told me there's a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'll ever have a girlfriend? I mean, somebody serious. Not like the flings that end in us moving halfway across the country. Do you want one? What do you think she'd be like? I'm so used to the harshness of this life, sometimes the delicacy of a...girl, just feels. Fragile, you know?"

"Sammy, you ask too many questions."

A few beats of silence, the rumble of the engine being the only sound as Sam looked back out the window. He felt Dean glance over at him, then sigh quietly.

"Okay, I think you'll find the perfect girl Sam. Some pretty blond thing with flowers in her hair, you know?" Sam was silent for a moment, still staring out the window. He finally turned back to Dean, who was looking at him a little worried. Sam finally exhaled, his mouth curling up a little into a smile.

"Like the song?"

"Like the song."

Now, looking back on it, Sam wondered if Dean remembered that conversation. He wondered if the one time Dean had met Jess, he'd finally thought Sammy finally got his pretty blond thing. Jess didn't have flowers in her hair, but she might as well have with the way she bloomed. There was something so sweet and bright about her she was a flower all in herself. Dean would have loved her. They would have argued and teased and been close as hell if they knew each other. Maybe, in some other life, where Jess never died there would be the chance that Dean would corner Sam alone, smiling that he approved, making some joke about Sammy finally finding somebody to match his weirdness.

But Sam had never gotten to have that. Dean had never gotten to have that. All they had was each other, which now? Was more than Sam could ever ask for.

Took my chances on a big jet plane, never let them tell you that they're all the same. "You'll be bored so damn fast, Sam. You think you hate this life? Just wait until you get to the same daily drone of that apple pie life you're chasing so hard. You'll come running back to your brother and I so fast your head will spin. But we won't be there to pick up the mess of your decisions, boy."

Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,  
Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.

Sam might not have had his dad on his side, might not even have had Dean. But he'd had Robert Plant's words and Jimmy and John Paul and Bonham backing him. It shouldn't have been a comfort, Sam didn't like Led Zeppelin half as much as Dean did. But it was a comfort. Maybe that was the reason why Sam held on to that song. Because it was Dean's music. If Sam couldn't have Dean supporting him through this, at least he had Zeppelin.

What Sam didn't know, not even now, was that the song had only been Dean's song until his little brother, his whole world, had Gone to California and Left Dean Behind. The first time the song came on after Sam left was only seven weeks after Sam was at Stanford. Dean had been driving innocently enough down the highway, passing through some abandoned ghetto town at the base of a mountain in Colorado. The familiar guitar notes came over the stereo, those first octave D's sending chills up his spine.

Dean had learned this song back at Sonny's, and loved it even more since, but on the two lane with the rotted buildings passing on his sides and an empty passenger seat with the ghost of Sammy trapped to it, the song ripped at something inside Dean. He could picture Sam on his way to Palo Alto, this song playing in his ears.

Sammy, who had left for bigger, brighter skies because Dean wasn't good enough and this life wasn't good enough and Dean wasn't worth anything to him anyways. If Dean had pulled off the road and staggered out of the car and curled up and cried into the dusty Colorado dirt as the song played over the stereo and out the open car doors, he wasn't ever admitting it. This song was Sammy leaving and Dean's not good enough and all of the unspoken I love you's he'd never gotten to say.

Seems that the wrath of the Gods  
Got a punch on the nose and it started to flow;  
I think I might be sinking.

The words dug at Dean's heart, carved wounds in his soul. The song that had meant so much for him, meant new beginnings and hope and joy now was just the opposite. It was the past, coming to haunt him. Dean's favorite band and anthem of hope had turned against him, torn at his heart and made him bleed and cry down in the dirt, rock bottom. And Dean was sinking.

Throw me a line if I reach it in time  
I'll meet you up there where the path  
Runs straight and high.

It was those words that had Dean back in the car when the song was over; well, actually, once the whole album had clicked silent. Dean was crying in the dust for a while. I'll meet you up there where the path runs straight and high. Dean drove straight to Palo Alto from that California ghost town, cleaning up in a motel on the way and wiping the dust off his face that had left a white powder for his tears to make streaks down. It was a weird sight, Dean didn't cry much. But the dust on his face made the tear tracks bright and obvious and stayed all the way until he scrubbed himself down. With the evidence gone he drove all the way to Sam's dorm. Meet you up there where the path runs straight and high. Dean never ended up going inside. Sam didn't want to meet him, Dean knew that.

Dean didn't think much about that day, not anymore. He hadn't listened to the song since.

But now, he was playing the teenage version he'd learned so long ago in a strange room he'd never been in before. But Sammy wasn't going to leave him anymore, not now. His fingers had been tentative at first, but he found himself twisting down into Drop D key before he even realized what his head was going to play. The song kind of flowed out of him, when he wasn't fumbling with the strings, that is. It felt nearly surreal, propped in here on this stool with a guitar from Sam in his lap and the song of his past filling the room.

Sam still stood propped against the wall just outside that room, listening to the same song as Dean's fingers switched into the last chord progression. The door to the room Sam had put the guitar in was propped open slightly, and Sam was sure Dean was in there. Why he'd chosen to just stay in that room, Sam didn't know. But he was in there, and the music was beautiful in that simple, learning sort of way.

He finally decided he couldn't let the song end without seeing Dean's hands, without seeing his brother make something so beautiful. So he took the last few steps to the cracked open door slowly, then he was pushing it open.

Dean was in fact on the little stool in the room, guitar in his lap as he looked up at Sam. His fingers were in the last position of the song, the one that repeated until it faded to nothing. He didn't have a pick in his right hand, even though there had been a few in the case. Instead his fingers danced over the strings, quiet but still steady as he saw Sam. Sam was a little surprised, he'd assumed Dean might stop when he came in. But Dean just looked at him serenely as Sam stared.

He couldn't help but stare. Dean was beautiful most of the time, but with the guitar in his lap and the soft high notes spilling out from his curved fingers, he looked like some form of a god. He leaned back a little in his chair under Sam's gaze, letting the last notes echo out between them and fill the silence. He looked so into it, his face as peaceful as when he was sleeping. Sam was sure his surprise was all over his face, but he wasn't going to open his mouth and ruin the moment. Instead, he leaned back against the wall in here, sliding down to sit at the base of it, back propped up against the support and eyes still on Dean. Dean's eyes traded between looking at Sam or at his hands, until finally the last note was fading and silence was falling back on them.

Sam didn't know what to say. Dean repositioned the guitar in his lap, the serenity on his face fading a little as he sunk back down to earth. They sat in silence for a few moments before Dean was repositioning his left hand, picking a new chord to play and looking up at Sam.

"Do you wanna hear Tangerine?"

Sam grinned.

"You know that one too?"

"Yeah. Well, I did. It's probably a little sketchy now."

"Okay."

Then it was easy between them and Sam just sat with a smile as Dean played. He was a little shy at first, but his hands picked up into the song - this one was easier than Going to California, Sam could tell. Of course it was another Zeppelin, but Sam wasn't surprised that those were the songs Dean knew on guitar. What else would he have wanted to learn?

Once while he was playing, Dean's eyes closed and Sam was pretty sure he fell in love all over again. They stayed in that old office/storage room until Dean ran out of songs he remembered, which was only two songs after Tangerine later. Dean even sang along quietly to Poison. Sam wished he had a video camera, but he doubted Dean would let Sam film him even if he did.

When the last song was over, Dean made a joke about twenty years having a bit of an effect on talent and Sam laughed. Then Dean's face got all serious and he held out the guitar, looking at the instrument in his hands like it was a foreign thing but still something he always wanted. He stood, placing it carefully back in its case and making a face as he inspected the tips of his fingers. Sam had heard that playing guitar could be pretty painful until you developed calluses. Dean didn't say anything though, just scooted the stool back under the desk in the corner, picking up the case by the handle, jumping it in his hand to test the weight. Finally he was looking at Sam again, who had stood up by now and was waiting by the door. As soon as Sam saw Dean was set, he open the door wider and started into the hallway.

"Sam?" Dean called after him. Sam stopped, turning around. Dean carefully got the guitar through the doorway, then he was facing Sam in the hall. His voice dropped a little quieter, cheeks blushing a shade darker as he dipped his head. "Thanks."

It was either an acknowledgement for the guitar or for listening to him play, or maybe for the opportunity to have this in his life again. Maybe even a thank you for noticing I used to love this. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Sam had seen the look on Dean's face as he played and that was the best thanks he could ever get. So he just smiled, tipping Dean's chin up with a finger and kissing him chastely.

"You're welcome." And Sam meant it, too.

They walked to Dean's room as side-by-side as possible with the swinging guitar case between them. Sam sat on Dean's bed and watched as Dean found a spot he wanted to keep it, propped up against the wall underneath his Purgatory weapon. It felt a little ironic, how different those two items were in Dean's life and now they sat juxtaposed. But everything in their life was a little like that, and Sam had come to appreciate the variety by now.

When Dean finally set the guitar up where he wanted it, he was spinning back around without a trace of the sweet peacefulness he'd had on earlier. The spell of the guitar playing, the reminiscing on the old days and younger times was gone in an instant, replaced with a fire in Dean's eyes. Instead of the serenity, he had a wicked grin on that meant nine kinds of trouble.

"So, how about that raincheck?"

Sam laughed, beckoning at Dean with a pat on the bed beside him. Dean cocked his head with another smirk.

"You know, I never did get around to putting on that record. Just because you are so damn good at distracting me...guess I have to go find one now, yeah?" Dean started for the door and Sam groaned. That had just been a cover and now Dean was being a tease. He got up to follow his brother anyways.

"Can't it wait?" Sam asked, kind of whining as he followed Dean. Dean turned around, chest nearly bumping into Sam's from the proximity of the sudden halt.

"Nope, it can't. Go read while I find one."

"But-"

"No butts. Besides yours, hussling to the library." Sam made a face but listened to Dean anyways, spinning back the other way. A sharp smack to his ass had him throwing a bird over his shoulder, then Dean's laughter was fading as they walked in opposite directions.

The sting was gone before Sam got to the library, and he plopped back down in his chair moodily. This wasn't fair at all. Dean had been so gorgeous playing that guitar, they'd really gotten somewhere in that moment between them. It was like they were actually embrassing the past for once, like they were moving forward. And then Dean had to go and spoil it. It wasn't that Sam minded going abstinent, he had never been the crazy horny person Dean was. It was just that Dean had no reason at all for leaving Sam hanging but to drive him insane. Those green eyes had always been a tease and Sam could usually take it - to a point. But it had been days since that raincheck, and Dean just kept being annoyingly awfully beautiful. Sam just wanted to lay him down and push him into the sheets, watch Dean's body arch back up in his hands beautifully. But instead, he was being teased and denied and flat out rejected.

At first, Sam thought maybe there was a reason why, that Dean wasn't feeling well or maybe he was worrying too much and thought Sam wasn't feeling well. And then there was the whole I'm-too-tired incident last night that Sam hadn't pushed because he wasn't a dick. Now, though, Dean was just being impossible. He was more than okay, happier than Sam had seen him in a while, and they had been good - great, even - for a while.

Then Cas called and Dean was gone for a while. When he came back, he was different, but it felt like an improvement. Sure, he'd been broken, but Sam felt like maybe it didn't hit so hard or strike so deep this time. Maybe Dean was going to be okay, not act the way he usually did after he and Cas split ways. And that was just the thing - usually Dean was throwing himself at alcohol and sex and recklessness whenever he had Castiel troubles. This time, he was doing the opposite. So Sam had a feeling the strange behavior actually didn't have much to do with Cas at all. It was just Dean being the annoying, teasing Dean. With really inopportune timing.

"What, Dorothy bore you already?" Dean asked, making Sam jump in his seat. Apparently Sam hadn't heard Dean come in, although Dean hadn't been walking any quieter than usual or anything. Gigantore must have been pretty far lost in thought to miss Dean's entrance, he was pretty sure his boots were loud. Dean looked him over, wondering what Sam must have been thinking about. He was probably overthinking something, knowing his big head.

"How'd you know I was reading Oz?"

"I dunno. I just figured, I guess." Dean didn't look over his shoulder as he readjusted the needle on the turntable. Obviously Sam would be reading Oz, that was how his brain worked. They'd been talking about the book a couple weeks ago, and it was going to bother Sam's nerdy head until he sat down and read it. So, he'd been reading Oz. Just not right now, because there wasn't even a book out when Dean walked in. Wow, he must have been in very deep thought. A high violin whine sounded out over the room, then the drums hit and the guitar came in as Dean straightened up.

"Adrenalize? I thought you hated albums that bands produced after one of their members died," Sam sassed. Dean walked closer, shrugging lightly.

"In through the Out Door was fine. And Bonham was a lot more vital than Steve Clark." Although Steve Clark and Jon Bonham didn't even belong in the same sentence, let alone compared. Dean said the Def Leppard's guitarist's name like it was something sour. Sam snorted at him. Dean took the last couple of steps towards Sam's reading chair and reached out a hand for Sam to take. Sam looked at him skeptically, then look at his hand skeptically. Dean shook his hand impatiently. He wasn't just going to stand here with his hand out like an idiot, Sam could at least take it since Dean was being the gentleman and helping him up and all.

Sam finally put his hand in Dean's, just barely gripping him as he pulled himself up to his feet. Dean kept his fingers wrapped tight over the back of Sam's hand and pulled in it closer, tugging their bodies together. Sam looked confused but went along with it, eyebrows arched in surprise. Dean understood the surprise, it wasn't every day that he helped Sam up and then kidnapped his hand, bringing the warmth of their bodies close. But they could always be closer. So Dean's free arm wrapped around Sam's waist, bringing up their hands to be entwined at chest height. He used Sam's forward momentum to sway them to the side, feet gracefully accommodating the movement. Sam's face was close, forcing Dean to tilt his chin up ridiculously high to meet eyes with Sam. Sam looked down, taking in Dean and the position of their bodies and the song in the background.

We happen to be together, try to stop this thing a'comin  
Stand up, kick love into motion

"Are we dancing?" Sam asked incredulously, looking at Dean with wide eyes. Dean huffed out a laugh and swayed them more, hand tightening on Sam's lower back.

"College boy just picked up on that? Wow, Sam, that's slow even for you." Dean was grinning but Sam still look floored. Okay, this wasn't that out of character for Dean. Well, maybe a little. Or a lot. Dean had his reasons, though.

"But yo-you, you're always complaining about how girly it is!"

"It is girly."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"We."

"What?"

"We are slow-dancing. Not just me."

"You - why do I even bother," Sam grumbled, dropping his head in defeat. Dean's spiked hair brushed his forehead and Sam closed his eyes. He didn't understand Dean at all. He'd either been a total prude or complained about how girly Sam was being lately, and then he goes and puts on a record and invites Sam to slow dance. Sam just didn't get it.

Dean leaned his head against Sam's chest, the plaid shirt soft against his cheek from being washed too many times. Sure, it was super sappy and everything but Sam had gone and gotten him a damn guitar. So what if Dean wanted him close, wanted to breathe in the familiar scent of his brother. The clean warmth of him that was so much more than just the high of an orgasm. So what if Dean wanted a moment with just the two of them, something decently romantic that meant Dean wasn't as awful as a boyfriend as he thought he was sometimes. He didn't know anything about relationships other than what he shared with Sam, and sometimes that could use some work.

Hell, Dean had flipped the other day when Sam went to take his hand. They'd been screwing for years, and Dean thought that hand-holding was an apocalyptic moment? If that wasn't a sign Dean didn't know what was. So maybe he'd been thinking. A lot.

About how it was always Sam giving, giving so much and trying to do better and taking their relationship to the next step and Dean just dragged along for the ride, protesting most of the great things that landed in his lap. Dean was perfectly content to sit back and let Sam screw him and then carry his weak ass around and tuck him in and be ready to start the cycle in the next morning. Yeah, Dean made Sam breakfasts and looked out for him, but he always had his whole life and that didn't count. That wasn't improvement towards them as a couple or whatever. Dean hadn't really tried for anything in that department, he'd just been grateful of everything Sam was willing to give.

It was time Dean started trying a little harder, started giving a little too. When was the last time either of them had been on a date? As in a legit, candlelit dinner that didn't end in somebody screwing somebody else against a wall. Sex wasn't bad, it was great actually, but there was more to them than that. Sam was giving up his whole apple pie life have a family thing for Dean, the least Dean could do was make him not regret it.

Take me in your arms and throw me to the ground  
Down to the ground, baby c'mon

Sam's heartbeat felt loud against Dean's chest. He reached up and pressed a soft kiss against Sam's neck, letting his mouth linger against the heated skin there. Sam kept them both swaying. Dean decided not to move his mouth away from the skin beneath Sam's ear, keeping his lax lips brushing instead. His throat hummed absentmindedly along to the music, quiet and soft vibrations between them.

Everything felt serene like this. Like just for a moment, there wasn't a war between earth and heaven. Dean's best friend wasn't forcibly human and alone in some dirty convenience store somewhere. People didn't kill each other for no reason, all in the name of faith or change. Everyone was accepted in society and the economy wasn't shit. Monsters didn't hide in people's closets and demons didn't walk the earth. His little brother wasn't half dead and post-coma, possessed by an angel to keep walking and talking.

For just a moment, everything in the world was alright.

You couldn't get it much better  
You never had it so good  
Stand up together

The tips of Sam's silky hair brushed Dean's nose so he closed his eyes and smiled. Sam's arm was on his back too, keeping them close, entwined hands nearly crushed between their hearts. The matching ink black pentagrams over their hearts were on opposite sides of their bodies when they were like this, instead of pressed together. Though when they'd gotten the matching ink, they hadn't pictured ever lining their bodies up this way. Well, Dean had pictured it, but it was years from happening. Totally-worth-it years.

My love is like a motor  
Runnin' all the time

Dean lifted his head off of Sam's shoulder, probably making Sam's neck feel cold where he'd been breathing on it a moment ago. Dean wondered if Sam noticed little things like that. Dean definitely did. Sam looked down, catching Dean's eyes. They looked at each other for a moment then Dean was looking to the side, feeling Sam's eyes still on his face.

"On the stairway to heaven, what a way to go." Dean sung along softly, glancing up at Sam for just a second before his whole body flushed. Sam was looking at him all...all sappy and happy and Dean couldn't look at that. He crinkled up his nose, trying not to smile like an idiot as his cheeks flushed red. They were in each others arms and this was really nice. Sam was making him feel all tingly with the way he was looking at Dean but when Dean was staring at their hands instead of Sam's eyes, he could get somewhat of a handle on the blushing.

The final chorus drifted out of the song, the last of the words fading across the room. Dean was never going to stop being amazed at the sound quality that record player could turn out. It wasn't too far from them, they were dancing in the minimal space between the library research tables. There was enough room for the two of them, plus a little extra to move, so it wasn't like they needed a whole dancefloor. All Dean really needed was what was in his arms anyways.

A few moments of silence fell between them as the record needle lifted to find the next song. They kept swaying lightly in the silence, having rotated a few circles by now. Dean couldn't remember what song was next on this album, but odds are since it was Def Leppard it was going to be the polar opposite of whatever they were just listening to. They had a tendency to make their slow songs and upbeat songs every other on the album. Which normally was fine but when you were dancing it was definitely a mood change. And it had taken Dean forever to find the song he'd been looking for on this album in the first place.

The squeaky sound filled the room and Dean instantly identified the song. Okay, he could work with this song. The dancing was his idea, after all. As soon as the electric guitar came in, Dean was looking back up, flush fading from his cheeks. Sam cocked him head in curiosity, then Dean's mouth was covering his and Sam's lips opened in surprise. Dean jumped on the opportunity and sucked Sam's bottom lip into his mouth, hand on Sam's lower back sliding down to grab his ass. Their entwined hands broke and Dean took two handfuls, backing Sam into the nearest wall.

Sam groaned and leaned into Dean to kiss him harder, mouth hungry. Dean's hands kneaded the flesh in his palms. Sam had an amazing ass. Seriously.

Dean started nipping along Sam's jaw, rolling their hips together as he sunk his teeth into stubble covered skin. Sam's hands slid up Dean's back, rounded over to his sides, grabbing onto his ribcage possessively. Well Dean wasn't going to have any of that. Sam was a control freak, even in bed - especially in bed - and it was Dean's turn to bend him over. He let go of Sam's precious ass to swat at the hands on his sides. Sam's fingers drew back, but Dean decided that wasn't good enough.

He wrapped his hands over Sam's wrists and forced his arms upwards, slamming Sam's hands together above his head. With the two hands crossed, Dean could pin them both to the wall with one hand and keep Sam stuck like this, doing whatever Dean pleased. Sam bucked his hips forward against Dean's, breathing heavier already. In Dean's genius method of pinning Sam's hands, he was given a free arm that he could do whatever he pleased, especially without Sam's longass arms to get in the way and control things.

He hiked up the hem of Sam's shirt with that free hand, tugging at his ear with ruthless teeth. Sam's hands squirmed and Dean pressed them down tighter against the wall. The song was still playing in the background, the helpful title of Personal Property urging Dean on. The guitar was fast and hot in this one, giving Dean a good tempo to gnaw on Sam's skin to.

It's finder's keepers  
Loser's gonna weep  
She's personal, property

Sure, Dean knew was one hell of a catch. But so was his little brother. And the best part Sammy had always been that he was Dean's. Dean made sure he knew it too, with the free hand that had his middle finger running down Sam's spine, parallel to the ridges. His jeans unfortunately weren't very loose, but the tips of three of his fingers at least fit inside, pushing at the top of Sam's ass under the line of that denim. Sam groaned but Dean had to have more. He snapped the button on Sam's jeans and slid down the zipper, loosening them up enough that he wouldn't run into any more problems.

It was easiest to kiss Sam through it, so the verbal accusations couldn't interrupt him either. With Sam's hands and tongue pinned, he couldn't do much damage. So Dean's fingers were free to waterfall down Sam's spine again, this time not stopping from tight clothes. His middle finger plunged down underneath denim and cotton, riding the outlines of his backbone all the way to Sam's tailbone and past. Sam sucked all the breath out of Dean's mouth as he gasped, Dean's middle finger curling up into his ass. It was barely inside, because unlubed meant there was a major lack of movement. But it still was enough to have Sam in shock, breath hitching and body jerking against Dean in surprise. Dean swept his tongue across the inside of that slack-jawed mouth, humming at the taste.

She won't fall for nothin'  
She's much more than cute

Dean should give props to Def Leppard for writing songs he could use with Sammy. Although most songs Dean could bend to fit them in some way. He did that sometimes when he was bored, tried to find a line or a way to shape a song so that it was about them and their story. So much shit had happened between them, it wasn't hard to find some point in his life that a song could fit.

Just like the way Sam's hips fit perfectly against his. Sam was a mess in Dean's arms, the slow rough drag of Dean's finger pushing deeper in his ass driving him crazy. Dean grinded his hips in a tantalizing roll against Sam's, sliding friction across his denim clad dick the same time it forced his finger deeper. Sam was panting into his mouth now and Dean kissed him harder, twisting their mouths together roughly. Sam's hands tried to twist out of Dean's grip again, which got one of Dean's thighs pushed roughly between Sam's legs. Sam thrust shamelessly against Dean's thigh, hot and shaky under Dean's hands.

Dean took a step backwards and withdrew his hands at the same time, leaving Sam's pinned hands to fall to his sides instead, his air suddenly returning to him in a slam that made him gasp. He wasn't allowed even a minute to recuperate, Dean had two hands on Sam's plaid shirt and was pulling him off the wall only seconds later. Sam stumbled as Dean guided them quickly backwards, hands undoing the buttons on Sam's shirt as he interlocked their lips. Dean pushed Sam's shirt off his shoulders roughly, letting it fall to the ground in the hallway. Sam's hands were all over Dean, the lack of being able to touch before apparently driving him a little crazy.

They always fell into Dean's bedroom, it being closer to the kitchen and everything. But Dean was in the mood for a change of scenery. Besides, you could still hear the record player from Sam's room. So Dean pushed Sam in that direction as he undid Sam's belt, leaving that in the hallway too. Dean shrugged out of his overshirt too, leaving them at least partially undressed as they made it through the doorway.

She's personal property  
Personal property

This time as Dean pushed Sam against the wall, it was face first. Dean's hands slid down Sam's bare back, keeping Sam's abs and throbbing dick pressed tight to the hard surface. He kissed open mouthed and wet along Sam's shoulders, getting two hands on Sam's loosened jeans and boxers. Dean kissed down Sam's spine as he pushed down the handfuls of clothes, pulling down Sam's pants slow as his body snaked down with his arms, mouth dragging down with kisses and licks one spinal bone at a time.

Dean's mouth kept kissing as he reached the top of Sam's ass, wrestling Sam's jeans and boxers over his feet and tossing them aside. Then he brought his hands up to each cheek, pulling Sam closer and forcing him to bend over a little as he dragged his tongue down to Sam's entrance. Sam moaned low and quiet as Dean wiggled his tongue inside. He fucked Sam slowly on his wet tongue, hands busy spreading Sam's cheeks. He only focused and spent as long as it was going to take to get Sam lubed enough, then he undressed himself the rest of the way, mouth still closed over Sam's loosened hole. A shudder went down Sam's spine, vibrating Dean's mouth against him. Dean sucked harder at the flesh, making Sam's back arch. Then Dean was tossing his jeans off to the side too, both of them finally naked.

He stood up as soon as he was undressed, hands still splitting Sam's ass apart. Dean lined up his hard length, spitting on his hand and running that over himself once, just in case. Then he pushed the head of his dick against Sam's hole, the resistance pushing at them both as Dean eased his way inside.

And she's mine  
She belongs to me

The song ended with a final drum hit, the whiny Def Leppard sound falling silent for a moment as Dean's head fit just inside. Then a bigger drum hit sounded out with the next song, the song Dean was actually aiming towards by putting on this album. They didn't really do the sex-to-music thing very often but today had been a musical day, as queer as that sounded. But hey, Dean was shoving his dick in his brother's ass, that was basically as queer as Dean Winchester got.

Sam stretched to fit him, mouth falling open and eyes shutting as he rested his head against an arm propped up on the wall. One of Dean's hands wrapped over to the front of Sam's pelvis, pulling Sam towards him as he tilted his hips forward. Sam was still angled away from the wall far enough to make the position possible, thankfully. Dean kept his hands on Sam for a few rotations of his hips, making sure Sam was open and stable before he lifted off of Sam's hips, hands now braced on the wall on either side of Sam. The wall was support enough for Dean to hold himself up as he rolled his cock in and out of Sam's ass.

He let his head fall to rest on Sam's shoulderblades, eyes falling shut and mouth parted like Sam's, his breath ghosting over the light sweat dotting Sam's spine. The pumping of his hips was more methodical than it was slow, digging in deep and rubbing circularly against the inside of Sam, feeling every muscle he could before drawing out again.

There you are breathin' soft on my skin, yeah.  
Still you won't let me in,  
So come on

Sam's free hand reached up, fingers curling over Dean's thumb and pressing fingertips gently to the wall. Dean lifted his head off of Sam's shoulders, looking at Sam's huge hand wrapped around just one of Dean's fingers, the way he used to when he was a little kid. Dean breathed out slow at that thought. Whenever he and Sam were together like this, they were lovers. Which made it easier to forget that they were brothers, too. He shook the similarity out of his mind, letting his eyes drift over other parts of Sam.

The forearm Sam had propped on the wall was the one he kept the side of his head resting against, face turned to the side so Dean could see the curve of his hair falling over Sam's nose. Sam's hair did this voluminous curving thing lately and it was pretty damn cute, especially when a little piece curved where it wasn't supposed to and Sam didn't care to fix it. Dean would, but he was a bit preoccupied right now with things that were higher on the priority list than tucking Sam's hair behind his ear.

And you're the girl I gotta have  
I gotta have you baby, yeah.

Power Ballads were probably the best invention ever. The thing about a power ballad was that the lyrics were sweet and the tempo was slower, but the emotion was like three times the amount of a normal classic rock song. Power ballads still had guitar and drums, still had a beat that you could do things to. Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad was like a classic power ballad, the way the sincerity of a slow song met the intensity of synced powerful instruments.

The best part about them though, was that they fit Dean's sex style perfectly. Emotional and intense but usually not sappy and slow. Slow songs just weren't his MO, but the rough edged gentleness of a power ballad was exactly Dean's personality. And it also meant he didn't get called insensitive for playing Cherry Pie while they were screwing, and he didn't have to stoop to even girlier by playing something all acoustic and soft. It was a win win for everybody.

This song fit them more a few years ago than it did now, but it was still a good song. Perfectly sufficient for him to pump his hips against Sam's anyways. Sam was a lot quieter than Dean was during sex, so everytime he drew even the slightest sound out of his brother he kind of felt immensely proud. Not that the look on Sam's face and the pained breathing wasn't enough encouragement and reward. Sam was so goddamn beautiful, looked absolutely gorgeous on Dean's cock. They should do this more often.

Dean let his head fall back on Sam's shoulders, his breathing getting heavier too. The twist and roll of his hips sped up a bit, less focus on the roll inside of Sam and more on the speed of friction between their bodies. Sam was so tight on him, like a fucking vice, and it drove Dean's brain insane. As if being in Sam wasn't enough, he had a great ass and met each one of Dean's thrusts perfectly. Dean was as much in virtual heaven inside Sam as he was when it was the other way around. Just, everything about Sam. That body that Sam cared for so much, letting Dean have his way with it? There was something so honoring about that.

Why save your kisses for a rainy day  
Baby let the moment take your heart away

As the hard notes of the chorus hit, the longing in Joe Elliot's voice was barely muffled by the walls. The faster pumping of Dean's hips had him at the doubletime tempo of the song, shaking both of their bodies. They'd been teasing and holding out from each other for a while now, so the blood in Dean's veins felt like it was boiling hotter than usual. He had finally had Sam under him and it was somehow even better than his head told him it would be.

And if my time don't ever come  
For me you're still the one  
Damned if I don't, damned if I do  
I gotta get a fix on you

Sam shuddered, his muscles fluttering underneath Dean's forehead. Dean stooped his mouth down and pressed a comforting kiss to the sweaty skin. His lips tasted like salt and Sam and Dean's eyes squeezed shut tighter against it all. Sam's hand was still wrapped over his thumb, the wall the only thing holding them upright as Dean drilled their bodies together over and over. Dean always kept a bit of a circular motion at the end of his thrusts, he couldn't help but feel as much of the inside of Sam as he could. Based on the way Sam's breathing hitched and his back arched nearly every time, Dean could assume Sam wasn't exactly complaining about the movement either.

The five and a half minute song was fading into the distance and Dean groaned as he realized they were going to end up having sex to like, this whole album. Well he wasn't going to get up and go move the needle off the record now. He'd rather deal with whatever else was playing that he didn't particularly want to listen to than he would stop this.The last words fell into the space between their bodies, words that didn't mean so much now as they used to. It was kind of ironic, they were having sex to the same song that used to drive them both crazy. Back when they didn't have each other.

Have you ever needed someone so bad, yeah  
Have you ever wanted someone you just can't have...

The last few words were too quiet to make out through the walls and Dean didn't mind. The only thing really on his mind was the muscles that were still extremely tight around his cock. If Sam weren't so tough Dean would be worried. But Sam's pain tolerance threshold was incredible, and so long as the steady stream of precum smeared an easy slide, the tight fit would end up more pleasurable than painful in the end.

"D-Dean," Sam moaned quietly, hand repositioning to squeeze Dean's wrist instead of his thumb. Dean peppered another few light kisses over Sam's shoulders, the defined muscles under Dean's lips trembling a little. Sam was feeling it too, the length of time they'd spent apart destroying both of their stamina a little. Sam teased him about how he was horny all the time but it was a lot more just how Sam was under his skin and he did the most enticing things like 24/7, of course Dean was always interested. But whenever they were on a case they didn't have time or a place to scratch at the itch. Which was only exacerbated by the danger and adrenaline and Sammy firing a gun and fed suits and all those other factors of cases that made it so damn difficult to keep their hands off each other.

So yeah, Dean had been wanting Sam for a few days, but was also unwilling to force Sam to take care of him all the time. Which meant he had to wait to find an opportunity that he could battle it out for top. In order for that to ever happen, catching Sam off guard would be vital. And when they had fallen in bed last night, Sam was already stripping off Dean's clothes with the intention of taking care of him. Dean had lightly grabbed onto Sam's wrists, pausing him in his efforts to slide own Dean's zipper. Dean had managed out an apologetic I'm too tired which had gotten Sam's hands to quickly cup his face instead of his ass, eyes concerned as he gently kissed Dean's nose. Dean hadn't felt like further explaining, so he'd curled up against Sam's side instead, letting Sam throw his arm over Dean's shoulders as their legs tangled up. That had been a lot of sexual frustration for Dean too, but it would be worth it if it meant he got to take care of Sam for once.

Electric guitar sounded through the walls again and they were both on their last bit of energy and willpower by now. Although it was another fitting song, which Dean wasn't going to complain about. This one was recorded a little quieter than the last song by the sound of it, so it wasn't distracting at least. Not that much could distract Dean from Sam's body right now.

I wanna touch you, till we're stuck like glue  
I wanna touch you - Yeah

The heat inside Sam was making the heat inside Dean only get hotter, his body shuddering and his hands curling against the walls. Sam rocked back against him, trying to get more, faster, more. Dean gave him everything he had, hips jerking in and out of Sam's body.

"S-sammy," Dean breathed against his skin, words broken by the movement of their bodies. Sam groaned in response, more silk strands of hair dislodging from their proper places as Dean rocked their bodies. It was getting harder to breathe or to think, his mind starting to lose it. Dean was not about to be a noisy top in addition to being a noisy bottom, so his teeth sunk into the skin between Sam's shoulders. Sam made another quiet noise at that, his body tensing up even further.

'Cos a little too much could never be enough, now

He was pretty sure his teeth were going to leave a mark on Sam's skin. Odds are Sam wasn't going to mind. The friction just kept building and building, everything getter tighter and hotter and higher. Dean decided to risk it with what small part of his brain that was functioning on any level besides Sam right now, and took one of his hands off the wall, balancing both of their weight on the overlapping ones. Surprisingly, they didn't topple over. Dean wrapped his free fingers around the base of Sam's cock, squeezing and stroking up with a twist of his wrist.

Sam choked out Dean's name again, a low gasp following as his body seized and Sam was coming onto Dean's hand, onto the wall. Every muscle in Sam's body compacted instantly, the skin between Dean's teeth forcing his lips apart to gasp in air. Sam's ass clenched around Dean and all the pressure slammed into his body at once and he was coming too, pumping Sam full of warm sticky white. It was like the whole world just...exploded at once. That's how it was with Sam sometimes, like everything just went off like a rocket. Dean stroked and pumped them both through their orgasms, filling Sam up full and streaking Sam's wall with his own spunk. It was messy and hot and totally worth the clean up that was going to come later.

Once Sam was through with the aftershocks and made loose-limbed and jello against the wall, Dean pulled out of him gingerly. As soon as the head of his cock slipped free of the mess, Dean eased a thumb inside. Sam moaned again, shiver running down his spine. Dean kept his thumb plugged in Sam's ass, forcing his come to stay inside. With his other hand Dean guided Sam's chest back upright, standing straight up and a little shaky in Dean's grip.

"Let's get you showered and cleaned up, yeah?" Dean suggested, kissing the bite mark in between Sam's shoulders.

"I'm not five," Sam grumbled. Dean readjusted his thumb inside Sam's ass and Sam moaned, eyes rolling back and hand reaching out to get a grip on Dean's arm and steady himself.

"Yeah, okay. That settles that," Dean said with a grin. He loved seeing Sam all weak and dependent on him, as sadistic as that sounded. But post-orgasmic Sam was ridiculously hot and that's just how that went. Other benefits to topping? He could actually walk after he orgasmed. What a novel idea.

Dean led them - quickly, just in case Kevin ventured into this hallway, which was pretty unlikely because he never did that, plus there were clothes still strewn about back here, so Kevin would probably get the message - into the shower room, his thumb in Sam's ass the whole way there. Sam was hard and moaning again by the time Dean started up the water. Which wasn't really a surprise, it was kind of what Dean was going for with the whole ass-plug thing. Well, that and less of a mess to clean up later.

Sam was already trying to fuck himself back on Dean's hand the moment the water started up, and Dean couldn't help but smile, kissing Sam sloppily under the spray. Then Sam was rubbing his hard on against Dean's thigh and his smile turned into something darker, blood rushing down away from his brain again.

He ended up slotting their dicks together in a hand and jacking them both off slow under the spray of the hot shower water. Neither one of them was in a rush to orgasm this time, so Dean took his time, dragging his thumb over the top of both of their heads, making Sam watch as he squeezed their lengths together. It was a slow process, all about the pleasure instead of the outcome. This was definitely the most feasible type of shower sex because most everything else was pretty complicated. They'd had legitimate sex in the shower before too, but it always got pretty difficult in there somewhere. The new shower room made it easier with the extra room to navigate and not be squished, but there was still the whole slippery factor going on. Sex on the shower room floor was easier than all of it, so sometimes they went as simple as that too.

By the time they had orgasmed and washed off and Dean had gotten to wash Sam's ridiculously long hair and wrapped him up in a towel, the Def Leppard album was over. Which was great, because that meant Dean didn't have to drip water all the way down to the record player, clad in just a towel, to turn the damn thing off. So instead they took their towel-wrapped selves back to Sam's room, plopping down on that bed. Dean rolled Sam out of his towel and threw his aside too, lifting the sheets over both of their naked bodies.

"Decent raincheck, yeah?" Dean asked as he scooted over to where Sam was on the bed.

"Mmhm," Sam agreed quietly, eyes already shut. Dean's mouth quirked up in a smile at the sleepy sound.

Dean settled at Sam's back, wrapping his arms around Sam's chest and holding Sam tightly to him, head tucked against the back of Sam's neck. He'd been taking care of Sam all day, he wasn't going to stop now. Even if Sam was a lot bigger curled in his arms and Dean's body was not meant to be the big spoon. Because that terminology was annoying anyways, Dean could hold his gigantic brother if he wanted to. Sam was out like a light, not even muttering goodnight to Dean before he was into his sleeping pattern, breath steady and chest rising and falling beneath Dean's sprawled hands.

"Goodnight," Dean whispered into Sam's hair anyways. He closed his eyes and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of Sam's neck. "And thank you again," he added on in his whisper.

Maybe Dean wasn't quite at the caliber Sam was at yet, but he was going to get there. Sam was worth it, and Dean was going to make sure he knew it too. There was nothing that could get between them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a youtube video of the guitar scene from this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAqPMUhuwAA
> 
> I had a lot of fun making that just fyi
> 
> If you want a playlist of the music they listen to on the record (with the honorary song Going to California on it as well) you can find that link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_icoPVhCA7E&index=2&list=PLmayM75Kb1eKmtQAaua6wlbySFCfK9TD5
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! xx
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Angellec:
> 
> "Your version is better than what was shown,I like the episode cause I wish they would look into their growing up more than they do but the way it seems glossed over that Dean disappears for 2 months and Sam seemed like he was blasé about it bothers me. It definitely would have been upsetting to young Sam and the older Sam would have had a stronger reaction,plus why could they not have given us a little Winchester hug. Rant over love this whole work."
> 
> FlyByNightGirl:  
>  "Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you like it! I totally agree with you, I think a hug was /definitely/ in order. But at least we got a tiny bit of recognition from Sam in the episode...I'm so happy you agreed that it needed more though! Thank you for your comment :) I'll get the next chapter out soon xx"
> 
> ~*~*~*~
> 
> Dragonfli:
> 
> "This was wonderful!"
> 
> FlyByNightGirl:  
>  "You are truly an angel darling thank you xx"


	20. Beguiling (Rock and a Hard Place 09x08)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are one of those people who like to listen to music while you read, there is a playlist that fits fairly nicely as background music for one of the lengthy parts of this chapter. If you want to listen to it, I recommend you start playing it around the time the Mystery Spot episode is mentioned. If not, that's totally chill for you.
> 
> It's not a playlist of my own, instead made by buiticancarryyou on tumblr and 8tracks, and the link to her playlist is here http://8tracks.com/buticancarryyou/backseat-love-story
> 
> As always, enjoy and thank you for reading xx
> 
> (P.S. This chapter is twice as long as any other chapter I've written and I apologize but I just got a little carried away I suppose. 50,454 words last I checked)

There was a thing called Fave Five. It wasn't even something they came up with, they'd overheard some girls chatting about it in a bar once. It was years ago, and Dean had caught Sam's eye and shot him a look, who in turn raised his eyebrows in shared amusement. And yeah, Dean brought it up verbally after he'd had a couple more beers. He couldn't remember much about the conversation except that Sam spent most of it laughing at Dean.

The concept of the whole fave five thing was really simple, and it had been forever ago, which meant it had been even more simple because everything in their lives was always getting increasingly more complicated. Basically, the rules were that you had to pick your top five people as a sort of get-out-of-jail-free card. It's like a mini bucket list, sort of. The girls that were giggling about it at the table next to them were explaining it to one of their newbie friends, so Dean actually remembered the whole description.

"So the idea is that you have 5 free passes to bang your top fav actors or whatever, at like any point in your life. Like, if I were to meet Harry Styles tomorrow, I could totally cheat on Mike with him because he's in my Fave Five. Or if Janet was married ten years down the road, she could bang Channing Tatum without it actually counting because he's in her Fave Five. You only get five people, and they are your free passes for life. So basically on the chance that you actually get lucky enough to meet your idol or someone as drop dead gorgeous as Channing Tatum, you can take a step out of boring every day life and screw him without consequences or rules."

Dean had no idea who Harry Styles was but he got the Channing Tatum reference. Hell, he could sympathize with the Channing Tatum reference. Janet knew what was up. But either way, it was a sufficient enough description for Dean to instead they play it too.

Sam had thought it was ridiculous, and lame, but Dean had thought it was hilarious. And of course he made Sam make a list. Sam sat brooding in shotgun for a while but Dean didn't stop poking - literally poking him with a finger - and so Sam eventually sighed like the drama queen he was and made a list. Dean couldn't remember who all the five people were now, but they had all been famous, so it wasn't like it mattered anyways. Well, Dean did remember Matt Damon being on the list, which had made his eyebrows shoot up, but he hadn't said anything. Sam had never even implied he had looked at another man besides Dean before, but apparently he had? Dean had planned on investigating that, thinking back on it now, but he'd been too hungover the next the morning to remember the conversation. Hell, he was surprised he remembered it now. It took some proper prompting to remember it, though.

Of course, little brother had insisted Dean make a list too. Dean had spent about ten milliseconds thinking before he simply said, any pornstar ever, duh. Sam had punched his arm and said that was a lot more than five but Dean just laughed and Sam dropped it. He hadn't been that into the game anyways. And they hadn't said a word about the conversation since. Well, that was about to change pretty quick.

 

Sam hadn't woken up the next morning until well, not morning anymore. Dean finally shook him awake at 1pm because Sam was starting to scare him. He'd grumbled ten more minutes and curled up in the sheets. Dean had ripped them off him, after breathing out in relief that Sam was at least alive.

Apparently, making Sam bottom didn't make sex any more healthy. Dean had thought his plan was genius, it meant Sam didn't have to exert basically any energy at all. But instead of being energized and rested and healthy, he slept even later. So when Sam wandered into the kitchen at 1:30 in the afternoon, yawning and clad only in low-swung sweats, Dean took one look at the disheveled hair and blinking eyes and swore off sex on the spot. He couldn't exactly say that to Sam, Dean didn't have an answer he could give him as to why. Because you're actually dying and I'm being selfish and making it worse every time we sleep together was something he didn't have the permission to say. So it was a silent promise, between Dean and himself that no matter how heated things got between them, Sam was not putting that strain on his body.

So he just kept his mouth shut, smiling tightly at Sam and pressing a kiss to his temple. That made him grumble and wrap his big, sleepy arms around Dean's back. Dean squirmed in Sasquatch's grip for a few seconds before he remembered he was trying to be better and just gave up, hugging Sam back and burying his face in Sam's shirt. Sam swayed them slightly, humming against Dean's hair. Dean kept his eyes closed, breathing in Sam and wishing it didn't have to be like this. He just wanted Sam better, for real.

He wanted to not spend the morning checking Sam's bedroom every thirty minutes and getting a gray hair every time he saw Sam was still asleep. He seriously was going to go gray at 34 if Sam kept up worrying him at this rate. He better not though, Dean liked his hair the way it was. And Sam did too, if the way he was nuzzling his big nose in it was any clue.

"Mmm," Dean finally said into Sam's shoulder, making the sound through closed lips so he didn't make Sam's shirt wet with the inside of his mouth and get Sammy all riled up for things Dean had just decided they were not doing until Sam was entirely better and 100% Sasquatch without a trace of Ezekial left.

"You make breakfast?" Sam asked, breathing into Dean's hair still. Dean ran his hands over Sam's shoulders, drawing back to hold Sam's biceps in his hands and look at his little brother properly. Sam looked a little cross about being drawn away from Dean's warmth. Dean was pretty sure Sam had been about to fall asleep on him. Literally, on him. Standing up.

"It's like 2 in the afternoon."

"It- what? That wasn't expected," Sam mumbled to himself, sighing as he looked at Dean. Then his mouth was perking up in a smile that wasn't fooling anyone. Well, it might be fooling Sam but Dean could see how tired Sam still was, even if he was denying it to himself.

One of Sam's big hands landed in Dean's hair, ruffling the top of it and messing up any bit of decent looking style Dean had it in, not to mention squashing every bit of dignity Dean might have had until this moment. "You must have just tired me out," he teased.

Dean was all for improving their relationship but if it came at the cost of his personality and independence as a human being with a self worth of more than a nickel and some smidgen of masculinity, then Sam could forget it. He ducked out of Sam's teasing hand, swatting at the wrist that dare pet him.

"Or maybe you're coming down with something," Dean countered, serious now. His tone wiped the teasing smile off of Sam's face, made the playful touch fall back down to his side in disappointment. Suddenly Dean was the bad guy although he had been the moment he agreed to sleep with Sam when he was half dead and he felt a pit of guilt at seeing the smile fade from Sammy's face. They didn't smile enough with their lifestyle and Dean hated to stop any bit of happiness. But still, there was a major problem at hand here that needed to be discussed with Sam at whatever level Dean could manage without tipping him off.

"I'm fine. You worry too much." Sam said with doe eyes and his best convincing tone. That wasn't fair, this wasn't even about Dean and how much he apparently worried. This was about Sam, dammit, and he needed to see that.

"I wouldn't have to worry if you didn't spend half the day barely breathing and passed out on a mattress!"

Dean didn't mean to snap but he regretted it the moment he did. Sam's face sunk from mildly unhappy to guilty and hateful, nose twisted up as he turned it in on himself. Dean dropped his hands to his sides, back pedaling away from his outburst as fast as he could.

"It's just - I just... the trials..." Dean said lamely. It sounded weak even to his ears. He wasn't ever very good at lying to Sam but that was pathetic.

Sam squished out the pocket of air Dean had just shoved between them, getting 100% back up in Dean's space. Dean had to grit his teeth to force himself to hold still.

Half of him twitched with the need, the gravity to wrap his arms around Sam and drag him to the floor, take care of him the funnest way possible. The other half shied away from the hands that were only half Sam, half glowing blue underneath for neither of their eyes to see.

He didn't do either, staying frozen instead as Sam rubbed his hands up and down Dean's upper arms. He managed not to shiver, at least.

"Is that what you're still so hung up on? Because they're over Dean. I'm out." Dean studied Sam's face for a moment, the sincerity such a stark contrast to the boiling lies on Dean's tongue.

"No, I know that." Dean looked away. Here Sam was, holding Dean in his hands and shoving him up on this high pedestal when Dean was lying to his face, keeping this huge secret from him...

He backed away from the comforting touch, letting his fingers linger on Sam long enough to make him unsuspicious. Then he was retreating back to the kitchen because apparently Sam was hungry and Dean should fix him something. At least pretend to be semi useful around here.

Sam didn't step on his heels on the way into the kitchen, but he was still following Dean. Until he found a chair he liked and propped his feet up on the table, watching Dean from his lookout spot. Dean was pretty used to it by now, Sam watching him in the kitchen. Sam had no talent in that arena for sure. But if it was ever something special or important Dean was making, Sam got kicked out. He was just too distracting.

Today he wasn't being as much of a distraction as he usually was, which was surprising. Sam was usually plastered to Dean's back, whispering in his ear and squeezing him places and kissing Dean's neck until he was sure to mix up creme brûlée with shrimp soufflé. Not that Dean knew how to make either. Even if he did, it wasn't like Sam wanted anything besides his fresh fruit and veggies. If Sam wanted anything at all.

Dean had always liked knives. He was better with a gun, better with his fists, best with his mouth, Sam's downstairs brain added helpfully, but Dean had always just genuinely liked working with a blade. When he was younger he came up with every excuse possible to use one, to learn to throw one.

John had always said there were more important things to learn, that there was no demon-killing knife that could be thrown across the room to take out a real enemy. Well, John had certainly been wrong about the demon-killing knife thing. Just like John was wrong about most things. Like convincing his eldest son that he couldn't breathe or sleep unless Sam was breathing or sleeping first.

He shook his head away from those thoughts, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap. John had been dead for half a decade and Sam was still picking mental fights with him. Still, the way Dean was acting earlier...it worried Sam. Which meant they were both worried about each other which would worry Dean more and that would freak out Sam because he wanted Dean to not worry and then it just becomes this vicious cycle over and over again.

So Sam let it go, let Dean's facial expressions and closed off body language be a thing of the past. Instead, he watched Dean's hands, which he could just barely see in between the crook of his out turned elbow and his body. He had a kitchen knife balanced delicately in his rough hands - a kitchen knife that was probably much larger than necessary to cut carrots - but at least it wasn't Dean's switchblade.

The steady, sure sound of the knife slicing into the cutting board became a sort of soothing rhythm. Chop chop chop. Slide. Chop chop chop. Slide.

Dean was efficient at this. Hell, he was good at this. That's why Sam loved watching him in here, he loved seeing a twist on the normal morbid way they made a living. It was ironically cute to watch a killer's hands use a deadly weapon to chop up vegetables. It made Dean seem all the more human. And that's what Sam loved most about him, how damn human and flawed he was. It was beautiful. Dean was beautiful.

And the steady chop chop chop of the carrots was comforting. An unfamiliar sound made warm and enticing by familiar hands. Sam's eyes drifted closed for a moment, letting his hearing pick up. His brain soaked in the sound, memorizing it.

As soon as his eyelids were closed they felt heavier than usual, like opening them would be disadvantageous. After all, it was nice and dark and cozy and welcoming back here. He felt himself drifting but Sam felt quite powerless and unmotivated to stop it. The lull of that rhythmic sound, the warmth of the room just because Dean was in here, it was all very beguiling. Sam fought the blackness for a few more moments and then the fight was gone and he slipped before he even realized his brain had given up trying.

"Hey, you want me to chop up the rest of these or n..." Dean stopped talking, having looked over his shoulder for confirmation from Sam and seeing something that stopped his vocal chords. Sam's head was lolled forward onto his chest, chin tucked down and hair falling in a mess over his face, not quiet shielding his shut eyes from Dean's view. Dean looked at him with eyebrows raised for a moment, then he was wiping his hands on his jeans - mulling over the idea of an apron for about three seconds before putting off the decision between effectiveness and half his man cards until later - and putting down the knife.

The tile was quiet under his feet as Dean crossed the room, already sure Sam was asleep before he reached him. Once he did reach Aurora, Dean didn't bother trying to shake him awake first. What was the point, when Sam was just going to go back to sleep three seconds later anyways. So he scooped Sam up with cupped hands under Sam's armpits, hauling up all 200+ pounds of him or whatever the hell he weighed for being like eight feet tall. Sam's eyelids fluttered and he threatened to come to again, after Dean was already tucking an arm behind the back of Sam's knees. His little brother was heavier than Dean could carry comfortably, but he could be uncomfortable for the 20 ft it took to get to his room. He knew he picked the room by the kitchen for more than one reason.

Sam blinked his hazel eyes open just as Dean swept him up, repositioning Sam in his arms and groaning from the effort and the weight and how damn awkward all those long arms were, either in Dean's way or just dangling and threatening to brush the ground like he was damn Tarzan. Dean attempted at putting one foot in front of the other, cursing at how much Sam weighed and how he was helping literally none right now and wasn't he supposedly waking upish right now? He could at least be decent enough to put his arms around Dean's neck and take some of the weight off his back. Instead he blinked up groggily at Dean, eyes unfocused and words blurred a little.

"Dean? Where are you...where are we going?" Sam yawned and rolled his head back comfortably on Dean's arm. Dean was barely stumbling forward and cursing every step of the way. Fuck Sam for being so damn big. There had been much too much carrying around here lately to be okay for anybody's physical health. Or mental, for that matter. But that wasn't going to stop Dean from being...Dean. He wasn't going to leave Sam there sleeping in the chair, he'd get a wicked crink in his neck. Although, logically, Dean might pull a muscle in his back by carrying him, which was kind of a bigger deal than a crink, but whatever.

"We are going," Dean huffed out a breath, turning them sideways to fit through the kitchen doorframe. Sam didn't hit his big head on the doorframe by some miracle. "to my room to sleep." He hitched Sam up a little higher in his arms, trying to displace the weight balance to a little more even than it had been. It didn't really work.

"With me?" Sam asked groggily, eyes shut entirely again as his head lolled back on the crook of Dean's elbow. His question wasn't particularly articulate but Dean knew what he was asking. But what happened when Dean let Sam nod off in his arms and Sam woke up first, kissing Dean's neck and asking for things Dean couldn't give him without having another day like this? Dean sighed, shuffling down the hallway. He didn't know how he was going to leave Sam sleeping alone. This was a total wreck. He shifted Sam's weight again, hair flopping and repositioning over Sammy's forehead. Goodness, this kid was heavy. Maybe Sam was right to insist that Dean occasionally lift weights, just to keep up his strength in case of the event something terrible happened. Dean wasn't sure if Sam passing out in his kitchen chair counted as something terrible but it was definitely a carry-your-brother-around work day.

Sam either didn't notice Dean hadn't answered his request or he had just assumed the answer was yes, because he didn't question Dean again. He just sprawled out in Dean's arms, making this like 8 times harder than it had to be, nearly hitting his head on the door as he shifted again. Dean hissed and quickly drew Sam out of harm's way, nearly dumping him on the bed the second he could. It was a little gentler of a set down than throwing him, but not by much. Not like Sam cared though, he was already laying on his stomach with his ass in the air, face down in Dean's pillow. Dean huffed out a breath that was a mixture between annoyance and amusement, then practically tiptoed out of the room.

He paused outside the closed door, waiting for the "Dean?" that would make him cave and go curl up with Sam, stroking his hair until he fell asleep. Huh. It didn't come. After a few more moments, Dean headed back to the kitchen. He could at least finish chopping carrots and fretting about Sam. Besides, it wasn't like he had anything else to do with his brother practically comatose in his room.

It was seven by the time Dean decided he would just sit down to dinner by himself. He carried his food to the library, propping his feet up on the table and staring at the ceiling as he chewed. The ceilings were strange here. Although Dean wasn't sure exactly what a normal ceiling would look like. Because ghetto motel ceilings that Dean had been staring at half his life was probably not normal for the other 98% of the population.

The shuffle of footsteps made Dean's propped up feet instantly return to the floor, sitting up so fast his head threatened to spin. It didn't though, it had bigger concerns. Sam walked - fully functionally - into the room, looking at Dean with raised eyebrows. Dean had a similar expression on, mostly surprise mixed with a bit of confusion.

"Why are you eating in here?"

"You're alive," Dean said in mock awe, not bothering to answer Sam's question. Sam made a bitchface and plopped down in the seat across from Dean. He looked around the room and seeing nothing out of place or otherwise extraordinary enough for his attention, turned back to Dean. Dean was busy looking Sam over from what he could see, assessing the likelihood of him dropping back over again. Sam eyed Dean's plate, making a bit of a face.

"Is there anything else to eat?"

"I made you a salad and put it in the fridge, if you're interested. You feeling any better?" Dean watched as Sam stood back up from the table, maybe wavering a bit but that could also be entirely in Dean's imagination.

"I was never feeling bad," Sam threw over his shoulder as he left out the door on his way to the kitchen. Dean made a face at the now empty space. Right, Sam wasn't feeling bad. He just decided to spend all day out like a log because he was a fucking Disney Princess now. Sleeping in normally drove Sam crazy, but Dean was pretty sure 7 in the evening was more than sleeping in. That was like, wasting a whole day.

And of course by consequence, Dean didn't get anything done either. He spent this morning waiting for Sam and reading the paper, then when Sam didn't budge every time Dean poked his head in Sam's room, Dean had eventually giving up waiting on Sam and organized the kitchen. And that one random storage room Sam had put his new guitar in yesterday. And that reminded him he actually had a guitar now, so he spent an hour and a half attempting to learn Stairway to Heaven, then his fingers officially gave up and he had to soak them in vinegar for like twenty minutes to make them stop throbbing. Those were the only twenty minutes all day Dean was hoping Sam wouldn't come walking through the door. Thankfully, he didn't, but at this rate Dean would take Sam walking in on him doing far more embarrassing things than that if it meant Sam was walking in at all.

His shaggy haired brother returned with the bowl and a fork, sitting down across from Dean in comfortable silence. Well, it looked comfortable to Sam. Dean was dying over here because he was worrying the hell out of this whole situation. This seriously could not be good. There was one point Dean was afraid Sam had gone back into a coma, but a violent prodding in the side made Sam roll over and grumble, so Dean could breathe again. Sam had to be sick or something. But that four letter word was the one four letter word that Sam hated most in this house and he practically glared at Dean for even thinking it.

But what if Sam was sick? Sam hated Dean playing nurse, which he could get the fuck over because it was damn necessary. And that's without any of Dean's opinion added. Because Dean liked taking care of Sam when he was sick. Sam couldn't make a proper bitchface when he was too busy coughing. And it gave Dean a purpose, made him feel semi-useful. Which wasn't as often of a feeling as Sam liked to think.

"Stop worrying so loudly," Sam said to his salad. Dean snapped out of it and looked at him with a bitchface of his own.

"I wasn't doing anything loudly."

"But you were worrying, stop worrying."

"Sam, you sleep in until seven fucking pm and you don't want me to worry? What if -"

"Dean, I'm fine."

Dean brooded for a moment, arms crossed and feeling about ten years old as he glared at Sam. He considered not saying it but if it meant any more details about how Sam actually was Dean could totally cross that line.

"Fine as in FreakedoutInsecureNeuroticandEmotional?" He asked, words all kind of blending together into one he said them so quickly. Like saying them faster would make the complaint and annoyance level of Sammy any less. Sam didn't even answer him, just glared at Dean and then took a violent bite of his salad. Dean held his position for a moment, arms still crossed and back not touching the chair as he hovered. Sam looked at him with unamused eyes, mouth drawn in a line as he chewed. Dean held the glare for another moment, but they both knew it was a useless argument now.

He deflated, arms falling back to his sides and face turning to look at the ceiling again. Sam had won this battle but damned if Dean wasn't getting this war on his victories. There were another few moments of silence, then Dean sighed and looked over at Sam a little softer this time.

"You wanna watch a movie after dinner or something?" Dean fidgeted with the corner of his napkin as he looked at Sam. The lighting was red and gold in here and it made all the right shadows stand out on Sam's face.

"How about not the Italian Job?" Sam looked more amused now, but that didn't mean he got a free pass for being a dick like thirty seconds ago. So yeah, Dean still snapped at him.

"I didn't suggest it!" He took a breath, staring at some decorative thing with wings on the wall across the room. He needed to cool his jets or he was going to be the fine one. If Sam ended up being sick, Dean already was. "And we've only seen that movie like twice anyways," he pointed out.

"Then why do you quote it all the damn time?"

"Oh don't even, you quote it just as much as I do."

They bantered back and forth for a bit but eventually a movie was decided and Sam was thankfully convinced into not helping with the dishes. Dean hated doing the dishes when Sam was there and feeling well, he couldn't imagine a sick Sam trying to help him out, coughing all over the just-washed plates and forks.

Dean had agreed to Ocean's Eleven pretty quickly and Sam pulled it up on his laptop, setting the computer on Dean's lap and resting his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean was pretty sure Sam was asleep before Linus ever came on screen, which was a shame considering how big of a Matt Damon fan Sammy was. He claimed it was just because he was such a good actor in Good Will Hunting and Dean only pestered him about it on the occasion (like the one time they went to Hollywood and Dean elbowed him with an I think I see Matt Damon over there! and Sam had gotten all defensive and adorable). It just happened to be a coincidence that one of Sam's Fave Five showed up just a couple days before one of Dean's. Which Dean of course had no idea about yet.

But since Sam was out like a light before they were fifteen minutes into the movie, Dean didn't bother watching the rest of it by himself. They'd seen it together before, a long time ago, and they used to argue which one was which Mormon Twin, although it was clearly not an argument at all since the cool one was clearly Dean.

With Sam snoring softly on his shoulder, Dean closed the laptop and reached over to place it on his bedside table. They were back in Dean's room which Dean liked better than Sam's. Although Dean was pretty sure Sam liked it better too. When he'd reached over, Sam had slid off his shoulder, and now was koala-bearing Dean's thigh.

Dean looked down in amusement, ridiculously buff and manly arms wrapped around Dean's thigh like it was a damn tree. If Sam wasn't so sick sleepy, Dean would roll him off with an annoyed sound. But he couldn't bring himself to pry Sam's hands away from him, not when Sam looked strangely small all curled up around Dean's leg like that. It was like Sammy was ten again, scared of thunderstorms and Dean leaving, used to cling to him like a shadow.

It was unfortunately a bit of a soft spot for Dean, which meant he spent most of the night watching Sam sleep in the darkness. He passed the time with fingers carding through Sam's silky hair, smoothing down the tangles and letting the warmth of his hand lull Sam deeper into sleep. If that was even possible. Dean eventually slept too, his head leaning back against the head board, hands still in Sam's hair. The position was due to create a wicked kink in his neck in the morning, but he was asleep before he even considered it.

Under the blinking light of the room against his barely awake eyeballs the next morning, Dean managed to register where he was and why. He'd slept sitting up, certainly not the first time he'd done that, and Sam was still clamped around his damn leg. Except now Sam's hands weren't just resting innocently on the insides of Dean's thighs (which was hardly innocent - Dean had been dying a little at the touch last night), those hands had scooted upward and Sam's fingertips brushed against the crotch of his jeans, resting over the seam that split the middle.

Dean looked down, saw Sam's hands on him, and had to physically bite his lip to hold in the groan. As if morning wood wasn't enough of a problem, now Sam was touching him in his sleep and the thought of that alone was bringing Dean to the edge of a cliff he was pretty likely not to back down from. Goddamnit Sam and his big grabby hands. That were ever so soft and gentle resting on the stitched seam of the crotch of his jeans. Dean looked up at the sky and cursed.

Somebody was laughing at him somewhere, taking joy in smiting Dean with this personal hell. He'd sworn off not having sex with Sam and this is what he wakes up to? Unfuckingfair.

He shouldn't have let his eyes wander over the rest of Sam, but by the time he even considered not, it was too late. Sam was slackjawed, his mouth pressed up against Dean's leg, denim damp on his slightly parted lips. Dean could feel Sam's mouth through the fabric and that realization went straight to his dick, making it jump and strain against his pants. The movement made Sam's fingertips skirt across fabric, just ever so slightly, but enough of a touch to make Dean gasp. He had to get the fuck out of this situation. The situation where his little brother was naughty-touching him in his sleep. Fucking hell.

Dean didn't shove Sam off his leg, he really didn't. Pry wasn't the right word either because that implied it was a slow, careful movement. It was more a mix between the two, but Dean was getting hard and hot way too fast and this was not going to go well at all. So he pushed Sam's shoulders away from him, yanking his leg free the same time he rolled Sam onto his back. Sam made an indignant noise, then the sleeping beauty was actually - gasp - opening his eyes.

"Mm, good morning to you too. How sweet of you to wake me up so gently," Sam fussed, grabbing the nearest pillow and stuffing it in his face.

"Better than the way you woke me up," Dean muttered under his breath, rotating on his ass so his legs hung off the side of the bed and his bulge was blocked from Sam's view.

"What?"

"Nothing." There were a few beats of silence as Sam kept curled around the pillow and Dean stared absentmindedly around the room. At least Sam had opened his eyes this morning. That was progress. Lots of progress, actually. Even if Dean barely dodged the bullet of Sam's Nosy Fingers, at least it was starting out to be a better day than yesterday.

Well, Dean had at least thought so. A chaste kiss and "I'll go check on Kevin," later, Dean was leaving Sam to himself to get dressed and not fall back in bed. Which Dean highly doubted would happen. When Dean made the adventure back downstairs, he stopped by his room first, just to see if Sam had actually gotten up. To Dean's surprise, there wasn't a huge sleeping form sprawled out over his bed. Sam must have actually stayed awake this time. Well, the guy had gotten an overload of sleep yesterday, if he was still wiped out that would be a pretty sucky situation.

Dean's next stop was the kitchen, walking towards the doorway with a bit of a smile on his face. Sammy might be doing better and that could mean all sorts of great--

The moment Dean rounded the corner into the kitchen, his step faltered for a moment as he saw Sam. In that blue checkered shirt, stretched out over the table and fast asleep.

Okay, so apparently Sam hadn't gotten better at all. Or at least not enough that he wasn't still dropping like a fly. He had to be sick, more than he had been anyways, and maybe Zeke was trying to fight off the post-trials stuff and the sickness at the same time. Or maybe this was all just post-trial stuff catching up to him, in which case he was sick. Very, very sick.

Dean continued into the room, eyes on Sam as he took the few steps down. His little brother wasn't budging, full bowl of cereal scooted to the side and head collapsed on an arm, one curled up by his head and the other stretched out over the length of basically the entire table. He tore his eyes away from Sam for a moment, grabbing a cup for his coffee. He could definitely use some coffee right now. Actually, he could use some whiskey right now, but coffee would have to do. He snagged a bowl from the shelf under the pot and turned back to Sammy, crossing the short distance between them with his eyes analyzing out Sam's breathing. He was fast asleep. Like, entirely down for the count kind of asleep. Not so exhausted he was slow to wake though, if Dean was judging right.

When he reached the table, Dean tossed his bowl to the surface a lot harder than was necessary, making a loud clank fill the room. Just like Dean had guessed, Sam shot up like a rocket, eyes blinking and arm lifting up in the air in surprise, giving Dean actual room at the table too. And looking disoriented and precious as hell. But still quite possibly sick. Which Dean was already like 99% sure Sam was going to deny, so he was anticipating that battle with a grimace.

"Hey," Sam tried to cover, like he could actually make falling asleep on the table a not-weird thing. Dean looked him over carefully, trying to look not too worried but being a mess in his head.

"You okay?" He asked as casually as possible. Sam was still blinking awake, and Dean grabbed the box of cereal Sam already had out, pouring some in his bowl to give him something to do besides stare at Sam.

"Yeah...uh...yeah. Just, uh...resting my head for a second," Sam responded lamely, his words being about as convincing as, well, nothing. Dean looked over at him, eyebrows going up and a skeptical look crossing his face for a moment. Sam rubbed at his eyes, so he missed the disbelieving face Dean made. Then Sam attempted at changing the subject while Dean poured himself milk, topic change too obvious to be anything but a swerve from talking about Sam. "Um, how's Kevin? He, uh -- he find anything?"

"Uh, jack. On about four days no sleep." Dean pushed the cap onto the milk, then sat it down and turned back to Sam, a snide expression on that Sam entirely ignored. "He looks worse than you."

"Huh," Sam replied, basically ignoring the jab. It was true though, too much sleep could be nearly as detrimental as not enough. Then Sam was dodging that topic again, swerving in another direction so fast Dean was gonna get whiplash again. "What about Crowley? Um, do you think he might be lying about the whole, uh, "Metatron's spell being irreversible" thing?"

Sam yawned through basically that entire statement, had been yawning and rubbing his eyes and blinking like crazy since the moment Dean had startled him awake. The kid was literally about to pass out again, it was ridiculous. Dean had discarded his cereal for a moment, spoon poised above the bowl as he watched Sam talk, even though Sam spent most of the talking by not returning the gaze, yawning and looking to the side or down or anywhere but Dean's scrutinizing eyes. Dean had the fucking right to be worried, though, and he wasn't going to apologize for it.

"Oh, Crowley lie?" Dean said sarcastically. Sam glanced at him and smiled, head dipping down as his grin lit up his features. Dean hadn't intended for that to be amusing at all, but Sam was smiling - had lit up like a damn lightbulb - and so Dean smiled too, by default. Seeing Sam grin made his mouth unable to not twitch up in response. Even if Dean was worried and freaking out internally, a quick smile from Sam and his heart lifted a little. It was ridiculous, yeah, but kind of nice. They took a moment of silence as they both smiled, then Dean was back on topic and the grin faded as he looked back down at his cereal. "I do know one thing. Next time that junkie's jonesing for a hit of blood, we got leverage."

Dean shoveled a bite in his mouth. Sam had both of his hands on his cheeks, holding up his chin with elbows propped on the tables. His eyes were threatening to drift shut again, and Dean was about to say something when Sam's big mouth opened and he yawned, loudly. Okay, seriously, Dean was not going to ignore this. Period.

"Seriously, you want a pillow?" Dean asked. It should have been a sarcastic question but it wasn't, it was a legitimate one. Because Dean would go fetch Sam a pillow if he wanted one, if he wanted to sleep on the table. Which Dean highly doubted, Sam was a lot more likely to go curl up in Dean's bed around Dean's pillow. Although with them, the question served a double purpose, so Dean was basically asking if Sam wanted to go sleep in his room, too. In as non-mother-henning way as possible. Otherwise Sam would fuss that Dean was just a worrier, and write it all off to that.

"No, I'm fine," Sam lied through his teeth, trying to blow Dean off. Yeah, fine. Dean wasn't even in the mood to say the acronym thing. He didn't bother taking his eyes off Sam's face, deadpanning his little brother with an observation so blatant Sam couldn't ignore it or write Dean off.

"You're sick." Two words Dean probably should have said a lot earlier than today. Dean had his eyebrows furrowed as he didn't take his eyes off Sam, chewing slightly as he looked at his little brother. Sam really did look like a wreck. He may be trying to pretend he was fine, but it was obvious as the Griswold family Christmas Tree that he wasn't. He might not be as bad as yesterday, sure, but there was still something wrong.

"No, I'm not sick," Sam replied instantly, his voice more patient than Dean was expecting. It was like he was trying to rationalize Dean into not worrying about him, just with his tone of voice. Right, like Dean was going to lay his trust in the way a law student said something. He wasn't born yesterday. And this was Sam, who Dean could diagnose with a full temperature reading and symptoms from halfway across the room. He knew Sam, and he knew Sick Sam, and this was definitely the latter. Even if Sam didn't see it.

He finally lifted his head from his hand, swinging both hands under the table for a moment before he was putting them in the air as some sort of visual explanation of his words. He still wasn't looking at Dean as he spoke. Maybe because he figured Dean could read every ounce of him when their eyes met. "I'm just, um -- I feel like my battery can't recharge."

Sam scooted his bowl closer to him, pretending to have some sort of interest in food again. Probably just so he wouldn't be yelled at further by Dean. Dean sat absorbing Sammy's words. What Sam said sounded exactly like a Zeke problem. So it wasn't an illness on top of angel crap, which was actually bad news. It meant that the post-trial stuff was getting harder to heal, or maybe the damage done by all the crazy...workouts...they'd been having had drained Sam even more than Dean had thought. He inwardly cursed his stupidity. This was bound to catch up to them some time, Dean had just been hoping that they'd dodged this "sick" bullet from the start. Apparently not.

Dean might have said something more, but then a shrill sound interrupted and he was putting his spoon back in his bowl. Dean reached for his phone, yanking it out of his pocket. Jody was on the other line, news of a case. It didn't sound too intense - sure, body snatching was always bad, but it wasn't like a demon thing or anything too terrifying. Once Dean had thanked her and hung up, he was turning his eyes back on Sam.

"You up to this? We can hand it off to someone else if we need to, Sam." Dean went for a professional tone, to make Sam really consider this, but Sam didn't even look back at him, instantly scooting up from his chair, 3/4 full bowl of cereal in his hand.

"We're going, Dean," Sam insisted, his back to Dean as he crossed over to the fridge and put his bowl in there. Right, like Sam was actually going to eat that later. He wasn't even going to have enough energy to move - let alone hunt - if he didn't pick up his food regimen. Sam never ate as much as he should for their line of work, but whenever he got even the slightest bit off healthy-wise, food was the first thing to go. Which worried Dean to all hell.

Dean spooned the rest of his cereal into his mouth at warp speed, tipping the bowl back to down the milk like he had as a kid. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. By the time Dean had cleaned his bowl out and started for his room to apparently pack, Sam had brushed his teeth and was making the trip from the bathroom to his own room to pack. Their paths would cross, then, on the way from the kitchen to Dean's room.

Once Sam was a few feet away, Dean sighed and raised his eyebrows, silently communicating his vague disapproval and worry. Sam rolled his eyes, brushing Dean's shoulder as he passed. They both kept walking for a few feet, then Dean heard the swivel of boots and a hand was grabbing his elbow. He turned to face Sam, who had doubled back, changed his mind about something and had to get Dean's attention. Or, well, that's what Dean had thought, until Sam was pushing Dean up against the wall.

Sam's mouth was on his before Dean could figure out what was going on, and then there was a tongue in between his lips and hips grinding into his and he was suddenly very interested, going from nothing to a bulge nearly instantly. Dean groaned - mostly at the damn situation, but a little at the feeling of Sam so possessive as he plastered Dean's body to the wall - and that seemed to egg Sam on, making his hands take a stronger hold on Dean. No, no, no, this couldn't happen Dean had sworn this wouldn't happen.

He tore his head to the side, breaking their mouths free with a slide that had Sam's mouth automatically on his jawline, which Sam took full advantage of, gnawing and licking his way down Dean's neck. Dean shuddered, getting one hand on the wall to support himself and feebly pushing at Sam with the other. it was just really damn hard to push away the hot, tingling sensation running through him, the starburts of pleasure and anticipation behind his eyes as Sam's tented jeans rubbed over his. Fucking hell. He was only human.

Dean's eyes fluttered and he opened his mouth to speak, unable to find any sound besides a moan at first. Then Sam's hand was running down his body, stroking down Dean's chest and past his zipper, hand curving around his erection and cupping his bulge with a light squeeze. Dean's eyes fluttered and his dick leaked precum in response, dampening the material of his boxers. This was bad, this was very very bad.

"S-sam," Dean started, attempting to get Sam to stop but probably just sounding like he was encouraging him. Dean got it, he did, but that was just the thing. They couldn't have sex. Dean wasn't going to. He'd put a bullet in his foot before he put Sam in that situation again. Sam had been exhausted, sick, and now sicker over the past month because Dean was a total deusch and had let his downstairs brain have more power than his upstairs. And it was hurting Sam, making him more tired and less able to recharge every time. This had to be Dean's fault, it had to be.

So he couldn't let Sam do this. As much as he wanted it, as much as Sam was apparently dying to prove just how "fine" he felt by attacking Dean in the hallway, Dean had to veto it all.

It made sense though, it was a total Sam move to try to show Dean how okay he was by rocking against him dirty and bending him over whatever the nearest surface was. Dean wouldn't fall for it even if he did let Sam go through with it. Which in the past, he always had done. But Dean had sworn and he wasn't letting Sam go through with it this time.

"Sam," Dean breathed again, wishing he could stop his hips from bucking into Sam's hand. See, normally, Sam mauling him in the hall and shoving him up against the wall and just having his way with Dean made Dean weak at the knees. There was something so arousing, so hot about Sammy getting controlling, not even giving Dean a say in the matter. Which is why it was so hard (no pun intended) to try to get Sam off him right now.

"S-Sammy, stop," Dean managed out, pushing against Sam's shoulder with a hand. That word must have instantly registered in Sam's head because he was suddenly in front of Dean's face, hands moved from the heated places they'd been squeezing to holding gently onto both of Dean's elbows. He had this concerned look on his face, worried about Dean. Ha, Sam was worried about him when Sam was the one slowly dying from the inside out.

"Dean? What is it? Are you okay?" Sam was holding him up against the wall still, but it felt more like support now instead of a sex thing. Which was good, because they couldn't do that whole sex thing right now.

"Yeah, I just. Uh. We really should go. That case..." It was unconvincing even to Dean's ears. Sam just tilted his head, face all confused.

"The case? Dean, the drive to Sioux Falls is only 7 hours. An extra fifteen minutes isn't going to make the slightest difference." Sam had leveled it out and his logic was crystal and solid as it always was. So Dean relied on his one weapon against Sam's impeccable reason: his stubbornness.

"I just think we should get on the road as soon as possible, okay? So...uh...next time," Dean said as jovially as possible, smacking Sam's arm in that brotherly fashion that used to drive Sam crazy. He looked confused as all hell and Dean used that slight moment of confusion to slip out of Sam's grip and duck into his doorway.

He paused just inside his room, frozen as he listened to the sounds outside. It was silent for a few moments, then the shuffle of heavy, disappointed boots hesitantly making their way towards Sam's room. Dean breathed out in relief. Bullet dodged.

Then he looked down, taking in the state of his damp boxers and tented bulge, dick straining uncomfortably against his zipper. Fuck, crisis not entirely diverted.

He palmed at his erection, willing it to calm down and running a list through his head of all sorts of disgusting things in attempt to take care of that. He still wasn't entirely okay by the time he finished packing, but it wasn't as noticeable as before, at least.

Well, Dean had thought it wasn't as noticeable as before. As soon as Sam met him in the garage, his eyes glanced down Dean's body, stopping on his junk before raising an eyebrow and scanning his eyes back up to meet Dean's. Dean muttered some vague form of shut up and slammed the driver's side door shut.

Sam had, thankfully for his own sake, kept his mouth shut. And for the most part, his hands to himself. There was one point, just after they'd crossed into Nebraska, that Sam's hand was suddenly on Dean's thigh, snaking up the inside seam with nasty intentions. Dean had swerved the car and cursed, maybe a little melodramatically (okay, it was way over exaggerated but entirely necessary to avoid Sam wanting to pull over for a quickie in the backseat). Sam took his hand back and sighed, leaning his head against the window with a rejected look on his face. Dean felt a ping of guilt, but then Sam's eyes were drifting closed and he was asleep in the next five minutes. So Dean ended up not feeling bad at all.

Sam slept for the first four hours of the car trip. Dean had Zeppelin IV on, he hadn't heard it in forever and he was venturing to dare that he could actually listen to Going to California now.

Half past noon Dean's stomach started grumbling and complaining, so he found a sign advertising home cooked food and good service at a local diner, pulling into the little parking lot under the sign. Sam had been drifting in and out of sleep for the past half hour, but now he was awake, looking out the window at the little building like it was from Mars.

The diner had been blue at one point but was now faded into a peeling, grayish white that should have been pretty like the ocean, a mix of those three colors. But it was quite the opposite, looking pretty sketchy instead. Especially with the crooked hanging sign displaying the promise of Momma's best.

"Really?" Sam accused, turning in his seat to Dean. Dean just got out of the car, noting there was only two others in the parking lot. Perfect, that meant all the "good service" would be aimed at them and Sam wouldn't have the chance to do anything sexual to him under the diner booth.

"I'm hungry. Besides, I'm sure they have rabbit food for you, Sammy." Dean snickered and Sam shut the door of the impala a little roughly in response.

Turns out they had some vagueish form of salad, which sounded blandly disgusting from the menu description. Sam ordered it anyways, sighing at the restaurant wall. They were in two chairs at a circle table, all three pieces of furniture rickety and cold. But Dean had a burger and fries on the way so he wasn't complaining.

Sam grumpily tossed the menu aside, glaring a little at Dean from across the table as Dean's foot dodged Sam's from wrapping up their ankles. Dean just didn't want to get into it, tucking his feet deep under his chair instead.

"I thought you wanted to get to the case as soon as possible, why are we stopping to eat?" Sam complained again. Dean took a sip of his water, swirling the straw in the ice and listening to it clink against the clear plastic of the cup.

"Because you had three bites of cereal this morning and you can't hunt on that little energy." Dean gave Sam a condescending look that made him fidget in his chair like a little kid and look down at his hands.

"It was more than three."

"Was not."

"Alright boys, cheeseburger with onions for you, and a house salad for the tall one," the waitress interrupted, smiling like she was the first person in the world to come up with her ever-so-clever nickname for Sam.

Dean just smiled tightlipped at her, glad to have dodged the flaw in his excuse for not hooking up with Sam this morning. He should've thought of his "we should get on the road" excuse from earlier before he pulled over for lunch. It was just like Sammy to notice. Sam made a face at the whitish-green salad the waitress sat down in front of him. It wouldn't be the worst food Sam ever ordered, but it didn't make the good-diners-for-freak-vegetable-eaters list either.

As soon as the waitress was back out of earshot, Sam pouted a little and stabbed at a wilty piece of probably-iceberg lettuce with his fork, the whitish green thing slipping off the plastic utensil. Sam sighed and sat the fork back down.

"Hey, you can't expect everything to be my awesome home cooking," Dean pointed out with a grin. Sam looked up at him and just crinkled his nose, still looking vaguely disgusted. Okay, it didn't look that bad. Although Dean had that itching feeling Sam would have found some excuse not to eat it if it was made in Paris's finest kitchen.

He was just about to say that too, when Sam abruptly stood up, chair making a terrible sound on the dull tiled floors. "Gotta hit the head," Sam said, pretty damn unconvincively. Dean nodded and picked up his burger, which at least looked better than a salad.

It tasted decent too, good enough to tide Dean over, anyways. They were getting spoiled, living in the bunker. But it was about time they had something like that. Dean was totally willing to embrace being spoiled.

He was almost done with his burger when he checked his watch, scanning the little black lines. Sam had been in the bathroom for seven minutes now. Dean put his burger down and was standing up so fast his feet almost stumbled to catch up. There was no way Sam needed to spend seven minutes in there, and if he had fallen asleep in this disgusting place...ew. No.

"Sam?" Dean asked, opening the bathroom door without bothering to knock. Place like this only had the one room with a toilet and a sink anyway, sometimes a broken or foggy mirror on the wall.

Sam was leaning against said sink, hands propped up on the faux porcelain rim, water running on low and head dipped down. In the spiderwebbed mirror Dean could see the tips of Sam's hair were wet where they were blocking his eyes. So he'd splashed water on his face, and he was upset about something, based on the stance and his shoulders and everything.

"Sammy? You okay?" Dean ventured into the room, clicking the lock shut behind him.

Sam seemed to snap out of whatever thought was working those gears on his brain, straightening up from the sink and wiping his hands on his jeans as he swiveled his body to face Dean.

"Did I do something wrong?" He sounded a mix between peeved and offended and upset, mostly on the upset side though.

"Did you -- what?"

"Did I do something wrong?" Sam repeated. "Dean, you keep just...shutting me out. If I did anything to upset you, I need to know." Sam had closed the space between them as he spoke, just a foot away from Dean now and looking down at him with hopeful eyes. Dammit. Dean couldn't very well tell him the truth.

"No, Sam. I'm not shutting you out," Dean attempted, words as convincing as he could make them.

Sam crossed the last foot between them, tilting Dean's chin up with a crooked finger and placing the softest of kisses on Dean's lips. There was nothing but the gentle press of lips, plush against Dean's as their mouths compressed together. Dean wanted to stay here forever but he knew where this was going. Five seconds after Sam's mouth was pressing so gentle and soft to his, Dean's brain flashed him images of those same beautiful lips, slack against a pale face lying in a hospital bed. Coma. Trials. Sam, passed out on Dean's bed. Disheveled and messy and sleepy. Propped crooked in a kitchen chair, asleep. Collapsed from tiredness on the kitchen table.

Dean's mouth broke away as he turned his head towards the wall - away from Sam and all the damage Dean was doing, taking half a step backwards and putting a few inches between them.

The frustration that had been building in his belly over the past day and a half had him already half hard at the gentle kiss and that wasn't even fucking okay because Dean couldn't handle that right now on top of everything.

"See?" Sam said quietly, looking at Dean sadly from where he stood, not bothering to move closer. Dean still didn't look at Sam, eyes moving to the floor instead of the wall. Dean definitely saw, he'd proved Sam's point perfectly. "You're shutting me out. There's something on your mind, Dean, I just wish you'd tell me."

Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah, he wished he could tell Sam too. But if Sam ejected Zeke, he'd die for sure. Especially with how sick he'd been?

There were a few more beats of silence that fell between them. Dean wanted to just close those inches, kiss Sam and let himself be kissed, feel all the muscles of that beautiful body under his hands. Instead he looked at the wall again, noting the dabbled gray colour in here, too.

"We better get back to our food before the roaches do first," Dean joked, the line falling flat as neither of them smiled. Sam sighed and brushed past Dean, dislodging him from where he was standing as their shoulders bumped. Then Sam swung the bathroom door wide open and was stomping moodily back to their table.

Dean glanced over at the cracked mirror, his face shred right down the middle, distorted on either side. He stared at the reflection, fighting the itching urge to go splash water on his face too. That always made everything clearer, better to handle. But then it would just confirm something was wrong.

Which, of course, there was. Sam was half dead and not really improving, Dean was lying about the most important thing that had happened to them, Sam's body couldn't stay awake and functioning for long enough to eat breakfast, Sam wasn't eating breakfast, Dean was a shitty brother and an even shittier boyfriend, and Sam was blaming himself for all of it and now thought Dean was avoiding him. Oh, and to top it all off, Dean had sworn off Sam having sex because he nearly passed out the last couple times. In conclusion then, yeah, something was wrong. But there wasn't a single thing Dean could do about any of it.

So he glared at his reflection a final time and closed the bathroom door shut behind him.

~*~*~*~

A little less than a three hour car ride (that Sam slept through) a talk with Sheriff Mills, the interrogation of Slim, and a scheduled appointment to tour the church in the morning later, they were crashing at the little town's motel. Which boasted free wifi and hot showers and not much else. It didn't have much else. Although it sure caused some problems later.

From the spot he was perched at on one of the ugly red orange comforters, Dean insisted Sam shower first. Sam looked at him oddly, chewing his lip for a moment before sighing and agreeing. And dropping his clothes with the bathroom door wide open. Dean forced himself to look away, his heart and stomach getting warm just from the thought of a naked Sam. But he managed to control himself, even when Sam came back into the bedroom, dripping wet with just a towel. Well, if sprinting into the bathroom and nearly slamming the door shut behind him meant controlling himself.

Like he'd planned, Sam was already curled up and dozing off in one of the beds by the time Dean came out to get dressed. He threw on boxers and a tshirt, sighing with the realization he didn't have his robe. He liked that thing. It stayed home though, because that's what it was meant for.

Once he was dressed, Dean flipped off the last light switch, letting the motel room go dark. Then he was making his way over to the free bed in the dark, plopping down on the empty one. The bed with the lack of Sam in it. And he'd get away with it too, if Sam was already aslee--

"Dean?" asked a sleep-rough voice in the darkness. Dammit, Dean had been close.

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming to bed?" Sam asked with a yawn, probably stretching and totally oblivious to the fact that Dean had let him shower first on purpose, so they would end up on different beds. A few moments do silence passed as Dean struggled to find an answer. He couldn't think of anything good.

"My back hurts, wanted some extra room," Dean lied, throwing an unconvincing yawn in there.

Sam was quiet for a few moments, probably calling Dean all sorts of mean names in his head. He finally sighed, rolling over in between the sheets to lay on the edge of the bed as close as possible and face Dean, by the sound of his louder voice.

"Night," Sam huffed out, Dean's adjusted eyes to the lack of light able to pick up Sam throwing his arm off the bed, dangling it towards Dean. Dean held his breath and counted to three, then he scooted closer took nearly to the point of falling off the side. He reached his fingers out, stroking once over Sam's wrist. His skin was soft and warm and welcoming and Dean wanted to tangle up in it so bad, wanted nothing more than Sam's heat around him as he fell into sleep, his most vulnerable place. It never felt vulnerable when Sammy held him though.

But he stood his ground, however hard that was, letting his fingers fall back to dangling off the side of the bed, not reaching for Sam but available if Sam needed him.

"Goodnight," Dean whispered, wishing everything would fix overnight and they could go back to properly loving each other.

It didn't.

However, a potential answer to all of Dean's problems did get dropped at his feet. He didn't see it at first, between getting Sam to warm up to him again and figuring out this case and surviving the boring ass tour of the church (which had Dean snickering as she pointed out the "majestic painting of the most beautiful Michael" and Sam elbowing him in the ribs).

But then the opportunity was right there and it wasn't even Dean's idea.

They'd just been signing up to join the Good Faith church and Dean was doing his best to keep a straight face. Although he lost a bit of his steely resolve once the APU thing was mentioned.

"Well, we do share the A.P.U. bond," the too-chipper bible thumping red head piped up. Bonnie, Dean was pretty sure. She was a piece of work, cut out exactly for her job, cardigan sweater and all.

"The A.P.U.?" Dean asked for clarification.

"Our chastity group... 'Abstinence Purifies Us,'" Bonnie spelled out, way too happily. Dean had to look down, nearly snorting at the acronym. Sam's foot somehow managed to kick his shin, even from sitting all the way over there but he had long legs, so.

Dean had been making jokes this whole time they'd been in the church, snicker here, side comment only Sam could hear there. It had put Sam in a better mood, which had been the intention. For some reason Sam slipped back to happier when he was scolding Dean or ridiculing him about how immature he was. Dean had a feeling the reason the joking and scolding perked Sammy up had something to do with being exclusively brothers for the first 24 years of Sam's life.

Although that kick to Dean's shin wasn't exactly fair because Sam was losing his shit too and Dean didn't kick him.

"Oh. W-wow. You mind if we sit in on that, maybe see if it's for us?" Well if Bonnie didn't think they were a couple before... Dual signing "us" up for a chastity group was basically screaming hey, we're gay!" Which normally wasn't a problem but they were in a church and the 21st century was somehow still living in the medieval ages and people got cursed for who they slept with. Dean didn't get it but whatever.

"I'm afraid it's members only. I'm sorry, but it can get pretty personal." She fidgeted with her skirt and Dean looked over at Sam. Dean was just about to say something along the lines of, well that's alright, maybe we could have a list of the members and talk to them, see what they say about it? AND THEN SAM OPENED HIS BIG MOUTH.

"Then count us in." Sam smiled at the ginger and Dean had to clench his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping. Count them - what?

"Well. I'll be a squirrel in a skirt! I'll be back in a jiff with the papers." She hustled out of the room after a little hand dance pat thing, basically bouncing on her way out, and Dean was pretty sure he was a squirrel in a skirt too. Funny enough, he'd seen one of those before...on that dog case, Sam had held one up in the taxidermy office, he was pretty sure. Yeah, Dean was gonna pass on the whole squirrel thing that was weird. Although not nearly as weird as Sam signing them up for a V-Card Society.

"A chastity group?" Dean said, exacerbated as he leaned over towards Sam. She was gone, and that meant he could get closer because Sam was very much far away.

"Dean, listen, if all the members were in A.P.U., then maybe whatever took them is stalking virgins." Sam was leaning closer too and Dean was obligated to listen when he was right there. And yeah, okay, that made sense. Again with the solid logic. It wasn't even fair sometimes. But it clicked another bell about the case in Dean's head.

"And that Slim guy said he thought he saw fire. So, what are you thinking, dragons?" Dean was really hoping it wasn't dragons.

"Mm," Sam articulated so very clearly, then he was looking up and shushing Dean. Dean could hear the damn high heel click footsteps too.

"All righty," Bonnie chirped, handing them both clipboards from her side of the desk. "You can just sign there, and your purification can begin."

"'Purity pledge'?" Sam read off the top of the paper. The font made Dean want to hurl. The damn paper was blue and swirly and there was a big, gold cross in the middle and wow Dean was literally getting major payback for Sam making him do this.

"It's a commitment to your virginity," Bonnie smiled, looking at Sam with a happy face. Dean tried not to snort again. Right, Sam's virginity. That boat had sailed a loonng time ago. Hell, Sam had done things within the past month that would make this Bonnie girl faint on the spot.

Dean grinned to himself, because he had totally taken part of that whole spoiling-Sam's-virginity thing. Well, with a guy anyways. Although, thinking about it...Dean had never really asked? He'd just assumed Sam had never been with a guy. Dean was his first there, wasn't he? Dean shot a glance over at Sam. Okay, now was not really the time to think about this anyways. Not when the two of them were sitting across from Ms. Church Cheerleader with virginity pledges in their hands and not-so-virginness in the rest of them.

"I don't think we can really un-ring that bell." Dean looked over at Sam, who looked back. Hey, Sam had already pegged them as a couple, Dean couldn't do much more damage, right? Besides, the we and glances should be enough for her to figure out what exactly he was talking about. Just in case she didn't quite get what Dean was throwing at her, he clarified with an exaggerated eyebrow raise and head tilt towards Sam. "You know what I mean?"

Bonnie stared at him with wide eyes and the grin on Dean's face sunk instantly. She looked at him like he was one of Satan's own and he glanced at Sam for help. Sam just looked back, just as guilty looking as Dean. Bonnie looked between them both, her spine straight as a board and her hair creepily perfect. She looked so damn offended, just by the mere suggestion that they'd slept together. And that was when she didn't know they were related...

"Oh. I see. Well... If you just ask for God's forgiveness for your sins and make a new vow of chastity, well, then, you'll be born again as a virgin in his eyes." They...what? This is literally why Dean did not understand churches. Some of the shit they made up, like how do you even justify that at all? Whatever, whatever, it wasn't his thing to deal with. People ran on faith, some people needed faith, and the general idea wasn't a bad one, just...born-again as a virgin? Seriously?

"So, you just hit the "virginity do-over" button, and all is good with the man upstairs?" Dean was pretty sure he said that as inoffensively as possible but Bonnie looked shocked to hell. Well, not to Hell, Dean was pretty sure she was the most likely person for the angels to snatch and take upstairs when her time was over.

"It's not a button," She corrected slowly, shooting patient death glares at Dean. Dean didn't even know those were a thing but that is totally what her wicked green eyes were doing right now. "And...this isn't just a piece of paper. I mean, this is your clean slate, your chance to be a virgin until marriage."

Wait, so if they were virgins...if they were virgins, then that meant no sex. It sunk in during that one moment and Dean almost whooped. Fucking finally, something was going his way. This was perfect. What better excuse to not have sex with Sam than a damn virginity pledge? They were literally both agreeing to abstinence, which meant Sam would have to stop pestering Dean about avoiding him and this was actually the best thing that could have happened in Dean's life right now. He could give Zeke time to get Sam on the mend without ruining what relationship they had left and Sam wouldn't even be able to question Dean about it. Because they both took a pledge, and it had even been Sam's idea. Perfect.

Dean was fully aware he was smiling like an idiot and quite obviously extremely excited. But this was the best plan ever and it was going to fix at least half his problems on the spot. Sam could stop being mad at him and Dean could focus on getting Sam better and Sam could heal faster when he wasn't engaging in their creative workouts and who knew Dean Winchester would be so damn excited about a virginity pledge?

"Well, you had me at "clean slate!" Let's do this." Dean shot a smile at Sam, who looked vaguely confused but feigned enthusiasm anyways. Then it was pen to the paper and the scratch of Sam's scrawly writing. Dean finished his name first - even though it had more letters - and handed the clipboard back to Bonnie. She took Sam's too, beaming like the sun shone directly out of her own ass every morning.

"Congratulations -" She glanced down, reading their names- "Sam and Dean Winchester. You are both virgins." She smiled all joy and butterflies and that was a little creepy but hey.

They both made agreeing sounds of appreciation, then Dean was looking over at Sam again. Either Bonnie hadn't noticed that they'd been aiming hints at having sex with each other earlier, or she hadn't connected the last name thing, or she just thought Winchester was a common enough name to not mind. Dean would bet she was probably just oblivious to the hints he'd dropped about the we's and the glances and head tilts and winks. She was the type you had to spell it out for, which was actually a really good thing. Because neither of them had thought to sign different last names. That could've been a disaster.

Instead of a disaster though, it was a damn miracle. They were virgins, they had an in with the case, and Dean didn't have to worry the slightest bit about Sam being mad at him for closing up his legs. Because now they both had to be prudes.

Dean shrugged and grinned sheepishly at Sam. This was something new for them, and even if Sam hadn't been dying...it might be fun. Especially when it was over, because that meant Dean got to take Sam's virginity for his own. And yeah, that was definitely something to be excited about.

~*~*~*~*~

Sam couldn't figure out what was wrong with his brother. It was clear something was wrong the moment Dean first shied away from Sam's touch; he never passed up on the opportunity to touch Sam, to be with Sam. But lately Dean not only passed up opportunities, he outright avoided them, even going so far as to push Sam away and run in the other direction. So, obviously, something was up. But Sam just couldn't figure out what. At first he thought maybe it was because he'd been so damn tired lately. Dean overreacted to everything and Sam already knew that Dean thought he was ill...he wasn't, he was just sleepy. When he was awake, he was fine. But it was just hard to stay awake.

But the more Sam thought about it the more he wondered if it was bigger than just this whole sleep-all-day-thing. Dean had been acting odd since...since the trials, really. The only thing Sam could think of was that Dean was still concerned Sam had never quite healed from the trials, but Sam felt fine. And not the acronym kind. Dean just worried too much, about everything.

But it wouldn't really make sense if Dean was still just worried about Sam's health, because if Dean thought it was that bad, he'd have Sam on lockdown in Dean's room, feeding him oatmeal and John Winchester's cayenne soup. Instead, they were going hunting. Which, if Dean thought Sam was sick, wouldn't even be on the table. Besides, Sam had proved over and over again that he was better. He was fine. Which meant Dean was avoiding him over something else.

Something that had to do with sex, or with Sam. Which were basically Dean's two favorite things.

So Sam was pretty surprised at first when Dean seemed so damn enthusiastic to be a virgin. If Sam remembered correctly, this would be the third virginity Dean would eventually loose, due to being "rehymenated" after he got back from Hell the first time. Sam was pretty sure that didn't count, although a little blue piece of paper with some pen scrawls on it didn't feel like much in the official department either. He wasn't complaining though, Sam wasn't doing it for the virginity. Just to get into the meetings.

Dean didn't seem as enthusiastic about the meeting as he did about the whole virginity thing. Sam analyzed out why in the world Dean would want to be a virgin and came up blank. However, the more he thought about it, the more Sam realized maybe it wasn't about the virginity thing. Maybe it was about the abstinence thing. The vows kept them from having sex, which Dean himself had been working hard at doing for the past couple of days. So now Dean's job was done for him, and he didn't have to worry about pushing Sam away anymore. Sam sighed to himself. He just wished he knew what was going on in that freaky head of Dean's.

Although he found himself taking that wish back fairly quickly. That whole be careful what you wish for thing? Yeah, Sam wanted to know what was going on in Dean's head, but not like that.

They were in their first chastity meeting and they'd chosen seats next to each other, although Sam had to make a face at Dean when Dean automatically scooted his chair closer to Sam. The whole point of the circle thing was equal spacing and here Dean was, dragging his loud ass chair next to Sam's.

"Dean! What are you doing?" Sam whispered, making an are you serious face and waving his hand to beckon the chair away. Dean still had his fingers wrapped around the back of it and looked at Sam confusedly. Sam pointed at the rest of the chairs in the room, mouthing equal spacing at his apparently incapable brother.

Dean looked around the room then the lightbulb went off. He nodded and scooted the chair back to its original spot, plopping down. The scraping of the chair had been basically the only sound in the room, so now silence fell on them all.

Sam shot a side glance at Dean, who was already fidgeting. At least he wasn't being loud and dragging chairs across the room. Actually, Sam was a little surprised Dean had done that. Sam was still pissed that Dean wasn't filling him in on what was going on, and Dean was still avoiding him. So physical proximity wouldn't be the first go-to then, right?

Unless it was just automatic. That would make sense, because Dean moved every chair ever to be closer to wherever Sam was. Apparently even when they were fighting. Kind of. Things had loosened up a little bit between them since the argument at lunch, probably because Dean was in good humor and smiling and Sam couldn't help but feel a little better because of it.

For the first few speakers of the meeting, Sam was just listening as closely as possible and gathering what information he could on the case. Well, that and kept an eye on Dean, who didn't even have the decency to bow his head during prayer. Sam made a sound at him and Dean quickly corrected, lowering his head. Sam may or may not have grinned to himself at how quickly Dean listened to him. It was good to be a top.

As the women spoke Sam made sure to keep an eye on his big brother, who could be entirely oblivious to the requirements of certain social standings. It was a lot to take in information and names as well as watch Dean. He was caught off guard then, when Suzy asked him to share.

"Why don't we hear from our new friends? Sam, what brought you here to reclaim your virginity?" Suzy aimed the question direct as possible, everyone's heads turning to look square at him. Damn it he should have come up with a story. They normally came in prepared, but communication between them was a little off this case.

He'd have to say something that was truthful enough that he could support it if he needed to, but he had to word it so he didn't offend the one person he regularly did have sex with, who was sitting right there.

"Well, I guess because...every woman I've ever... had relations with," Sam paused, fumbling for a word that didn't imply died, "Uh...it...hasn't ended well."

Dean grinned like a fool, snorting a laugh and looking like a mix between amused and vaguely proud.

"He ain't lying," Dean snickered, looking around the room. Well thank you Dean, for making it oh so obvious you know everything about my sex life. Because that's totally normal brotherly behavior.

At least Sam had thought of good wording. It was true, any female he had sex with ended in some sort of nasty way. Usually involving a gravestone on their part. But when he'd only spoken about women, that left open room for Dean. Who, 98% of the time, ended very well.

"Thank you for being here, Sam." Suzy smiled gently at him and Sam felt guilty, she seemed so sincere. Like she was so glad to have found someone she could direct on the right path to God. Sam had been there, done that, and this was all just for research. Suzy didn't know that though, she just kept her peaceful happy tone. "Stay strong. Stay pure."

Both Sam and Dean jumped a little in surprise as the rest of the women repeated the phrase back. Stay strong. Stay pure. Apparently they had a motto.

"And you, Dean? What set you on the path away from sin?" Suzy looked patiently at Dean and Sam held his breath. They definitely should have made cover stories. Because Sam was pretty sure Dean was going to make this a disaster. He watched Dean, trying not to seem too interested.

"Uh, hard to say, exactly. Yeah. Sex has always felt - I don't know - good, you know?" Dean was in one of his modes. Oh no. But it wasn't like Sam could interrupt him, that'd be pretty damn obvious. Maybe Dean could handle this. "I mean, really, really good." Dean looked down, reminiscing with those words. Sam could practically see him running through different personal sex scenes in his head. He suddenly looked up, seeing all the women staring at him with beady judgemental eyes and backpedaled like hell.

"Uh...But, uh... Sometimes, it just makes you feel bad, you know?" Very articulate. But Dean's tone of voice changed and he angled his body a little away from Sam. So he was communicating to Sam that this part wasn't about him. Which wasn't really necessary, Sam knew how Dean felt about sex with him, he'd just seen Dean's face at the "really, really good" moment. So he watched with feigned interest, knowing Dean had decided to talk about previous hookups instead of him. Not like Sam was worried, though.

"You're drunk. You shack up," Dean said with a bit of a smile. Sam would elbow him if he wasn't so far away. It was interesting though, that Dean added the drunk in there. Had he been drunk for most of his previous hookups? Why? That didn't make any sense. Did Dean ever have sex with strangers when he was sober? Or had the parade of one night stands that lasted until Dean went to Hell always been drunken acts of stupidity? But what in the world made Dean need to lose himself like that before he hooked up with someone? Sam was going to interrogate Dean about that when they got out of here. Because he had no idea why Dean felt that was a requirement for sex but it felt fairly important.

"Then, it's the whole morning thing. You know, "Hey, that was fun." And then, "adios," you know? Always the "adios."" Dean looked down wistfully, the parade of adios memories crossing his face. There was a pause, then the tone was changing again and Dean looked up again, his eyes flashing. Goddammit. That look meant trouble. Sam looked at his hands, holding his breath for whatever Dean was about to say.

"But, you know, when you get down to it, what's the big deal, right? I mean, sure, there's the touching and the feeling..." Sam inwardly groaned. This was not going to be good. "...all of each other, my hands everywhere, tracing every inch of her body." The movie Dean was watching in his head played out on his features, and everyone in the room got a personal projector and film reel as he drawled out the words, descriptive with just enough inflection to feel the sentences, the ideas, resonate inside you.

"The two of us moving together, pressing and pulling... Grinding." Sam saw the moment the women in the room started to lose themselves, shifting in their seats and staring at Dean with wide, hungry eyes. Shocked, but starving. Starving for his words, for the way he spoke. For him. Sam felt himself prick a little with jealousy but forced himself to keep a neutral face. This wasn't even that bad when it came to dirty talking, Sam had heard much worse from that pretty mouth. But he was going to stay as unaffected as possible, because if he got turned on the way every girl in this room was, his situation would be much more obvious. Besides, Dean was talking about sex with girls, it wasn't like Sam was even involved. It was just about sex from the past, which both of them had done. Dean continued, his voice dripping with arousal.

"Then you hit that sweet spot--"

Sam froze. No, no, no. The term sweet spot was a reference used for gay sex. The whole prostate thing was the official sweet spot. As in, 9/10 times the word sweet spot was used, it was referring to homosexual sex. Fucking hell, Dean. He may have just blown their cover in that single phrase. So did that mean...was Dean talking about Sam now? Just, relaying his version of sex with his brother to the local abstinence group. Right, such a good idea, why didn't Sam think of that? He cursed in his head again. He should've known Dean would be like this.

Sam scanned the eyes of all of the women that were still staring, and determined that none of them knew enough about sex and terminology to recognize the signature homosexual word. Well, something curious flashed in Suzy's eyes, but it was gone pretty quickly as soon as Dean started talking again. Sam let out the breath he was holding. He seriously needed to coach Dean on some sexual terminology so he didn't throw the gay card out at a Christian abstinence meeting, goddamn.

"--and everything just builds and builds and builds until it all just..." Dean made an exploding noise, his head ducked and hands making the sound effect with him, fingers expanding and making his arm muscles flex. Sam heard paper crinkle too, like it was being crushed. Okay, Sam had to stop this. There was a line and Dean had crossed it ages ago. Sam didn't even want to know what was coming next, this was getting dirtier and dirtier and was so totally unnecessary.

Sam cleared his throat, loudly, a noise that was intended directly for Dean. Dean heard it and glanced over at Sam. Sam shot him one of the most intense bitchfaces he had. And he entirely meant it too, Dean was being so inappropriate and uncalled for and just bad in general that if they were in better standing right now he'd think of some way to punish Dean later, take it out on his ass. Literally.

Dean recognized the look and kind of sunk, immediately stepping off his pedestal and backpedaling again.

"Yeah. Uh...But the whole thing was just a little too, uh...sticky." Dean made a face and rubbed his fingers together. Sam fought the urge to face palm. Really, fucking really. But Dean continued on, all smiles and happy and excited sounding, the polar opposite of the slow, sexy low voice he'd had going earlier. Sam should have let Dean sit closer, just so Sam could elbow him, fucking seriously. "So, uh, I got my "V" card back. The end."

He considered sending Dean a bitchface for the entire meeting, but that would be a little obvious. Even if Sam didn't have to stare at Dean to give him the face. Not that Sam minded staring at Dean, this was just not the time and place.

The meeting didn't run too long, which meant one of the highlights of the whole thing was Dean's fiasco. Seriously, Sam couldn't take him anywhere. Abstinence meeting? Dirty talk the virgins about sex. Gun-banning meeting? He'd probably whip out his favourite gun and demonstrate his perfect accuracy from a fifteen foot range. Dean was trouble. He always had been. But Sam was pretty sure he loved him for it.

As soon as the meeting was over, they gravitated towards each other, stepping out of earshot of the other women. Dean was wearing an amused grin, like this whole chastity thing was the funniest thing he'd come across. Based on the things Dean had done - they had both done - it shouldn't have been possible for them to gain back "purity" but here they were. Sam nodded as the women passed them with chairs, then leaned in closer to Dean, his voice quiet.

"So, um... Wee bit of an over-share, Dean?" Sam raised his eyebrows but Dean just grinned as he looked up at Sam.

"I was purifying," he protested, every ounce of him looking adorable. Sam's face lit up in an amused smile, having to turn away from the look on Dean's face if he wanted to keep his hands and mouth to himself right now. Dean smiled too, then his eyebrows furrowed and he looked over Sam's shoulder, suddenly serious. "Hey, she look familiar to you?"

Sam turned over his shoulder, following his eyes to where Dean had been looking and seeing the blonde chastity counselor with a chair in hand. He looked back at Dean, ignoring that they were closer together right now than they had been in a while. "Suzy?"

"Yeah," Dean's eyes still followed her over Sam's shoulder. Sam knew that look. It was Dean's curious - too curious - look that meant more trouble. "Swear I know her from somewhere."

"Oh, good, Dean. 'Cause that line never fails." He said it exaggerated and sarcastic, but maybe a little jealous and worried too. Not much though, Sam knew that Dean was a flirt. He always had been. It wasn't like Dean would do anything. They'd been together for more than two years and Dean hadn't strayed once since. He'd had plenty of offers, but he'd always managed to choke up some excuse. So Sam wasn't that worried. She was gorgeous though, so it was axiomatic that Sam got a little jealous.

"Well, let's find out," Dean retorted, sounding stubborn and foolish. He brushed past Sam and Sam threw up a hand in exasperation. That was not the intention with his comment, he was supposed to deter Dean, not egg him on. He sighed as Dean walked over to the pretty counselor, flashing that gorgeous smile and pulled her aside with a gentle hand to the elbow. Now the jealousy flared up in Sam's stomach, but he held back the urge to do anything about it. If he shadowed Dean and got clingy and pully, Dean was going to go running in the other direction. Even more than he already was.

See, if this was any other time in their lives, Sam wouldn't be so concerned. But Dean was avoiding him right now and being super distant, which was never good when it came to pretty girls. Because that meant Sam couldn't just reel Dean back in and distract him with something so much better than curly blonde hair and too-soft mouths. It would be a lot less stressful to see Dean in pickup mode if Sam could just walk over there and slip a hand in Dean's back pocket, making some bitchy face at the girl, squeezing a handful of Dean's ass possessively, showing everyone who exactly Dean belonged to.

Even if they weren't on separate planes in their life right now, Sam couldn't pull Dean back into his lap on this case. The thing was, Bonnie - and probably everyone else - knew they were brothers. So if Sam went over and put his hand where it belonged in Dean's back pocket, the apocalypse might rain down again on this little church. Homosexuality was frowned upon enough, if they added brother-on-brother into that mix? They'd be kicked out of the door and this case so fast their heads would spin. It was ridiculous, really, how much other people cared about who you slept with. But they did. So Sam kept his distance and watched Dean and Suzy from afar with jealous eyes.

Eventually he got a tap on the shoulder from the ever-eager Bonnie, who pestered him with questions. And the moment she was gone, Tammy walked up and offered more information. In a very bitchy, angry church-girl sort of way that was actually not helpful in the least. It brought up the topic of the missing girl though, and that was the entire point of them being here. Although, from what Sam could see by his frequent glances in the direction of Suzy and Dean, Dean had definitely forgotten that was the reason they were even virgins right now. The case, that small thing that had them driving halfway across the country because people were going missing and probably dying.

"And I bake real cookies for the bake sale. Honor just brings Oreos!" Tammy complained, her face twisted up in so much offense you would think that Satan himself had baked the Oreos for Honor. Sam had listened to crazier for less information on a case, but the moment he saw Dean walking away from Suzy and in his direction, he jumped at the opportunity. Not just to get away from Tammy, Sam was actually quite interested in what Dean had to say about the blonde.

"Oh. You know what? Excuse me." Sam smiled tightlipped then dodged the side of Tammy's shoulder, his fake face falling the second she was out of sight. He was seriously done with this church drama right now. But Dean just sauntered up with a huge smile on his mouth, one that meant nine kinds of things Sam didn't even want to know. Well, he did, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it. Dean got in close, leaning over to Sam and smiling and Sam could really use a kiss from that mouth right now. Instead, though, the pretty lips seemed quite focused on someone else. Dean hadn't had that look on his face in years and Sam didn't like what it meant. He held his breath as Dean leaned in closer, just a foot between them as he spoke.

"Guess who's taking the teacher home." Dean laughed and smiled triumphantly, like he had won the world cup. Then his face went entirely straight, fast and exaggerated in an instant. "Research," he mocked.

"You really think you're gonna hit that? Dean, she's the chastity counselor." Sam said it as skeptical and disbelieving as possible. More for himself than for Dean. This was such a classic 26 year old Dean move and he hadn't been that way since the apocalypse. Sure, Dean had hooked up a few times since, the most recent being right before he had asked Sam out. Sam was pretty sure that time was because he'd wanted one final one night stand. Although it ended up being a lot more than that, because she'd ended up being a monster and Dean had had a kid. He'd vowed off women ever since, had asked Sam to be officially his.

And now, here he was, suddenly the Dean of seven years ago and Sam was a little terrified. And kind of in shock. Was Dean actually going to...no, he was just going to flirt with her. When it came down to it, Dean wouldn't actually go through. Probably. Hopefully. Sam just did not want that on top of everything going on in between them right now. Unless this...unless this was because of what had been going on between them. Maybe Dean wanted out and this was the perfect opportunity. Maybe he'd spent too much time taking care of Sam and he was sick of it, wanted something easier and not so serious. Sam tried to block out the jealous in his voice, in the way he looked at Dean and glanced over at the pretty blonde who was waiting and watching them. Sam wondered what she was thinking. It wasn't every day that an attractive man couldn't go anywhere on his own without explaining it to his brother first. Most people were surprised by the...codependency - Sam hated that word, hated how true it was - but the list of hookups were always more shocked than everyone else. Sam couldn't name a girl he'd slept with that hadn't mentioned his relationship with Dean. So Suzy was probably wondering why they were standing so close, why Dean had to go check in with his brother before he went anywhere. They were both full grown adults and very capable men after all. But it was how they were, even before they were a couple. They'd always lived in each other's pockets. Just not always with actual hands in each other's pockets.

Dean was grinning at Sam's comment, still being undeterred by Sam's blatant jealousy and worry and skeptical words on Dean's decision. Suzy was a challenge and Sam knew that was the ultimate for Dean, when it came to one night stands. He just...Sam hadn't had to compete for Dean's affection in so long and he hated the familiar feeling. Hated watching as Dean was thinking about someone else, getting ideas about things with her.

"Yeah, I know." Of course he did. Sam had a feeling that was the point. And probably one of the only reasons he was going home with her. That, and because of whatever this avoid-Sam thing was that was going on. Sam wished Dean would just tell him so they could talk about it. Dean must have noticed the broken look on Sam's face, because he glanced up and quickly changed the topic, making it seem like he cared for a few milliseconds. "What about you? Any luck?"

"You mean am I actually working?" Sam leaned in closer, the scent of Dean filling his brain. God, if only he could just cup Dean's face and kiss him right now, Sam was sure he could keep Dean from going. Instead he just made a sassy comment, hiding the pain of Dean's plan behind bitchiness and sass. "As a matter of fact, yes, I am."

"All right, well, good luck with that." Dean grinned and smacked a hand on Sam's arm. A final touch, some sort of brotherly reassurance that had Sam glaring at Suzy and looking longingly after Dean. Dean, who Sam wanted to touch him in so many more way than just that stupid brotherly pat that left Sam with Dean's imprint on his skin and nothing to do for it. Dean sauntered up to the blonde again, saying something with a smile. Suzy grinned back and stepped forward, Dean following her, their bodies close. No where near as close as Sam and Dean walked, but too close for Sam to be happy. As soon as Dean was leaving, Sam determined he wasn't going to get more upset about this. He'd never told Dean he couldn't, never even asked him not to. Sure, it had been all over Sam's face, but Dean was a full grown adult and Sam couldn't control his actions. Instead he sighed, turning back to Tammy with a resigned look.

He couldn't stand the rant for much longer, although he finally got one piece of useful information out of the enflared cardiganer. Which he got to take back to the motel, alone, with Jody. Jody looked at him sympathetically as he told her where Dean was. He made sure to add a chaste I don't think anything's going to happen, she's the chastity teacher after all in his explanation. More for himself than Jody, as it was. But still. She made an understanding noise, looking sorry for Sam. Sam shrugged off the sympathy, going over details of the case instead. As soon as they started connecting dots, Sam had an excuse to pick up the phone and call Dean.

Apparently, call Dean on every phone he owned. Because the bastard didn't sound like he was picking up any time soon. Sam was getting increasingly more worried. If Dean wasn't picking up, he had to have a reason. Sam just really really hoped that Suzy wasn't the reason. Sam hadn't even thought about what he was going to do if Dean did sleep with her...he'd just been hoping Dean wouldn't. But if he did...what was Sam supposed to do? They didn't exactly have a normal relationship, so the normal I'm leaving you didn't even seem like an option. But maybe it should be. Cheating...they were official, had even been married for a little bit. Kind of. But they were definitely together, and if Dean just treated that like it meant nothing? Sam wasn't sure what to even do about that.

This is Dean's other, other cell so you must know what to do. Sam groaned, annoyed, and waited for the beep. Again. "Dean. Come on, call me," he said moodily into the voice message machine before clicking the phone shut and looking back at Jody.

Jody had this motherly look on his face, at least the look Sam assumed a mother would have. It wasn't like he would know. He pouted down at his phone, wishing he hadn't let Dean go off with the blonde. This had to be at least partially Sam's fault. Actually, it was mostly Sam's fault. Maybe even all? Sam had accidentally egged him on, never told him he shouldn't, didn't even protest as Dean walked away. And whatever reason Dean was pissed at Sam, that was Sam's doing too, of course. Sam had wedged this thing between them and he couldn't even blame Dean for it.

"You know, for being born again today, you sure look like crap," Jody noted. Sam sighed. Yeah, he had noticed. The look-like-crap part came from the stress, the worry about Dean. About whatever the hell had gone wrong between them that had Dean running in the other direction to blonde Suzy's bed. Although Jody had just said something that implied...

"Wait a second. Did you...get --" Sam was going to say virginized but that was a weird word, not to mention that it wasn't actually a word. And this was a bit of an awkward conversation.

"Born again?" Jody offered.

"Yeah."

"Oh, Sam. I don't make promises I can't keep." Sam smiled and ducked his head. That was such a Jody thing to say. "It's just...I enjoy church. I mean, after...after Bobby, Crowley...I needed something that made sense to me -- you know, comfort, I guess."

Sam breathed in and looked down. He got that, he did. Having something to hold on to, something that helped you sleep at night.

"Yeah, I guess we're all looking for that." Sam looked at the table in front of them, thoughts distant and echoing in his head. Then Jody spoke, looking at Sam with a look that made him even more confused than her words.

"Except those that got it," she said wistfully. Sam just cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. How was it that Sam had it?

"Come on," she said slyly. "You and Dean? That's something special, don't you think?"

She looked at him serenely, letting her words speak for her. Something special. So was Dean that comfort then, the comfort that Jody searched for in God and in her church? Sam raised his eyebrows at the implication. Jody just made a face, a don't you deny it face that had Sam sighing.

He looked away from Jody's penetrative gaze, staring out the window. Dean, who was supposed to be his comfort, was out there somewhere. Was Dean something for Sam to hold onto? Was he what helped Sam sleep at night? Maybe he had been, at one point. Maybe he was supposed to be, maybe that comfort was end goal. But it didn't feel like that's where they were right now. A few weeks ago, maybe Sam would have smiled and ducked his head, flushed at what she was implying and nodding a little, thinking about the way they clung to each other through the nightmares, the comfort of Dean's lower back under Sam's palm, having his savior and his protector wrapped up in his arms, close and inescapable.

Instead of nodding like he might've, Sam just shrugged. He didn't know anymore. Even before Dean had left with Suzy, things had been going downhill steadily since...since the whole Cas thing. Maybe before that. Just, little things adding up on top of each other. Sure, there had been a few great moments here and there in between, but what was the point if the overall had been on the downslide? It was like they had been scrambling to get their footing for a month, but were stumbling over each other instead. They had argued and Dean had been distant, mysterious. The sex and the touching had forced them together, forced them to forget and pretend everything was entirely normal between them. So maybe they had been fucked up for even longer than Sam had thought. They'd been using constant, kinky rounds of sex to hide it all, hadn't they been? And Sam hadn't noticed, hadn't even realized how distant they were now, mentally.

All of the physical closeness had been the perfect distraction. They still gravitated together, still kissed and touched and screwed each other and curled in close at night, but when was the last time they talked? Had any sort of meaningful conversation? When was the last time they were more than sex friends? Sam hadn't even realized it, not until the sex was gone. Once the touching and the constant arousal wasn't there to block out the truth, Sam was forced to think with his upstairs brain and it hit him like a freight train.

The sex and the masks were gone because Dean had taken even that away. So now there was nothing but the month long of landslide they'd been on and never noticed, followed by the abstinence crash at the bottom. Maybe Dean had noticed, maybe Dean knew this whole time and it just got harder and harder for him until he broke it off entirely, forced the physical distance between them too that shined the light on the real distance.

Maybe that was why Dean might be in someone else's bed right now. Out there, beyond the window, trying not to think of Sam and all the space between them that had suddenly fallen wide open. Like cutting the final stitch on a wound that hadn't ever really been closed and watching the whole thing bleed out in a waterfall of disaster.

Something special, that's what that Sam had lost in the riptide. He'd lost his Dean and he didn't even know where.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Dean wasn't sure if the stars aligning was a thing, but if it was a thing it was happening right now. Kind of literally, too.

There was just so many factors, and that final one made it impossible to walk away. First, he and Sam were fighting. Not that every time they got in an argument Dean decided to go out and bang somebody, but it was still a factor.

Second of all, Sam wasn't allowed to have sex. Per Dean's unspoken orders that Sam didn't exactly know about. But Sammy was still in the process of nearly dying and Dean was not going to take that risk again. The day Sam was passed out for basically the entire length of daylight was scary enough, Dean did not need any more of that. And the lack of Sam's availability had left Dean frustrated and horny and in definite need of some sort of release.

Thirdly, Sam was exhausted. And moody. And apparently unable to "recharge his battery." So he'd need a while before he was anywhere near an energetic shape. Not that Dean was a total asshole who was giving up on Sam just because Sam couldn't fuck him into a wall anymore. It was just the next piece of straw added to the hay pile.

And if it had been just those three factors, Dean wouldn't even have walked her home. But there was a whole pile of hay and straws to consider.

The next was that Suzy was really damn familiar. Dean was 98% sure he knew her from somewhere. And not just some girl he'd met on the street; she was significant and he could remember that, but he couldn't remember why. Or how he knew her. But he did. So it couldn't be a coincidence, right?

Then the fifth reason came around. The one that Sam had practically shoved Dean at her, with his "you really think you can" and his "yeah, cause that like never fails"'s. It was basically impossible for Dean to deny a challenge like that. And Sam knew that, so either he was still tired as hell and wasn't thinking (very much likely) or he actually was encouraging Dean to go home with Suzy (like negative amount of likely-ness but still a very small possibility).

Sixly, Suzy was the chastity counselor. Talk about bragging rights. Hell, talk about self worth inflation, egotistical-thinking skyrocketing. The kind of rush that would be too, to conquer the willpower of someone who was so anti-sex. If Dean could win her, if he was sexy enough to drive the abstinence teacher willing to his bed? He was basically Casanova. The best quote in that whole movie was when that nun got caught sleeping with Heath Ledger and the head nun told her she was going to spend eternity burning in hell and she goes "an eternity in hell is worth it for a night with Casanova," or whatever. So that would basically be Dean.

And so with those three more factors on, Dean was walking her home. The whole walk there he spent thinking about Sam, about what in the world Dean was going to do. Part of him definitely would like to screw the chastity counselor. But most of him felt like it was a really freaking stupid idea. Like, what was the point? Twenty minutes of satisfaction that would probably feel too soft and delicate and make Dean feel like total shit afterwards.

So when he got to her apartment he was still undecided. It was a tough call but he was definitely leaning towards the no way. As soon as they came in the door though, Suzy was pushing off her jacket, stripping down to just a white camisole. Fuck.

Dean's eyes couldn't help but graze over her body. It was perfect. And strangely unsurprising, like he already knew it some how. Back to that fourth reason...

She was really fucking hot though. In just that white piece of cloth, showing off her amazing chest and curves and wow it had been a long time since Dean had been anywhere near boobs. And Suzy's rack...damn. She could be a professional.

So maybe Dean's head went to that place for a moment, assuming she's brought him home for half that reason anyways. Her just been hoping earlier that he'd find the willpower to dodge out of it with a no if it came down to it. Now though, the willpower slipped just a little bit. He looked at her, hungry and scheming as he lit the candle with a pocket lighter. Then Dean sauntered around to the side of the couch and Suzy was...crying. Okay. Not really the plan.

But Dean sat down and prayed with her after she looked up at him with teary eyes to ask. He was a smidgen relieved after he bowed his head and closed his eyes-ish. If Suzy had been waiting for him on the couch with a welcoming smile on her face and a beckoning finger, Dean might not have said no.

Well, what probably would have happened there was that he would have been unable to resist laying her down on the couch and they would have kissed, things getting more heated until her hands started taking off his clothes. Then odds are, Dean would have broken it off with a groan and an extensive apology, either making up some lie as to why they couldn't, or confessing he was quite already taken.

But that didn't happen, because Susy was crying and upset and so so hot it wasn't even right. Dean was in her apartment alone and she was wearing next to nothing and they were just praying together. Not exactly Dean's normal plan. Although none of this felt normal.

Eventually the tears faded and Suzy went to get him books. Dean watched her as she bent down to grab them from a shelf, but instantly regretted that. Her shirt rided up, revealing an expanse of soft, pretty skin on her lower back. Here she was baring all that skin and Dean just wanted so badly to do something about it. Goddamn. Instead Dean forced himself to look away, which took a fuckton of effort. He was not going to go there. Sure, there were reasons screaming at him to. But the one reason not to was huge and unforgettable. Sam.

Then he was saved, a little, as Suzy stood up and spun around, smile on her face as she held a stack of books that was bigger than she was.

"Okay. So, why don't you breeze through these, and I'm gonna head to the little girls' room." She handed Dean the huge stack of eight books, reading things like purity that made him internally groan. But he smiled tightly anyways, nodding as she walked past him.

"Mm, yeah," he agreed, probably lying but not noticing.

As soon as she was gone, Dean wandered over to the entertainment center. It was the closest place to stack the books, plus there was a picture frame or two that the detective-hunting side of him was curious about. Just as Dean went to set the books down, his cellphone buzzed in his pocket. Okay, decent timing. Ish.

Dean had figured Sam would call eventually, he was just glad it was while Suzy was out of the room. Although he was pretty sure he felt one of his other pockets vibrating earlier. It wasn't like he was going to take phone calls from his brother when he was supposed to be praying. Besides, Dean had already seen Suzy looking at the two of them curiously. It was one thing to be close, but hiding the codependency and the whole couple thing from the public could be a little difficult. He'd said goodbye to Sam anyways, even if it was unusual. But taking a phone call from him when he'd seen Sam twenty minutes ago...kinda suspicious.

With Suzy in the other room though, Dean could actually pick up. He kind of wanted to hear Sam's voice, too. Maybe it would make this situation easier to handle. With the reminder of his gruff, sexy boyfriend in his ear and in his head, the no Dean was debating might be much easier.

Dean hit the answer button on the phone, about to lift it to his ear when he noticed a cracked drawer in the cabinet, the shiny case of a DVD reflecting out. Curiosity killed the cat, even if Dean was definitely more experienced with the dog thing. But he temporarily ignored the answered phone, just to peek inside.

Dean tugged the drawer open wider, pulling out the small stack of yellow DVDs. Holy shit. Casa Erotica. Holy fucking shit.

Suzy was on the cover. Standing mostly naked with maracas crossed over her chest. Fucking hell. That's how he knew her, that's how Dean recognized her. Suzy was fucking Carmelita.

Dean had freaking loved Carmelita. Hell, his downstairs brain had been so into those tapes that when he got djinn-zapped into a perfect world his steady girlfriend had been named Carmen. He'd first seen the tapes while Sammy was at Stanford, then again when the world was near ending and Cas was Godstiel or whatever. Well, he'd only gotten through just the one again a couple of years ago.

Dean was trying to still absorb this all in when he distantly recognized someone saying his name. Sam, right, the phone. Sam's tone sounded like he'd been calling Dean's name for a while. But Suzy...Carmelita...

He finally lifted his phone to his ear, still in a daze as he looked at the DVDs. He had met her. She was here, in this apartment. Dean Winchester was in the famous Carmelita's apartment.

"Dean?" the phone called again. Right, yeah.

"Sammy! Hey." Dean said into the phone, pretending there hadn't been like a twenty second delay there. But seriously, he had reason. Just look at what he held in his hands...

"What's going on?" Sam demanded through the phone, sounding quite concerned. Too concerned. What was going on? Only the craziest moment of Dean's whole life. Well, not the craziest, but a good-way crazy that he didn't run across very often.

"I found something big," Dean responded, still staring in awe at the DVDs. He flipped one over, greeted with a different posed Carmelita, the description and more photos. Good lord.

"Yeah. So did we. So, get this -- it's not a dragon." Sam was talking and Dean heard him and mostly registered what he was saying but oh, this was the DVD with the tacos. Oh god.

"Uh-huh. Uh-- ooh," Dean made a surprised noise in the middle of his vague agreeing. He'd heard Sam but this was Carmelita and suddenly little brother would be fine hunting with Jody for the next half hour, Dean had some leads he had to...investigate.

"Dean?" Sam asked into the phone again.

"Copy that," he confirmed, hearing the sound of a door behind him. He quickly hung up the phone, shoving it in his pocket and spinning around. Suzy walked in just as he tucked the DVDs behind his back.

"Hey," he greeted a little awkwardly. Then he couldn't really resist, he had to throw the cat in the bag and say it. "Or should I say... "Hola"?"

Dean said it as obvious as possible but Suzy looked totally flummoxed. Like maybe Dean was a little crazy.

"Uh, why?" She asked, laughing a little. Dean wasn't going to just blurt it out though, so he ducked his head and just made a nonchalant face. Kind of. Internally he was freaking out. One of the girls of his dreams was standing in front of him.

"No reason. No reason," he blew off. He could see why he'd recognized her now. After realizing who she was, now that she was standing in front of him again, it was impossible to miss.

"A-are you okay?" Carmelita -- Suzy, asked. She was looking at him weird. Oh, Dean had seen so many expressions on that face. This felt surreal.

"Me? Ah -- I'm great. Why?" Dean was actually really really great right now. To the point he was probably coming across as a total fool.

"Uh, you seem... I-I don't know, nervous," Suzy noted. Dean laughed, probably sounding even more nervous. He was having a conversation with a damn celebrity. Well, a celebrity to Dean.

"Nervous? No. I'm not nervous..." Although he was a little freaked out. Excited, maybe. He couldn't stand her not knowing he knew...so he finally added in the word that would give it all away. "...Carmelita."

Dean watched as it sunk in, the name and the situation and what that all meant. Her face sunk as she realized, looking strangely disappointed or sad or something.

"So, you've seen my...work. Listen, I don't blame you if you want to be assigned a new counselor. I-I get it," she said resignedly. Dean looked at her curiously. She was ashamed? Why the hell?

"No. No, no. Are you -- are you kidding me? I mean, you're -- you're a freaking legend." Dean took a step forward, inching his body closer to the star, just still in disbelief that this was real. What were the odds.

"No!" Suzy protested, much too feverently. "I-I am -- I'm not that girl anymore. I moved here. I changed my name. That girl was -- was horrible."

Dean wasn't going to have any of that. She just didn't have the right perspective. She was fucking gorgeous, she used to give people the ultimate pleasure for a living. So he had to interrupt her, make her see.

"Listen, uh, Suzy, I've seen a lot of awful things, stuff of nightmares, okay? But you -- you're the good dreams." Definitely the good dreams. Dean would think this was just another one of those, except he was pretty sure they'd be screwing right now if it was. And he was pretty sure his brain wouldn't have named her Susy.

She smiled at his words, looking a little flattered. She damn well should be, the girl was talented as hell.

"And nobody in Hartford knows?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, what am I supposed to say? "Oh, yeah, hey, I used to be a porn star. Let's pray"?" Okay, touché. But seriously, Carmelita, stuck in this damn town? Dean would have never imagined.

"Well... They do not appreciate you. I mean... the things you can do -- the scene with the tacos?" Dean couldn't help but grin. He remembered that tape so well. This whole thing was just...she was freaking famous.

"Yeah," she smiled wider. It was good for her to hear this, good for her to know. She deserved it, she'd certainly made Dean happy on more than one occasion. And no one should ever be ashamed of their living.

"Made me want to join a mariachi band just to be near you," Dean said truthfully, coming out a little sappy sounding. He just couldn't believe he got to confess this all to one of his idols. Although she got a new look on her face after he said that one, and Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Well, you are now," Suzy offered, eying him up enticingly. Wait, did-- what? Was she--

His fucking star, the number one name on the top of his bucket list. Just. Implied. Sex? And she was a porn star. Suddenly there was a reason number seven.

Reason #7: Carmelita. Porn Star. Fave Five.

Who's on your list? glance at Sammy, snorted laugh. Any porn star ever, duh.

He had a free pass.

He had a free pass and there could have been zero other factors and reasons going into this besides the fact that Carmelita was looking at him like he was Apple Pie and this was a fucking dream. She wasn't just some girl now that was hit and a challenge and a way out of the frustration from not able to be with Sam. She was a celebrity and a dream and part of Dean's bucket list since the beginning - one Dean would be insane not to jump on. Sam would understand. Probably.

"I am, aren't I?" Dean encouraged, voice dropping from fan girl to there-is-a-possibility-I'm-going-to-have-sex-with-a-porn-star. Suzy stepped in closer, eyeing him up more obviously. Even if they'd never had the Fave Five conversation - which he and Sam had - she'd always been on his bucket list. Even Sammy knew that. So as Suzy sidled up to him, Dean didn't let the guilt in his stomach through, instead letting the hot coil of arousal rip through him.

"You're not like... the other guys in town, are you? You're kind of a... a bad boy." Suzy practically purred the nickname, all smooth and sexy and normally Dean was the one seducing but she was a damn porn star.

He wasn't going to be shown up, though. He was Dean Winchester after all, and just because he'd been tongue tied at first didn't mean he wasn't going to step up and rock her fucking world.

"I don't know," Dean played off innocently enough at first. Then he dropped his voice a little lower, aiming his green eyes on her as he spoke. "Why don't you ask me that in Spanish?"

Suzy grinned, looking pleased at Dean's idea, looking more than a little turned on herself. She leaned in close to him, letting the soft, girly sounding words drip over his ear.

"¿Eres un Chico malo?" Dean's entirely body was tight and hard with intense need now, but he managed to draw back, looking at her face for a moment until her eyes caught on his plush lips, exactly where he wanted them.

"Sí."

The girl lost any bit of reserve in that moment, watching Dean's mouth say that, and Dean would be fucking proud if he wasn't quite distracted by the mouth that was suddenly launched at his.

Dean took the kiss in stride, letting all of her pent up frustration rain down on him as she moved her lips over his passionately. She was the damn polar opposite of Sam and Dean was really damn grateful for that, but he pushed the thought aside, all the thoughts of that round ass and hard muscle and long, gorgeous dick. No, not now. Now his brain zoned back in on the silky skin and the soft features and rosebud passion kisses that felt like Spain itself.

He pulled her head in and hungrily kissed get back, letting their mouths combine and fuck this was intense. Dean was going to have to work pretty damn hard to keep his shit together long enough to be impressive. He just wanted Suzy Carmelita whoever all over him right now.

Dean's hands slid under her ass and he lifted her up to his hips, easy. The girl probably only weighed 140 or something, she was so damn easy to lift. Although, obviously, that was in comparison to the gigantore Dean was always carrying arou-- no. Spain. Si. Girl, Carmelita. Girl girl girl.

Really fucking hot girl, poised on his hips while their mouths nearly attacked each other. Okay, Dean needed to be touching that body right fucking now.

He lowered her down to the ground, head spinning and body tight and basically dreaming but this was real and amazing and god forgive him, Sam forgive him, but Dean couldn't say no to Spanish.

The only word he really knew was sí anyways.

~*~*~*~

Sam had wanted desperately to think that Dean wouldn't go through with it, would find some way to say no. For Sam. For them. But with his eyes glued to the clock and each minute ticked by, Sam watched the chance of that slipping away.

He did it in percentages. They were gone for twenty minutes, probably a 70% chance Dean wasn't screwing her. Thirty minutes, 60% chance. Fourty five minutes, 40% chance Dean didn't cheat on him. Or wasn't currently. Gone for fifty minutes, 20% chance Dean had stayed loyal.

Once it hit the hour mark, Sam was basically sure he'd have to contemplate the cheating-scenario in 100% seriousness now.

Dean had slept with her, he had to have. Sam might as well go collect the vow breakers now, the idiots. If only Dean had listened to him. But no, he'd "found something big."

Sam wondered bitterly what the something big could possibly have been as he stepped hesitantly inside the girl's apartment. It was a wreck. Sam wasn't sure how much of that was the anti-dragon and how much was them, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know, either. He didn't even want to be in Suzy's apartment at all.

That didn't stop his sadiatic brain from sending Jody to go interrogate the neighbors while he checked out the place. It felt like he was in a dream, walking around this apartment alone. He'd look at something, picture Dean and wonder what had happened there. The couch, maybe they'd screwed there? It looked pretty in tact, though. Sam moved past the mess into the only other room of the apartment, assuming it was the bedroom.

He held his breath as he creaked open the door. He was right.

The sheets were crumpled and there were blankets on the ground, pillows still propped in places that Sam could picture just what they were used for, the exact positions that would need that kind of cushion. There was a white bra and panties thrown on the floor, although obviously none of Dean's discarded clothing. So they hadn't been nabbed til after they were finished, then. Sam took in the whole scene and he was pretty sure he was gonna be sick.

He braced his hand on the doorframe and closed his eyes, trying to steady himself and push back down the wave of nasuea that threatened to take him. He ran the fingers of his free hand through his long hair, carding back the full layers, pausing when it felt like Dean's hand. Sam kept his fingers clutched in his hair, trying to steady his breathing.

He could picture it and he wanted to be sick.

The fatigue of recent days, the fight between him and Dean, his realization earlier of just how much had gone wrong between them. It all just piled up and Sam's battery still wasn't recharging. He was too physically weak to deal with this, too overbooked and hurting already. But all the evidence was here in front of his eyes and Sam couldn't run from it now.

He walked numbly away from the bedroom, determining that if there were important clues to their whereabouts to be found in there, under that mess, Sam would let them both rot before he found those clues. He didn't have the ability to go searching through that bedroom right now. It still even smelled like sex. Like Dean, and unfamiliar girl. Unwelcome girl.

The living room was in a little better shape and Sam walked through it, trying to picture how the initiation went down. There was a stack of eight books on purity stacked on a cabinet, which felt ridiculously ironic and mocking in the way they stood so straight and proper over the rest of the mess that so clearly stated otherwise.

So maybe it really had started out as research. Maybe Suzy had been caught off guard by just how distracting Dean could be during research. Hell, it was Dean's best trait. Although none of the books were open, so they must not have gotten very far in their researching.

Sam stepped closer to the books, knowing they were somewhere near the beginning of the story. The cabinet they were propped on had an open drawer...Sam stepped up to it to explore when his boot toe smacked into something on the ground. DVDs, a few of them strewn on the floor. Maybe from the drawer.

He stooped over and scooped one up, looking at the cover. Holy shit. It was Casa Erotica, one of the ones Sam had been unwillingly told about through details from Dean. He'd loved it, and Sam had just told him to fuck off and talk about his porn to somebody else.

Apparently, Dean had decided to discuss it with the star herself. So Dean had known Suzy. Or whatever her name was. And now that he knew her biblically too, it made sense. It made a hell of a lot of sense.

This must have been the "something big," that Dean had found. Sam wouldn't have called this big, but for Dean? For Dean this would be a dream come true. Literally.

Sam looked at the little plastic DVD case in his hand. This changed everything. Dean hadn't gone off and just screwed some girl, he'd hooked up with a porn star. Sam wasn't sure if it was supposed to make him less mad, the fact that Suzy was famous in Dean's eyes.

Maybe it was more excusable, that whole once in a lifetime opportunity thing, but it also meant she would have been amazing in bed. So even if Dean wanted Sam back after this...how was Sam supposed to compete with one of Dean's treasured celebrities in the flesh?

Foot steps made Sam look up before he could decide anything really. Jody walked in, taking in the mess and feigning a lack of surprise at the state of the apartment. It was sweet not to make a big deal, but she needn't bother, Sam had seen the bedroom.

"Hey," he greeted her, which she returned simply. Then Sam was quick to talk case, he didn't even want to think about Dean and everything else right now. "Neighbors see anything?"

"Flash of blue," Jody confirmed. So they'd been snatched, then. Sam made a sound of fascination. Jody looked fairly concerned, eyes drifting over the room. "You sure Dean was here?"

Sam would have laughed but if wasn't very funny. The sinking, sick feeling in his stomach was still there but at least he didn't feel worthless anymore. At least he hadn't been tossed aside by the first blonde thing that tossed her had over her shoulder.

At least it took a porn star to derail Dean from the tracks.

And no matter whether or not they were together, dating, even married (which they no longer were), Sam knew his brother well enough to know that it was a default in Dean's personality that he couldn't say no to Mrs. Casa Erotica Chastity Teacher addition.

No matter what Dean felt for Sam, fighting or not, content and sex-filled or abstinent for weeks, it had nothing to do with the opportunity that had landed in Dean's lap. Short of Sam being in the room and asking him not to, Dean would be bound to sleep with the porn star. She was a porn star, and Sam was dating Dean Winchester. So to say the least, he had it coming.

That didn't make it hurt any less.

"Oh, yeah. And I think he crossed someone off his bucket list." Sam kept his voice light and Jody looked over the DVD. Sam was 100% sure this girl was on Dean's bucket list. If Dean had only slept with her because of that...maybe Sam could brush it aside. There were more reasons than that, though.

He took a deep breath through his nose, setting the DVD back where he found it. How many of Dean's sex scenes had Sam walked in on, let alone gotten to witness the room's aftermath of? It wasn't a new thing for him. But it hurt this time, more than any other time, and Sam was still a little woozy feeling. He didn't know why this felt so different than any other one night stand of Dean's. Maybe because it had been such a long time since Sam had to deal with this. Maybe is was because Sam was so damn tired and his brain wasn't functioning right. Maybe it was because it felt like they were going backward, back to days where they were hurting and hiding from each other and their feelings and everything they'd moved past.

Maybe because Dean was supposed to be Sam's, now. Sam had mapped out every inch of that body, had held every part of Dean, had cradled Dean's nightmares in his arms. Things weren't like this crazy-one-night-stand thing anymore. They had a home and they were linked, tied, they'd chosen each other over saving the world. And then Dean goes off and acts like this? Weren't they each others? Forever? Don't you dare think there is anything, past or present, I would put in front of you?

Sam fingered the fabric of the coach, noting that a few pillows from it were lopsided too. Maybe he was overreacting, fine. It wasn't like Dean had put her before Sam or anything. Sure, he'd hung up the phone fast, but that could be for lots of reasons. Dean was only human. He made mistakes. If Sam wanted to be with someone perfect he should have picked someone else.

Dad always liked you better, Dean. You were perfect. Sam had said that to Dean once, and Sam had believed it for a long time. But Dean was far from it, and Sam loved him for each of his flaws. Wasn't that what they were supposed to be? The one that loved each other, come what may?

Even if what came was Dean, and another girl.

Sam sighed and put his palm over his forehead. There was just a lot going on, too much going on, and he was damned tired. And on top of it all, Dean was missing. Possibly dead. Sam hadn't even been thinking about that.

"We should go. Figure out where this thing's taking them." Sam had his eyes shut, trying to convince off a headache that felt like it was from lack of sleep. Or maybe lack of Dean. The lights of the apartment were too bright, the candle flickering in the corner mocking Sam. Dean didn't light candles for him. Maybe Dean hadn't been the one to light it, but Sam would bet dollars to donuts he had.

This place was a wreck and it smelled like Dean and Sam didn't want to be here anymore.

"You okay?" Jody asked quietly, probably giving him that mom look again. Sam took his hand off his forehead, shaking his head to clear it and blinking open his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah good. Let's just get out of here, I'm getting a headache." Sam walked out of the apartment as fast as his slightly-unstable legs could safely take him. He could feel the concern pouring off Jody, and Sam didn't care to analyze out what she thought his headache was from. Whatever she was guessing, she was either right or it was from something much worse.

~*~*~

Dean had been thinking about Sam basically non stop. He was always thinking about Sam, but this was different. There was the guilt, the dark hole that settled in his stomach the moment he woke up from being unconscious, in some pit in the ground. He'd gone and gotten snatched and now Sammy was sure to be worried and that was only going to add on to Dean's guilt. But he was the only experienced person in this hole that knew how to not flip the fuck out when everything was dark and scary.

Although really, they had lanterns and a first aid kit, not exactly bad circumstances. Regardless, Dean's temper was through the roof. It was a bad habit, taking his boiling anger at himself out on everything else. Normally he could channel that into monster killing, but right now he was guilty and pissed and that one guy who wanted to make sacrifices of everybody else was like three words from getting slugged. Or worse. Maybe Dean was acting more temperamental than usual, maybe he blew off Suzy like it was already the morning after. It might as well have been. She was great, really was, but she wasn't Sam.

Sam, who wasn't here. Who probably hadn't heard a word Dean said on the phone. At least he'd picked up, at least Dean got to hear Sammy's voice one last time if he ended up rotting in this underground cavern thing.

He normally was a pretty efficient leader, never had a problem stepping up and calming down the civilians, taking charge without pissing everyone off. Now, though, it didn't even fucking matter. Fuck diplomacy and leader shit, Dean wanted out and he was inwardly cursing himself for being such a damn idiot. Like, what the fuck Dean, one hot chick who you've seen naked plenty of times before and you suddenly have to ruin the one good thing you have just because her face is on a plastic DVD cover?

Inwardly cursing himself was an understatement.

A loud banging overhead interrupted Dean's pattern of self-hatred. Suzy looked over at him, maybe for reassurance, but Dean didn't even meet her eyes. He didn't blame her, none of this was her fault, but her relevance right now was basically the same as Honor's. Maybe less, because Neil wasn't trying to serve her up as grape juice for whatever the hell monster this was.

Neil started freaking out, of course, being all you should have listened to me and shit that Dean really was not in the mood for right now. If there were not more important things to do, Dean would lay some fists on that annoying mouth. But that could wait, he had to figure out what the fuck was making all that racket up there first. Preferably before they all got eaten.

"Shh! Shut up," Dean hissed at Mr. Annoying. He stepped slowly closer to the door, hearing muffled sounds on the other side. He couldn't make out what was happening though, so he got closer. If the monster came through that door, Dean was fucked. He should have at least grabbed a rock, dammit.

Once he was under the ladder, there was another voice, muffled to all hell but actually intelligible. And recognizable.

"Dean! We're here! We're gonna get you out!" The voice that sounded like Sam's shouted on the other side of the steel door. Dean was up the ladder in three seconds flat, getting closer to his brother, closer to that sound. If that was Sam. Please please please let it be Sam. Dean's heart was in his throat, pounding for more reasons than just adrenaline. He banged on the trap door from the inside, returning the sound. Sammy's hand might be on the other side of this thing.

"Sammy? Sammy!" Dean banged on the iron again rapidly, wishing it would just give so he could get to his brother. "Sammy!"

His fist hurt like hell already but fuck if he wasn't getting to Sam right now. Besides, whatever monster had them down here? It was up there. And if Dean couldn't get to Sam in time...fucking no. No, no, no, Dean wasn't even going to think about that.

"Hey, Dean, we're here. We're gonna get you out!" Sam shouted back through, the scrape of iron on iron sounding over Dean's head. Crowbar. Good, that was good. If Sam was here, they were going to be okay. Suddenly there was another sound, the clank of the crowbar falling to the floor and then a loud ass crash. That couldn't be good.

"Sammy, are you still there?!" Dean shouted, trying not to panic. No response. The crowbar wasn't going anymore either. Then there was another voice, Jody's, muffled even more than Sam's had been. But Dean heard the worried shout anyways.

"Sam!"

That meant he was down. The crash had been Sam. The blood in Dean's body set on fire. His brother was up there with no backup besides sweet, small town cop Jody Mills. She was great and all, but if this thing was super strong or indestructible or whatever, they were screwed. Dean had to get to his brother now.

He always went into a sort of reckless, clear-headed adrenaline rush when Sammy was in trouble. Soldier mode, thinking smarter than he did normally, but dangerous as hell. It was like every sense in his body amped up, like his brain released extra adrenaline when it was Sammy who was in trouble.

He watched from what felt like a distance as his fingers ran over the trap door, doing the search he should have done a long time ago but most not have thought of. Or maybe he didn't know what was on the other side, if it was a monster that needed a special weapon to be killed. Then it'd just be suicide. But now Sam was on the other side and the kind of monster didn't matter anymore. Just that Dean get out there and join the damn fight.

His fingertip snagged on something rusty and movable. A screw. He'd unscrew it with his fingernail if he had to, but that would hurt like hell and make his hands less able to push this thing up when he needed to.

"Screwdriver, anybody?" he asked to the other captives, although they all were useless as-is, Dean highly doubted anybody had a screwdriver. Hell, a hairclip would be fine. Then the most useful of the group - Neil was an idiot if he thought she should be the first to die - rummaged through the first-aid kit, coming up with scissors to hand up.

"Hey. From the first-aid kit," she offered, holding them up for Dean to grab. See, useful. He spent a millisecond in his head thanking her, or whatever idiot put a first-aid kit in here, and then it was back to Sam and Dean started attempting to unscrew the trapdoor. With scissors. Not really the easiest experience.

Everything was too quiet above him, just the rusty creaking sound as he took apart what he could. Little pieces of rust were falling onto his clothes and face, but if he blinked often enough his eyelashes caught the pieces aiming for his pupils. He made a mental note to attempt to not try to unscrew rusty things five inches above his face. He could figure out some other way to do this some other time though, he needed out. Pronto.

There was a few muffled voices at one point, both sounding like females. So Sam was still down for the count. Fuck. At least the monster was humanoid, by the sounds of it. Unless Sam had picked himself up a porn star too. The joke fell flat even in Dean's head.

Then out of nowhere there was another sound, an angry, pained sound. Then another crash. Fuck, that sounded like Sam crashing into shit again. He was the only one heavy enough to take out entire walls when he went down. Dean started working faster, or at least attempting to, getting rust everywhere.

"Come on, come on, come on, come on," Dean muttered under his breath, probably sounding like a crazy person. He didn't notice. His hands were cramping from holding and twisting the little scissors, but he wasn't giving up any time soon. He had to get these damn screws out. Had to get to Sammy.

"Aah!" came a shout. That was Sam. Dean cursed again and nearly dropped the scissors. He held them tighter, the sharp outside of one blade slitting open one of his fingers. The blood that started to drip made the scissors even slipperier, which made him hold on tighter. Not pleasant at all. But Dean couldn't waste time, couldn't stop now. Not when Sammy was shouting up there, Sammy might be hurt - or worse - with Dean less than ten feet away, underground and invisible to the whole thing.

Only one more left. No more loud sounds from Sam, that could be a good or a bad thing. Probably a bad thing.

The last screw fell loose and Dean let it clatter down to the ground, instantly shouldering up the iron. It budged this time, but there was some sort of lock on the outside. Dean shouldered again, harder, bruising the spot he'd just shouldered. Fuck. He bit his lip against the pain and coiled more, shooting his body up a third time and hitting that same place again. Something creaked and then snapped, and the iron trapdoor was lifting. Dean shoved it out of the way, breathing in fresh, non-rusty air and quickly looking around.

Jody and Sam were both looking down at him, breathing heavy. Dean was trying to get oxygen back in his lungs, it had all left him in that last shove upwards that had knocked the wind out of him from sheer pain alone. Shouldering a bruise even harder was not a good idea at all. But Sammy was okay.

His body relaxed in an instant, leaning back against the trapdoor and looking up at Sam with relief flooding through his body. Hallelujah. Jody looked like she was bleeding pretty intensely, but she was standing, and Sam looked unscathed from here. Of course, Dean wouldn't be entirely satisfied until he had Sam's bare body fully checked, but now was not the time for that. And there was still the girl, probably looking up from underneath Dean at the opened trapdoor. That mess.

"What did I miss?" Dean joked, eyes just mostly on Sam to make sure he was okay. Sam nodded, barely, but it was enough for Dean to not be so concerned. Well, he was concerned, they had like 800 things to talk about, but that could all wait until they had the civilians home and the monster body taken care of.

Then Jody was on her way out too, arm in a sling and smile on her face as she made a final jab at them, leaving them alone in the motel room as she shut it behind her. They hadn't been alone since...before the case, obviously. And before other things. That Dean knew had to be discussed. He at least wanted to explain to Sam. Sam looked beat to hell, tired and upset and so not in the mood for a conversation about anything, really. Let alone the fact that Dean had...that he'd -- you know. Slept with somebody else. The ch word. That he really didn't want to think about.

But there was silence in the room now, save for Sam's heavy sigh as he plopped down on the edge of the bed like his legs couldn't hold him anymore. Dean knew he had to say something. He folded his shirt and put it in his bag, noticing Sam's discarded one in favor of his pouting. This wasn't going to be good. Dean wasn't sure he had the courage to face this head on, though. He just barely turned his head towards Sam as he spoke.

"What's up?" Dean said it as nonchalantly as possible, probably too much so. He kept folding clothes and packing up, like the distraction would make any of this any easier.

"What if there is something wrong with me? Something...really wrong?" Sam sounded distraught. Like he'd given this way too much thought. He probably had. Dean looked at Sam for a moment, trying to size up everything Sam was talking about. It could be the tired thing, could be a lot more than that. He could be talking about Suzy, about why Dean would leave. But based on how there were no accusatory glances being shot his way, Dean was going to play it safe and careful and assume they were only talking about the tiredness. Hopefully they were only talking about the tiredness.

"You're just crapped out, man. You need some rest," Dean offered, fluffing more room into his duffel. Sam still just sat, getting majorly behind on his packing. Dean wanted out of this room as soon as possible. Out of this town. If only they could just leave all this shit in the rear view mirror like they use to.

"Oh, it's more than that." Sam paused and Dean held his breath, waiting for the kick to the gut. It didn't come, Sam's voice just getting more concerned about his health instead. "I mean, Vesta said I was practically dead inside."

"Oh, and she's in the circle of trust now?" Dean countered easily. If he could write off Vesta as unreliable, Sam might forget about it like he did with the shaman that had said something similar.

"Why would she lie?" Sam replied, discounting Dean's way out. Okay, true. There weren't a lot of options of lies left that Sam would buy. Dean searched for a moment, finally settling for a half-truth that should be at least somewhat satisfactory to the mind that worried too much. Not as much as Dean worried, but Sam was still a worrier.

"It's probably the trials, okay? Probably some sort of a, you know, aftereffect. It's not like you're bouncing back from the flu here. I mean, you were glowing with freaking trial juice." It made perfect sense to Dean. It was a white lie of sorts, because the trials did put Sam in a coma, which was an aftereffect. Being healed from the inside by an angel just happened to also be an aftereffect. One Dean couldn't share.

"I don't know," Sam said distantly. Meaning he didn't buy it at all. It was basically a flat-out-no coming from Sam. Which he'd only give if he had something else in mind.

"Well, what else would it be?" Dean asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. This conversation was getting dangerous, treading into places Dean didn't have answers for. Not answers he could say, anyways.

"Why does it have to be something else?" Sam sounded angry now, his voice raised like maybe he was blaming Dean, but not for what was happening to him. He was blaming Dean for saying it was something they could get through. Sam really felt that strongly that the situation was so serious, Dean was being ridiculous and Sam was mad at him for how he refused to freak out about this and blame Sam. "It's always something else. We're always scraping to find some other explanation when maybe it is... just me."

"Oh, come on, Sam." That was ridiculous, and if Sam couldn't tell that by Dean's tone of voice he wasn't listening very hard.

"I'm a mess, Dean. You know it." Sam said you know it so axiomatic and so tired, like he was done with Dean knowing everything. Like he wished Dean had done something about it instead of just knowing it. Dean just stayed quiet. Sammy clearly had a lot on his mind. "And sometimes, I feel like maybe I'm never gonna actually be all right."

You and me, come whatever.

"You will," Dean promised. "All right, 'cause whatever it is, we'll figure it out." Dim lighting and shaking, skeletal Sam, church pews behind them and old stained glass windows over Sam's head. We'll figure it out, just like we always do.

"Or this is... just the way I am." Sam said it so sure, the same way he used to say evil. There's something in my blood, Dean, something you can never wash out or scrub clean. I'm a freak.

Dean shut his eyes. He couldn't let Sam fall back into that pit of self hatred again. Of needing trials to purify him. He didn't need to be purified, there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing that was his fault.

"Sam-"

"No, Dean, you don't get it. Something is wrong with me and you know there is. Hell, you left because of it." Sam muttered the last sentence, looking down at his hands. It took a few seconds for that to sink in, then Dean's eyes went wide. Is that what Sam thought? Sam thought Dean had ch- been with Suzy because something was wrong with Sam? Dean was going to be sick.

"What?" Dean said low, quiet, dangerous. Sam suddenly got brave, looking back up at Dean with eyes on fire and a mouth that trembled when he wasn't speaking.

"You left. You slept with her. Because something is wrong with me and you know it and you've known it for some time now. She was just the perfect out, Dean. You were avoiding me long before she was in the picture, ever since the trials. How many times since that first time back did you try to say no, and I just convinced you into it anyways? I--I'm couldn't see that you didn't want me anymore. I thought you were just trying to protect me from something -- when it was so much simpler than that. You've been distant and getting farther and trying to hide it all, until you eventually just...gave up trying and started physically avoiding me too. Because I'm sick, o-or I'm broken or whatever I am...that isn't good enough for you anymore -- that you can't wait to ditch and leave behind." Sam paused, tears at the corners of his eyes. His voice suddenly dropped quieter. Dean stayed frozen. "You don't have to pretend anymore, Dean. You don't have to sleep with me and, and screw me and pretend it's all okay, I know now how bad you want out. You never had to pretend."

Silence fell on the room as the last word slipped from Sam's mouth. Dean's lungs weren't working like how they were supposed to. Sam thought all of the avoiding, all of the no's and the blocked kisses and rain checks were all because of Sam, because he was broken inside and Dean didn't want him. They'd all been to protect him, to heal him, get him better and not dependent on some angel to keep him alive. And Sam thought, honestly thought that Dean...

The walls spun a little, the ceiling tipping and the world off balance. Dean held onto the bedpost to steady himself. That was what Sam had been thinking since who knows when. Sam thought this was about him. That something was wrong, broken inside of him. And that Dean didn't want him because of it.

Dean closed his eyes again, fighting off the bright lights and the tears that were on Sam's cheeks now. The tears that were in his own eyes. Soon to be on his cheeks too. But he could be strong, strong for Sammy. Soldier up, Dean. Dean shook his head, just a single sideways nod. Not anymore. This was it, this was the line and it had been crossed and fuck any of that other shit, Dean couldn't let this happen. He was not losing Sam like this.

His feet took him around to the other side of the bed he was on, landing on the comforter next to Sam. Sam didn't look at him. Dean took in a shaky breath, at least his lungs had started working again. Ish.

"I can't." Dean said quietly, letting the two words echo in the room for a moment before he opened his mouth again. "I can't let you put this on yourself."

Sam turned to him then, eyes looking broken but maybe just a smidgen hopeful. Dean had no idea how it had gotten this bad. Actually, it had been this bad, they'd just been ignoring it. Probably would have ignored it forever, if Dean hadn't -- hadn't cheated. At least it forced this out in the open, at least it brought this to the table before it got any worse. Although Dean was pretty sure it couldn't get worse than this.

"Listen to me. It's not you, Sam," Dean started. He was going to lay it all out on the table right now, tell Sam fucking everything because he deserved to know, deserved the truth. Sam actually thought Dean didn't want him anymore. It was just the opposite, Dean was a selfish bastard who wanted Sam forever, and would do anything it took - including let an angel in without permission - to have Sam at his side for eternity.

"I wouldn't do that, Dean." He was suddenly interrupted. Dean looked over and realized he'd missed the blue glow that signified the change but was 100% sure he wasn't talking to his brother anymore. Zeke looked at him steely, using Sam's perfect features to give him the bitch face of the century. If this was a lighter time Dean would comment on how Sam was teaching Zeke some very signature bitch faces, but it didn't matter right now. What mattered was Sammy finally getting the truth.

"He deserves to know," Dean said steadily, refusing to give this up that easy. He couldn't keep on going with Sam thinking Dean didn't fucking want him. With Sam thinking something was wrong with him. God, Sam was fucking perfect, he didn't have anything wrong with him but that the universe kept trying to fuck him up for being too goddamn beautiful and perfect and selfless to even be on this earth.

"Your brother is not ready. If he ejects me, he will not make it." Zeke said the words flat and plain, like they didn't just fuck up Dean's life 300 times more. Zeke, with Sammy's tears on his cheeks, looking like stage makeup, as out of place as they were with his expression. Like someone else had cried on the face he was wearing. Someone else had.

"Damn it, Zeke! How much longer we got to keep playing this?" Dean was shouting but this was getting painful, for both of them, all of this. Dean thought he couldn't take the lies, but that was nothing compared to Sam thinking he was broken and dead inside and not good enough.

"Not much longer. I promise you that," the angel said without much convincing ability, then the eyes lit up blue again and Dean's brother was returned to him. Dean sunk, his shoulders slumping and his throat closing up with the threat of tears.

"What?" Sam asked, looking at him expectantly. Dean didn't even remember what he'd said before the angel had popped in and pushed what was left of Dean's hope into a corner and smashed it with Harley Quinn's hammer.

"What?" Dean clarified, feeling guilty and exhausted and sick to his stomach.

"What? What -- what's not me?" Sam's hope was dwindling away into pissed again, probably thinking that Dean was going to bail out on talking about this. Dean had fucking tried he did the best he damn could but if he had to chose between Sam hating him for a little longer and Sam being six feet under and permanently dead, he'd pick Sam hating him for the rest of his damn life.

"Nothing. I just -- I-I meant that...if there is something wrong...it's not your fault. We'll deal with it." Dean paused, knowing he was nowhere near comforting Sam on this. "And Sammy..."

Dean looked over, eyes landing on his little brother's face. Sam looked as damned broken as Dean felt. Funny, how their lives worked that way. Except it wasn't funny at all. He reached out a hand, cupping the side of Sam's face. A tear rolled down the cheek, making another shiny path that got halted as Dean's thumb swiped across it.

"I'm so, so sorry. She had...it was nothing to do with you, Sammy. I promise, I still want you. I still want you so, so much. It's just, things are really hard right now, okay? It's not your fault, it's not. Don't you dare ever think I wouldn't want you because you were broken, Sam. I want you no matter what, come whatever. Okay?" Dean paused, searching Sam's face for any sort of peace there. Sam was just neutral now, watching Dean and listening, letting his head rest against Dean's hand.

Fuck it, Sam needed him and if Dean made the healing process longer, at least he'd have Sam. If Sam had to spend every other day in bed, sleeping off the previous day's activities, so be it. Let Sam fucking sleep, if it meant Dean got to keep Sam happy. Dean had had no idea how much it had tortured Sam, keeping them apart.

He leaned in, demolishing the space between their mouths. And Sam leaned back, making more space. The second he realized it, Dean back pedaled - hard - shooting up again and looking at Sam, who was still leaned backwards. Once Dean sat up straight Sam did too, turning his head away from Dean's searching, terrified eyes.

"Don't. Just -- I can't. Not after you..." Sam trailed off, didn't say it, but Dean heard loud and clear. Dean stiffened, his body bristling and muscles tensing up. His entire body ached, with regret and guilt and wishes he could finally tell the truth. He wanted to just get up and drive, deal with this tonight in between the sheets, when it was dark and easy. But Sam deserved better than midnight confessionals.

"Sammy, she-- I was just blowing off steam. I didn't know it meant that much to you, it never really had before and there was that whole stupid Fave Five thing and--"

"The what?" Sam interrupted him. Okay, he didn't remember. Dean wasn't sure why he even remembered, so it was understandable.

"You know, that game where you pick five people or whatever--"

"Dean, that was years ago. Years. We weren't even fucking together." Sam had his gaze pinning Dean to the bed and not in the pleasant way, in the you've-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me sort of way. Well when Sam put it like that...

"I know, I was just stupid and it was that idiotic bucket list thing and I wish to god I'd never done it. Well, not God, you know what I mean." There was a pause where Sam looked still pissed. Dean tried again. "Sammy, she was nothing compared to you. It's just you, I promise. Always will be just you." Dean felt like he was groveling now, stepping low and getting down in the mud on his knees for Sam. But he'd gone there, and Dean deserved a lot more than just having to beg for Sam back.

And apparently, Sam was going to give him more.

He looked at Dean, eyes sad and almost pitying. With the way his hair curled gently around his face, he looked like a kid. Really, he was just a kid. Sammy went through the trials at the same age Dean went to hell the first time. He just had to deal with all the shit in their lives a lot younger. Dean waited in silence, searching Sam's face for any hint of forgiveness. Finally he sighed, looking back down at his lap.

"I just can't trust you anymore, Dean," he said finally, quietly. "How do I know you mean a word you're saying? How do I know you won't go do this every time something's wrong with me?"

"Because," (as long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you), "...you're my brother. I'm never gonna stop caring about you, you know that. And you know I mean what I say because you could tell from my tone of voice over the phone, if you wanted to. You know me, Sam. And you know I won't leave you because I'll tell you every day if I have to, every day until you believe it." Dean caught Sam's eye, forced his head back up. Moved his hand back to cradle Sam's cheek. Prayed Sam wouldn't move away this time. "We're family. Forever. Even when I fuck up and let you down, I still need you more than everything else in the whole world. Because there's nothing wrong with you. You just got to have a little faith, Sammy."

We can figure this out, we can figure it all out. Sam saw the words reflected in Dean's eyes and Dean watched as some of the hating, steely resolve broke. Sam was going to forgive him. Dean wished to hell he could have just said the truth. Dean wished to hell he could somehow find the courage to find the right way to tell Sam without killing them both.

But Dean was a terrible human being and a terrible brother because he kept his mouth shut. Right up until the moment Sam let Dean put his mouth on Sam's. Sam didn't lean back or run away this time, kept his mouth soft while Dean pressed their lips together. Dean mushed his lips over Sam's, tugging gently at his bottom lip that fit snugly between Dean's. Sam let Dean kiss him, let Dean try to claim back was used to be his for the keeping. It was more than a little depressing, Dean's normally dominant brother just caving like wet cardboard and letting Dean use his mouth. Dean pulled away before too long, feeling dirty and unworthy but casting his eyes down so Sam didn't see. And Sam didn't, because he didn't look.

Dean wasn't expecting to fix this with a kiss. This wasn't fucking Disney. But it was a start, a start towards forgiveness and normalcy and fixing all this shit between them that had gone so far off the deep end. Dean hadn't even seen it coming, hadn't seen the pain Sammy was feeling. It was intense, and in order for it to be that bad, it had to have been happening for a while. All this time Dean had thought Sam had just been a little put off by the sidelined kisses and such. Apparently he took it all personally, though. That was just like Sam, to think everything was his fault. When really, it was Dean's. Dean, who was an idiot and let Sam get hurt and made this stupid deal with Zeke and then went and was selfish with what weak parts were left of Sam's body. Dean was to blame and he wasn't going to let this fall on Sam. No way.

He stood up from the bed, the same time Sam decided to. They moved in tandem, in sync, and Dean was reminded with a horrible punch to the gut that they used to walk in sync, talk in sync, breathe together and do everything together. Now it was a "hey, how are you - let's have sex - okay, somebody carry somebody - sleep - wake - repeat." Dean had noticed it, he had, and he'd been working on fixing it. He'd started to try, started with that slow dance to Def Leppard after Sam got him a guitar. Although that had turned to sex pretty damn quickly too. Which was fine, Dean had written it down as a mostly-successful operation in his book.

But it had been once. Much too little, much too late. Dean was going to have to amp it up even more now, because any little progress they had been making between married and un-married, then started with the fluffy hand holding and kinkier-than-ever sex had been zilched when Dean almost kissed Cas. Then after that bump they eased back into things and talked about the past and opened up a little through the music on Dean's guitar. And they'd slow danced and taken a moment in time for their own. Which had lead to Sam getting sick and Dean worrying then this stupid case where Dean fucked up Everything they'd worked on because he was a miserable fail and entirely unworthy of Sam's affection.

Dean bit back the sting of tears in his throat and his eyes, moving away from Sam to finish packing his bags. They worked quickly in silence, Dean focusing on getting his breathing under control. His mind was playing repeated loops of Sam's speech about not being good enough for Dean and the greasy breakfast he'd eaten threatened to make a reappearance at the memory of the words.

He sniffed once, attempting to get control over his shaking body. Sam, leaning away from him, tears running over his little brother's face in a mix of exhaustion and sadness. Dean had done this, had caused even more damage when he'd tried to fix all the initial pain and problems he'd caused. All this, because nearly a year ago he'd faced his second to worst fear and flopped. He'd been face to face with a hellhound and didn't have the strength to kill it. All because he'd frozen in fear of the second worst thing imaginable. Ironically, his failure was what brought his biggest fear, the only thing scarier than the invisible creatures, to life. And that was losing Sam.

Normally, Dean Winchester wasn't a crier. His body forgot that right now apparently, as the weight of every mistake he'd made since day 1 crushed him, mocked him, tugged at his tear ducts with all the weight. When he sniffled, trying to get himself under control, Sam turned around to look at him. Dean looked down, fast, not wanting Sam to see him like this. Not because he was hiding either, but because this wasn't fucking about Dean.

He was not the one who needed comforting, not the one who needed to be held and reassured. He wasn't going to let himself be.

Sam was quiet, looking at Dean and his ducked head. Sam could see his shame, Dean was sure, but he wished Sam would just turn around. He didn't want Sam forgiving him out of pity for how fucked up he was. There was still silence as Dean zipped up his duffel, breathing in slow and trying to will the water in his eyes away. It wasn't like Sam hated him, Dean reminded himself. That didn't make Dean feel any less like trash.

"You ready to go?" Dean asked gruffly, throwing his bag over his shoulder and walking to the door. Sam nodded as Dean glanced at him, matching packed duffel on Sam's shoulder too.

The seven hour drive back to the bunker was going to feel longer than it should. The first half hour on the road was spent in silence, Dean staring at the blacktop and slowly drying the treacherous pools hovering over his bottom lashes. He wasn't gonna cry, they could fix this, they had fixed worse. This was nothing compared to Purgatory, or soulless ness, or Cas jealousy, or a fucking Coma. But maybe because it was so little, so every day, that it stung so much. Like if they fell apart at this, if all it took to ruin them was one mistake between a yes or no, maybe their relationship wasn't as strong as Dean had thought.

"Why did you think I wouldn't care?" Sam spoke suddenly, turning his entire torso to face the driver's seat. Dean jumped at the first word, going from perfect silence to Talking catching him off guard. That was probably Sam's intent, because Dean couldn't on-the-spot-fib without sounding like an idiot, which left him with only the truth to respond with.

"I dunno. I guess I thought it'd be a free pass." There was silence for a moment as Dean glanced between the road an eyebrows-raised Sam. "And I think subconsciously I couldn't think of a reason you would care. We'd Borg slept with other people before and it wasn't like you asked me not to." Sam made an indignant noise. Okay, he took that the wrong way. "Not that that excuses it, it wasn't you fault. I shouldn't have Bren expecting permission or denial, I make my own decisions. And I fucked up, Sam. I made a mistake."

He checked the road ahead, able to see pretty far out. Straight, no cars, safe to look over at Sam. He turned his head and locked eyes with his brother, keeping his heart as open as it could be, straight shot at honesty for once. This was one thing Dean could tell the truth on. One thing he didn't have to lie about.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I am. Really --" Dean breathed out slow, trying to keep his once again watering eyes at bay. "...really sorry."

Sam studied his face for a moment, eyes sweeping back and forth over Dean's features. Finally he sighed, sounding like defeat, his body untensing as he turned his heD to look out the windshield. Dean looked over Sam's profile. His jaw ticked once, then he was looking down and speaking softly.

"I believe you," he finally said. Dean's eyes went wide then he looked back at the road, catching the car halfway into the other lane and straightening it back out. Dean fought back the urge to respond with a childish you do? Instead he waited patiently in silence for Sam to say whatever else was on his mind because he had that look on his face.

They drove on, the pavement disappearing beneath Baby's wheels. Dean watched the yellow stripes slip by, methodical and soothing. Disappearing into the rear view slow, like time was as fluid as Billy Pilgrim said it was. Dean couldn't remember what state they were in, but he knew where they were going and that was what mattered. That, and the man sitting in the seat next to him. Home.

It was dark on either sides of the road, rolling hills and pastures and crops marking what few seconds the Impala's headlights illuminated. At least there weren't ten thousand signs for Wall Drug like there was in southern South Dakota. Other than that, wherever they were might as well have been southern South Dakota for the lack of, well, everything.

Hills, giant sloping hills that neither had suspense nor beauty, nothing graceful or enticing in them. Forgettable landscape, the kind that would take a truly special soul to enjoy. If it was light out, the colors might be saturated enough to be vaguely pretty, or maybe if the sun was setting behind the horizon. That tended to be the only occasional interesting thing about the middle of nowhere they were currently at. Sometimes, the road sloped up a larger hill and looked like it ended, like they were driving straight to the sky. Then the car would breach the top and everything would open up again, too gradual too be dynamic, a big, slow view from the top of a hill that showed another twenty miles of the same place they'd just come from.

Dean liked driving these roads. There was something peaceful about the nothingness, the lack of anything but road and hill and sky. It made Sam dizzy sometimes, when he wasn't feeling well or didn't eat enough, but for the most part he liked it to. For different reasons, though. Maybe Sam just liked these roads because they put a content smile on Dean's face.

It was another ten minutes down the road to nowhere and infinity, past more fields and sky that were too dark to tell apart from just the light of the moon and the headlights. So the sensation was a bit like floating. The closer hills were makeoutable, but beyond that it was a lack of anything substinent. A little like hell was, but Dean didn't mind so long as Sam was beside him. So it was another ten minutes before Sam was bursting out of his head again, angling in his seat at Dean and speaking much louder than before.

"I don't get it Dean, how you thought it wouldn't matter to me after all this time. I mean, things are different now. We're different now. Dean, we have a house. We're officially together. Why wouldn't I care if you went with someone else?" Sam sat, a mid between fuming and mildly annoyed. So like, violently mildly annoyed. Dean was pretty sure Sam would have his arms crossed if his elbows wouldn't hit things in the small vicinity if the car. It was a cute look on him, but that was a traitorous thought because Dean still wasn't sure where he stood with Sam.

Sam kept fuming for a moment, but the annoyed energy didn't seem to be pointed at Dean. Whatever it was Sam was about to say though, it was pretty damn important if it got this much riled up in Sam. Finally he puffed air out of his nose, speaking in a mix between a growl and a whine.

"You're supposed to be mine." Sam fumed. Dean was pretty sure his eyebrows hit the ceiling of the car. Sure, Sam played possessive sometimes, but Dean thought it was just that. Playing. Apparently not, apparently Sam really wanted Dean that much, that he wanted Dean to be his and his alone, no exceptions. Not even minor celebrities.

Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise to Dean but it did. Sam loved him, he knew that, Sam wanted him, he knew that. But Sammy insisting Dean to be exclusively only his, forever? Dean wasn't sure that had ever been spelled out before. It still was no excuse to cheat, not knowing, but every time Sam had said "mine" Dean had thought he'd meant that moment, right then. And more as brothers, not sexually. Apparently Sam wanted Dean to be his in every way.

He was flattered. And a little queasy. Here Sam was, claiming him, wanting him, but who was it Sam was even reaching for? A chronic killer and compulsive liar, who was keeping the biggest secret he ever had from Sam in this very moment. And now a newly-formed cheater as well. But Sam put him up on that pedestal anyways. Even though he knew most of that. Dean knew though, he knew the moment Sam found out about Zeke he'd be knocked off that pedestal so fast he'd splat when he hit the ground.

Dizziness threatened his head but Dean clenched his teeth through it. Sam couldn't know, not yet. One more day, one more week. Then he'd tell him for sure. And they could go back to being okay. Until then, Dean had to do the best he could. He had to push Zeke aside for Sam's sake, for the sake of not losing the fragile pieces of an already broken relationship. So instead of pulling over and curling up in the backseat like he wanted to, Dean faked it. He covered up and he painted on, dug the lies down deep. So deep even he could pretend to forget them.

The time it took between Sam's declaration and Dean's decision to bury himself in deceit was actually only a few seconds, just enough time for a slight pause of surprised silence between them. Then Dean was masked and ready, flattered and vaguely turned on at Sam's words. He shot a side glance at Sam, corner of his mouth curving up in a grin as he spoke, voice oozing with sugar.

"Aww, Sammy, I get all tingly when you put it like that." It was a bit of a jump off the deep end, bringing humor and sex back into it so soon, when the wound was still so fresh and Sam might still be super fucking mad at Dean. Dean did it anyways, still glancing sideways at Sam for a reaction.

Sam just stared at him like he was a Wendigo who had offered Sam a cup of homemade tea. Dean hadn't ever said anything like that before, although Sam's face might suggest otherwise. He looked like he was struggling, between whether Dean had said that before or maybe trying to decide if Dean had actually just said that right now. Or if Dean had said it, what the fuck Sam was supposed to do about it. The car was silent as Sam stared at him, and Dean kept up his side glance, mouth parted slightly in an unsure expression as Sam ran the whole thing through his head. The suspense was killing Dean as they both sat frozen, to the point he almost opened his mouth wider and took it back.

Until Sam's fist connected with his bicep, hard. Out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere -- Dean supposed he had that coming. Not that that made the throb any less. His mouth opened in the beginning of a high pitched owww but he never got the sound out before Sam was talking, words not nearly as painful as Dean's arm. Holy shit that guy could punch.

"Shut up, jerk," Sam said indignantly as Dean kept the hand connected to the throbbing arm on the steering wheel, using his left hand to rub over the probably-bruised spot.

"Bitch," Dean fired back automatically. Then the words registered and they both froze, Dean's hand skidding to a halt on his arm. Dean turned his head slowly back to face Sam, who was staring at him. Dean's eyes were as wide with surprise as Sam's were.

They hadn't done that in years. And neither had intended to do it now, Dean was just a jerk for talkin smack and Sam was obviously a little bitch when he punched the driver, who couldn't fight back. It was just, that was what they used to call each other, back when they hunted down ghosties and split an apple pie afterwards, going to sleep in separate beds most nights because neither of them had been to hell and was haunted by those memories. Now, nothing was that simple. It hadn't been that simple since the first time one of them died.

Dean hadn't even thought about that old nickname game. It was so early-years and Dean didn't spend a lot of time reminiscing those. There wasn't much point, things were never going to be that simple again. He wouldn't go back either, if he had the choice. Because he didn't have Sam then, they'd both been too caught up in hiding their feelings from each other to not waste all of that time. Dean would take the demons and the angels and the trails if it meant he had Sammy at his side and in his bed at night.

"Wow, it's been a while," Dean finally joked, huffing out a half-assed laugh and turning back to the road. Sam mirrored the amused sound, looking out his own window.

"Yeah tell me about it." Sam looked out the passenger side window, his voice all reminiscent. Dean wondered what Sam saw in the glass reflection. Maybe the other times they'd said that, all the way back to that first night together after Stanford. Dean, smelling like sewer and caked in lake mud, holding up a hand with an insistent no chick flick moments -- if 26 year old Dean could see him now, slow dancing with his brother and holding his hand in the car. So much for no chick flick moments.

But back then, he'd just wanted things to be simple between them, easy and brotherly and lacking all the sentimental bullshit that always turned into pain and heartbreak somewhere down the road. So he'd held out his hand as a stop sign, the universal signal Sam would understand. Dean's declaration against girliness was responded to by a grin from Sam, the word "jerk" slipping out of his mouth. Dean had replied back with their familiar childhood banter nickname, saying "bitch" like he meant it. Then Dean turned to go take a shower, but he hadn't missed the look on Sam's face. He hadn't missed that smile, that smile on Sam's face that lit up Dean's whole world in that moment, made his stomach flip over and his head swoon. He was sure in that moment that everything he'd figured out about Sam when Sammy left for Stanford was still there, all those pent up feelings were still gnawing at his gut, making Dean feel twisted and hot inside for his brother. Dean cursed Sam in his head for being so...so, Sam and making his shower much more frustrating than it needed to have been.

Funny how after all this time, when so many things had changed between them and in the world they knew, that dimpled smile from Sammy still had that affect on Dean. Years and deaths and hells later, Dean still got weak in the knees when Sam grinned like that.

Dean glanced over at Sammy again, who was leaned against the window, pensive but peaceful look on his face. Dean cleared his throat, looking back at the lines of road in front of them. "You still are though."

"Shut up," Sam responded easily, watching the rolling black hills. Dean let his mouth quirk up in a bit of a smile. Maybe things would be okay after all.

They broke over the top of another hill, world expanding out below the moon and headlights again. The road curved clearly up ahead, avoiding a shiny black pit Dean would assume was a lake. Then it was straight again, cutting through the landscape to the promise of civilization in the distance. There was a hint of lights on the horizon, probably another two-stoplight town offering free donuts to veterans. Dean would go play the "I went to hell, can I have a donut" card if Sam let him. But Sam was really serious about stuff like that so Dean didn't bother persuaded him anymore. Besides, Sam was of the lawyer type, persuasion usually had to be in a sexual form if Dean wanted to get whatever it was he was looking for.

Dean checked his watch with the lights of the dashboard. They only had a couple more hours on the road. So they were probably in Nebraska or something. Lebanon was right inside the Kansas border, so they weren't driving in that state long before they were home. Out of everywhere they'd landed in the years, it was fascinating how the only two buildings Dean had ever called home were both in Kansas. It wasn't Dean's favorite state, there wasn't much to do in Kansas besides make Oz jokes and see can-can dancers at that one Miss Kitty tourist place. At least they had a good band that played there, the one time Dean had ever been. He and Sam should go. Besides, it was rumored to be haunted. They could make it a work date and a play date. If Sam wasn't mad at Dean anymore, that is. Dean was sure Sam wasn't as pissed and hurt as he was earlier -- Desn would rather Sam be pissed than hurt any day -- but he still didn't know exactly how they stood.

"We good?" Dean asked the yellow lines disappearing to his left. The silence was broken again, for like the fifth time. Sam stirred against the window, lifting his head and looking at the road in front of them. He took his time before he answered, thinking it over and mulling ideas and situations. Dean waited, tapping his thumb on the leather steering wheel a little impatiently. Sam wasn't in a rush though, there was nothing else they had to do besides talk right now. When he finally answered, he said it slow too, relaxed for once.

"You're going to be on your knees -" Sam put a special tone on the word knees that instantly made Dean think Sam meant that literally as well as figuratively, "-earning your forgiveness for a while." Sam shot hit a glance that confirmed he meant that in lots of ways. Dean swallowed and turned his head back to the road. He could definitely agree to that. There was another beat of silence, then Sam cleared his throat and spoke again.

"But yeah. I think so." The words sent a river of relief through Dean's veins and he closed his eyes for a moment. There was no way in hell he could have done anything in his life to deserve somebody like Sam. No, better, to deserve Sam. When he opened his eyes back up and his bottom eyelashes felt stuck together and a little damp, Dean was pretty sure it was just overwhelmed relief.

Sam was looking at him quietly. Maybe he noticed the unfallen tears that had gathered on Dean's lashes, or maybe it was too dark to see. Dean didn't really mind either way. So long as they weren't streaking his cheeks he was fine. He sucked in a breath, letting the air escape again through a open circle mouth, making a breezy sound. Sam was still looking at him, waiting, ready to say something else. Dean cleared his throat, got a grip on himself, and turned to Sam with raised eyebrows, inviting whatever else Sam wanted to say.

"Was she any good?" came the question out of nowhere. Dean blinked and turned his head back forward. What? What the hell kind of question was that? Dean would have said that out loud but he knew the answer was just going to be a repeat of the ske four words Sam just said. So he gripped the steering wheel tighter instead, rubbing the leather under his palms. Nervous.

"You really wanna talk about it?" Dean asked. Dean didn't want to talk about it. And he had no idea why Sam would want to. Sam just shrugged, making his curved hair flop over the side of his face.

"Yeah, maybe. It might make me feel better. I mean, I wouldn't know, we never really tried the whole talk-about-it-thing." Sam fidgeted with the corner of his shirt, looking little again for like the eightieth time. "I don't wanna just bury this, Dean. Then it can come back up and haunt somebody. We have to be able to let it go, burn it to the ground."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really, Sam, salt-and-burn references? This isn't a spirit man, it's a-a, I don't know, an event."

"Yeah, I know, but it's worth a shot. I just, I don't want to wake up thinking about it, and I don't want you to either. So tell me about it. Tell me about her. Then it's over." Normally Dean was fully behind Sam's logic, but he wasn't so sure about this one. It could backfire, make Sam hate him even more when they'd literally solved this, like, seconds ago.

But they had an hour forty five to kill and Sam was asking. He wanted to know, Dean want going to keep that from him. So he shrugged, giving in to the face Sam was making at him.

"Okaaayy, if you really want. Do you want the run down or all the gory details?" Dean was really hoping Sam wouldn't say--

"Gory."

Okay, well, Dean was going to wish faster next time. He sighed, looking in the distance at the lights that were slowly getting closer. He took a moment to take serenity from the surroundings, from the drive. The road ahead, that was eventually going to become a road to the sky and open up to a whole new set of lights all over again. Dean could do this.

"Well, I guess I'll start with the walk to her place, then."

Surprisingly, Sam didn't interrupt him very often. He corrected Dean's Spanish, which vibrantly reminded Dean that all this time, he had a seductive Spanish speaker all of his own. Just another reason Dean was an idiot for thinking he should hook up with CarmelitaSuzy. Then Sam proceeded to laugh at Dean's rendition of the sí thing, putting a hand up to stop Dean's story for a moment while his laughter died back down. Dean grinded his jaw and snorted out an annoyed sound. It sounded corny now but it had been hot at the time so Sam could shut the fuck up.

Sam's smile faded though as Dean eventually continued, both of them wincing as he started in on the details. Sam was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the story, which got harder and harder to tell. But Dean made it all the way through, having to pause occasionally, but refusing to omit details he was dying to. It took him at least a minute of stressful silence to figure out how to talk about the climax. He got through it though, refusing to look at Sam from the moment he had to mention his dick being inside someone else.

Eventually the whole story was over, right up to point where Sam banged on the iron door above his head. Dean could have stopped at getting abducted by the blue fire, but he wanted Sam to know the morning after. Always the adios. Although this time in an underground pit, and not actually parting ways. He wanted Sam to know how he'd woken up from being unconscious finally having his head on straight. How he felt guilty and awful and had ignored Suzy and snapped at everyone else, guilt eating him up. That part was important. Although he didn't say anything about the rusty screws spilling rust in his eyes and the scissors slicing open his hand because that was going to being some unnecessary scolding. And it would totally take away from the point, which was Suzy.

They were a half hour from the house and in very familiar territory by the time Dean finished and the story fell silent. The car fell silent, the whole world around them fell silent. Dean blinked but kept looking at the thin street. The comforting landscape had been gone for a while now, tall cornfields on either side of the car and a thick, double yellow line separating the two lanes. Sam hadn't spoken since the sí thing, but Dean hadn't expected him too. Dean just really wished he could know what Sam was thinking right now.

"Wow," Sam said finally. Not really, Dean wanted to reply.

"She wasn't you," he finally coughed out instead. His skin was hot and prickling because Sam was looking at him now, Dean could feel the weight of his eyes. He wasn't sure how to look back at Sam.

"Well obviously," Sam replied, sounding sassy and somewhat okay. That was curious. Dean still didn't look. He just hummed in agreement, pretending to be very absorbed in this unfortunately straight and easy to drive road. Like Sam would buy that, right. They drove another couple of miles.

"You feel better?" Sam asked after a while.

"Not really. You?"

"I don't know. Maybe." More silence. Maybe was good enough for Dean. So long as Sam didn't feel worse. Which he didn't -- right?

"You regret asking me to tell you that?"

"You regret doing it?"

"Hell yeah."

"Then no, I don't regret making you tell me." Sam looked out the window and Dean made a face. Okay, solid logic. Kind of.

They didn't speak again for the next fifteen minutes of driving, but the silence in the car felt more resolved. Nobody was mad, and nobody was beating themselves up like before either. Well, mostly. It might take more than just a car ride confessional for Dean to forgive himself for Suzy.

If Sam really wanted Dean to forgive himself, though, he might. One day. For Sam.

In the meantime, Sam had already said Dean had a lot of asskissing to do. Well Sam had said knees, but Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't protest a rimjob in replacement of a blowjob. Not that he was going to just use sex to get Sam to forgive him. They'd been doing that, hiding behind that for too long.

Dean was done with that mess. He'd prove it to Sam in other ways, more thoughtful things than just getting off on each other. They could do that too, though. Because fuck the distance idea. It had backfired anyways.

Once he'd realized what a sex-reliant relationship they had, and of course the physical trauma it did to Sam, Dean had freaked and cut Sam off instead of easing out like a regular person. That whole withdrawal thing had been more than unpleasant for everybody. Still was. Look what it had led to, to Dean cheating. Something Dean had sworn he would never do and had been so good at for so long. Years, and he'd held his ground. Only to lose it today. Or yesterday, depending on whether they'd passed the midnight mark yet. It probably had. The chastity meeting had been at like ten in the morning, then the hour with Suzy and he'd been abducted at noonish, Sam had probably rescued him at four or five, then they were on the road by six and it was a seven hour drive. So yeah, it was one a.m. ish then.

Dean was tired as fuck, in all honesty. He'd had a bit of a stressful day to say the least. He'll, he was surprised he managed to stay awake for the whole drive. He was even more surprised Sam had. The kid should be passed out. But he'd stayed up, stayed up to listen to Dean tell that story. Well, all that thinking and they were finally home. And both ready to pass out.

He pushed open the car door, leaning against it as the familiar creak echoed in time with Sam's. The concrete of the garage floor felt unfamiliar on the soles of his boots, feet being pressed to the pedals for so long. They'd only stopped for gas, once, and Sam hadn't even bothered getting out of the car at the time.

But now that had solid feet under their ground again. And Dean couldn't help but wonder if that changed everything. Maybe in the moonlight magic of the car, it was easier for Sam to forgive Dean. Maybe once they were faced back with reality and that grotesque story still echoing in their heads, Sam would be mad at him again.

Dean closed the car door, ignoring the duffels in the trunk. That was what the mornings were for. He stepped around the back of the car, watching his boots echo on the concrete floor. This room was immense and mostly empty and the sound was loud. Then suddenly the sound was joined by another pair of boots, following behind him. He still hadn't found the courage to look at Sam since he'd told him everything. Supposedly one of the best hunters in the world and he was terrified of the way Sam might look at him now. Terrified that maybe Sam would see him different. In a different light. That Dean would be even more unworthy now.

He froze in his tracks, the bootsteps behind him halting too, still some distance away. Dean couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't keep just -- He wasn't going to let this ruin them. He wasn't going to let one stupid, selfish mistake ruin the two of them. Because they had survived so much, they'd survived the damn apocalypse. Hell, the way the two of them felt about each other saved everyone else in the apocalypse. They'd made it through storms and fire and Hell and Heaven and Purgatory and the trials and their childhood and everything else shitty that had been thrown at them. And now Dean was getting all worked up over one mistake, one mistake that was nowhere near half the monumental shit in their life that they had to wake up with every morning. Sam had somehow moved past it, it was the least Dean could do to go with him.

It took a few more seconds, then Dean lifted his head, looking at the wall and staircase a little ways in front of him. Gray concrete, black banisters. Cold floors, heater vents near the floor. Red and gold lights downstairs, bedrooms with rumpled beds and rooms they hadn't even touched yet. Books, for Sammy. Cars, for Dean. Safe and secure and more than they'd ever needed. They had a kitchen, a library, a magic table that could sense angels. They had a family, a best friend in Idaho and a prophet up another black banistered staircase, looked in his prophet room with paper drawings on the walls. There was the king of hell in their basement and the memories of everyone they'd lost in their heads. There was a picture of their mom on Dean's dresser, John's journal in Dean's jacket pocket. This was their home. Theirs. His and Sam's. And none of that whiny shit was flying here.

He spun on a heel, eyes meeting Sam's the moment they were facing each other. Dean didn't even notice the color, the way his brother's eyes could go from gold to green to blue to purple to brown, like most hazel eyes did. It didn't matter though now, what mattered was what was behind those eyes. Eyes are the window to the soul and their souls locked the same time their eyes did. That was the important part. Because they - the two of them - were actual soulmates. Under the terms of heaven, under the words of Ash. And of everyone's words in the world to trust, Dean would pick Ash's. Their eyes met and Sam looked at him, expression revealing he was a little unsure of what to expect. Dean was unsure too, this whole thing felt so much bigger than it had to be. But it was damn important, it was, because it was love and that's how that goes.

They loved each other and that's how it goes.

Dean lifted his arm from his side, extended his hand out to Sam. There was a moment of breath, then Sam was stepping forward and his fingers laced through Dean's. Dean turned back around, letting their entwined hands fall down between their bodies. They walked together, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, down the stairs. Finally home.

They walked together, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, all the way to Dean's room, where they would both be sleeping, curled into each other with arms wrapped over each other's backs.

They walked together, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, and it felt like a miracle.

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It would have been cute if when Dean woke up, Sam was already up and attempting at breakfast, all of the new changes in their life going into action as Sam burnt eggs to the pan and cursed as Dean walked in, the sleepy one this time. But in reality when Dean blinked away, he had to spit out pieces of Sam-Hair that had made its way into Dean's mouth overnight somehow. Because Sam was still half draped on him both of them on their sides and facing each other, Sam's head not even on the pillow anymore, tucked under Dean's cheek instead. Sam's hot mouth was breathing on Dean's collarbone, and his hair was everywhere. Thankfully not in Dean's mouth anymore, though. It may feel like silk but that did not mean Dean wanted it in his mouth.

On an ordinary day, now is when Dean would untangle himself from The Octopus, stuffing his pillow in his place and snorting as Sam curled around it and inhaled. Apparently his pillow smelled like him, too. But today didn't feel like it was going to be an ordinary day. So Dean didn't move from the death grip Sam had on him, didn't unwind his legs from the ones hooked over and through his. He didn't move at all actually, save for blowing Sam's hair out of his mouth.

Instead Dean closed his eyes again, moving his fingers in small rivers up and down Sam's back. He could feel a combination of muscle and knots - Sam was getting a back message today, damn - through the soft fabric of Sam's tshirt. Sam's hands had fistfuls of Dean's tee where his arms were draped over Dean's shoulder and curled around his waist. His hands met somewhere in the middle of Dean's back, one high on his spine and one almost at his ass, elbows curved up in a possessive grip.

Dean noted all of the places Sam was touching him, moving past the obvious ones like the hands that were stretching out Dean's tshirt in their grip. Sam's nose was tucked against Dean's neck, bottom lip barely brushing Dean's shoulder when he inhaled. The side of Sam's neck was brushing the distal end of Dean's collarbone, and their bodies went flush at the hips. One of Sam's legs was wrapped over the outside of both of Dean's, tucking back between them with a bend at the knee. Dean blushed as he realized the other knee was pressed tight and hot against his crotch, making his already morning wood become an even more interested morning wood.

His breathing quickened a little in response, body tensing up a bit. Like Sam could sense the change in his sleep (he probably could), he tightened his hold on Dean, shifting his weight. Which dug his knee into Dean's erection a little more, putting pressure on the responsive muscle. Dean gasped, open mouthed to stay quiet. He didn't want to wake Sam. Only problem was, gasping meant inhaling through his mouth which means that all of the hair he blew out of his mouth was back in again. Except this time it caught him totally off guard.

He spit out the hair pretty comically, making phew and bbbb noises in the process. He sounded ridiculous but there was hair in his mouth and that was not something he was just going to put up with. He really did try not to be too loud after the initial surprised noises, as he blew quietly at a piece draped over his lips. But the sounds he made at first were unfortunately still loud enough to make Sam stir.

The body pressed to his moved in closer, like Sam was trying to escape the crazy sounds Dean had just made. Sam's hips shifted forward and his knee slipped downwards, dragging his thigh over the crotch of Dean's thin cotton boxers now. The shock waves ripped through his body, sparking and tugging. Dean's head tucked down into Sam's hair and he moaned, the sound dragged out of his throat in the rawest fashion.

He couldn't help it. It was a natural response and it just happened to be a lot louder than Dean had hoped. He held his breath, trying to be as still as possible against Sam's sleeping form. His only goal for the morning was to lie here and sleep tangled up in the possessive grip of his brother. But the universe had other ideas, because he was impossibly turned on and embarrassingly loud in being so. And he wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Someone's in a mood this morning," came a quiet, groggy voice from the world outside of Dean's closed eyes. Dean breathed out the breath he'd been holding, Behind closed eyes, Dean could feel Sam's weight against him even more prominently. Sam was still for a moment, could have been just sleeping and tangled up in Dean, if it weren't for the sleepy comment he'd just made. Mostly Dean was trying to breathe without his air sounding ragged and giving him away. Sam could apparently sense Dean's distress.

"Mmm," Dean hummed back very articulately. His nose was still tucked into Sam's hair, breathing in the unmasked scent of him. His voice was probably going to be a joke if he tried speaking, his body was so riled up. And Sam knew it too. After all, he'd woken up to a low, sexual moan and a serious bulge pressed to his thigh. It didn't take a genius to figure out what exactly that mood Dean was in.

"Go back to sleep," Sam murmured into Dean's skin. Sam's mouth was warm and his lips brushed over Dean' shoulder, making him want to close his eyes and let Sam put his mouth everywhere. Just that warm, soft mouth, kissing over every inch of Dean's body...if only Sam wasn't in a sleepy mood instead of the kind of mood Dean was in. Although Dean wanted to be all sleepy and cuddly with Sam, it was Sam's own fault that he rubbed himself over Dean's junk.

"Then move your damn thigh, and maybe I'll be able to think about something besides your dick," Dean shot back, having like eighty times the amount of energy that Sam did right now. Sam huffed out a silent laugh onto Dean's skin, making it prickle with want from just the warm air alone.

"So endearing and romantic," Sam swooned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. But sounding a little more awake, at least. Dean was about to reply to that, something kickass and awesome like he always was, when his mouth fell open with a deep groan instead. Sam decided to pick that moment to rub his thigh up in a circle against Dean's erection. This time was totally different than the other accidental stimulations, because those had just been brushes and soft touching. Now, Sam rubbed him purposefully, hard and almost painful as he forced stimulation up Dean's spine.

"Fuck, Sam," Dean definitely did not whine. Sam snorted, that sound he always made when he was making fun of the noises Dean made. It wasn't Dean's damn fault, his vocal chords were just...intense. A lot more intense than the basically silent Sam, who only moaned and breathed heavy, occasionally whimpering if he was bottoming. But other than that, Sam was just quiet and hot and gorgeous and Dean was a mess the moment Sam touched him.

It had actually been a bit of a problem a few times, they'd been yelled at by Kevin once or twice, normally when the kid came down to grab food for breakfast. He would stomp in angrily, asking with a shitton of sarcasm if Sam could maybe have picked a better person to sleep with than a damn banshee. Dean's eyebrows shot up and he looked to Sam, chalked full of surprise. And Sam freaking snickered, apologizing briefly to Kevin before laughing at the look on Dean's face. Apparently Dean was a "damn banshee." According to Kevin.

Although now that he thought about it, they'd gotten a few motel complaints over the years too. The manager or whoever would come knock on their door after it seemed safe and the noises had calmed down. Dean would always stumble out of bed, wrapping himself up in the soiled sheet and tred on tired feet to the door, cracking it open with a sleepy "yes?" The manager would take one look at Dean's disheveled hair and lack of clothes, then stammer his way through a standard please quiet down message that would just get a funny look and a door in the face from Dean. Just because Dean was small to Sam didn't mean he wasn't big and intimidating to everyone else, so whoever had just had a door closed in their face tended not to come back and complain again.

Sam kind of loved those moments, if only because he got to see Dean grumble and wrap himself in a sheet to cross the room, his feet bare the way they only were during sex. And as always, Dean's hair was a bit of a weakness. Despite it being short, it could get quite disheveled sometimes, and it was fucking gorgeous. Sam could still remember the first time he'd seen Dean's hair like that and noticed, blushed as he caught himself noticing. It was early on, only before their third case together or something. He'd gone out to get coffee and when he came back, Dean was face down in bed still, ass in the air and much more sloped than Sam had remembered noticing. Not that Sam had noticed. Or was noticing now.

Then Dean had woken up with a start, turning his head accusatorially over his shoulder, then rolling his eyes when he saw it was only Sam. Sam moved then, realizing he'd been standing there and checking Dean out like a creep. It was just the stress from lack of sleep. And purely an observation. Then Dean had sat up, reaching blindly for the coffee Sam held. Sam remembered asking Dean if he was scared, and Dean replied with his usual too-macho never. Then Sam had reached under his pillow, pulling out a long, sharp knife and making some sassy comment about "then why do you sleep with this?" And Dean had had an answer for that too, something about just being conscious. He'd taken the knife back from Sam, tilting it up in the air as he spoke. Light glinted off the tip and drew Sam's eyes upward, then his gaze caught on Dean's hair. Which was a total, hot, disheveled mess. Sam stared for a moment or two, capturing the image in his head before turning away guiltily.

So many years later now, Sam still remembered exactly what that moment had looked like - Dean, with a sideways grin on his face and hair fucked to hell, holding up a glinting knife in nothing but a tshirt and boxers. That's just what Dean's hair looked like every time he answered the door of a noise level complaint. So by the time Dean would close the door on the manager and turned back around to Sam, Sam was already biting his lip and watching Dean with hungry eyes. Dean would pause, notice the look on Sam's face. Then with a wicked smile, he'd drop the sheet from where it was already low swung on his hips and held up with one hand. The hand would release and the white sheet would crumple to the floor, leaving a naked and disheveled and very very hot Dean standing in the middle of it. Sam would growl a c'mere at him and Dean would run across the room and tackle Sam on the bed, rolling together and laughing about how damn noisy Dean was.

Sex with laughter was one of Dean's favourite kinds. He had only had it two or three times, all with Sam. Dean squeezed Sam a little tighter to him here in the present, thinking that maybe that's how they should spend part of today. He opened his mouth to say something about it to the koala bear on his chest, then closed it again when he noticed Sam's breathing. Heavy and slow, fully back into sleeping mode. As in he was already back to being very much asleep. Sam's leg was still pressed up against him and it made Dean want to roll his eyes back in his head, but he just bit down on his lip instead. That was always at least a semi-successful move.

Okay, Sam was sleeping and Dean might as well do the same. Sam had asked him to, right? And Dean was still on his path towards redemption of trust, so an easy step one would be actually listen to some of Sam's requests.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to take him. Haha, right. He had a throbbing boner and warm breath over his neck and shoulders, how was he supposed to sleep with that? Or he could just fall asleep painfully hard and wake up even more painfully hard. Fun. But there weren't a lot of other options, short of rubbing himself off on Sam's leg right here and now. He considered it for a moment or two, just taking a trip back to when Sam was twelve and getting hard and made for some very awkward mornings sometimes. But if he woke Sam up, he was sure to get an earful of complaining about how Dean never let Sam sleep, and hadn't that been Dean's original goal anyways?

So he sighed and tucked his nose back into Sam's hair, sure to keep his mouth shut from the stray pieces. If Dean was going to let them have sex again eventually, Sam was going to need more rest, and that was that. It scared Dean, to have Sam sleeping all the time, but that was the sacrifice he'd have to make for Sam being happy when he was awake. Because for some unknown reason, having sex with Dean really did tend to make Sam happy.

 

He didn't realized he'd drifted off until he was waking back up, still wrapped up around Sam, still in the same position he had been when he fell asleep. Except now there was sunlight in his room, lots of it, and the shadows were basically nonexistent. It was like, noon, then. Maybe. The lighting in the bunker was confusing, it messed up all the shadow-sun-time reading Dean had learned as a kid. Part of hunter training. But whether it was noon or not, it didn't really matter, because Dean was all for not leaving the bed at all today. Except to get Sam food. Because Sam didn't eat enough.

"Hey, baby?" Dean asked quietly, words muffled in Sam's hair. It was a quiet question, just one to see if Sam was up yet. Which Dean highly doubted.

Until Dean's pillow moved and Sam lifted his head away from Dean's neck, making Dean blink in surprise as Sam layed his head down across from Dean's and looked at him.

"Oh. You're awake," Dean said, kind of shocked. How long had Sam been up? And he'd just been laying there, still curled into Dean. Now, facing Dean, he had an amused smirk on his face. And his hair looked crazy.

"Yep. Long enough to hear you dream about me," Sam replied snidely. Dean shifted his shoulders, raising and eyebrow at his cocky little brother.

"Is that so?"

"Mmhm," Sam replied, his thigh rubbing up on Dean's crotch again. Something sticky and warm slid over Dean and he looked down, not like he could see anything with his body still pressed to Sam's. Then he suddenly realized he wasn't hard anymore, even though Sam had just pressed his thigh up against Dean. Instead, his boxers felt wet, like -- Oh, god.

"Did I--?"

"Mmhm," Sam hummed again, face breaking into a laughing smile this time. Dean groaned and shut his eyes. Wow, he had totally had a wet dream about Sam and he didn't even remember it. Sam certainly had gotten to witness it though. If only Sam hadn't been teasing him, making him go back to sleep stock-hard and horny as ever, rubbing all over Dean. Of course Dean had gotten off on it. Dean opened his eyes back up and Sam caught his gaze, snagged his own bottom lip between his teeth, looking over at Dean lustfully from where he was laying. "I mean, I helped."

Dean's eyes widened, and just the thought made his dick twitch in interest.

"You got me off while I was asleep? You kinky bastard," Dean said, voice full of awe, maybe even a little admiration. Sam laughed, eyes crinkling up and dimples showing. Dean's gaze cut down to that smile, those dimples, and felt that familiar tug at his heart.

"Learned from the best," Sam replied cheekily. Dean snorted. Sam was totally way kinkier than he was, Dean just liked Sam so he'd do anything with him. It was Sammy with all the ideas. "Besides, why do you think you woke up?"

"Mm," Dean agreed, making a face at the cooling stickiness in his boxers. Ugh, he needed a shower now. "Well great, now I have to get up and clean myself."

Dean moved to roll out of Sam's embrace but Sam snatched him around the waist, pulling him back in tight. And kissing him, out of nowhere. Dean's eyes were open in surprise for a moment then he closed them slowly, sinking into the kiss and wrapped his arms back around Sam's back. Their mouths moved over each other, sloppy and deep and full of sliding lips and tingles down Dean's spine. Sam didn't break away for a while, and when he finally did, it was just barely, his mouth still ghosting over Dean's parted and panting lips.

"Don't go," Sam whispered low, much more on the sexy side than it was endearing. Dean would totally be cool jumping on board with that don'tleavethebed thing, but he had drying spunk in his boxers and that was gross. Sometimes he didn't care but he definitely cared right now.

"I'm gross," he complained, trying to weasel his way back out of Sam's arms. Sam pushed him down on his back, throwing back the sheet and lifting Dean's hips up with a hand. Dean started to protest - he was getting entirely manhandled - but Sam didn't care, he just tugged Dean's boxers off, carefully so as to not get the mess everywhere. Then he balled them up, using the cleanish damp outside to wipe down Dean's skin, then proceeded to just toss them to the ground. Wow, okay, not what Dean was intending.

Sam sat Dean's ass back down, still looking at Dean from where he was sitting back on his heels. Dean was still in a tshirt, which felt weird when his bottom half was fully naked. He looked longingly at his spoiled boxers, or at least in the direction Sam tossed them, they were out of sight from where he was laying on the bed.

"I like those boxers!" Dean complained. Sam laughed at him and raised his eyebrows, eyes scanning down Dean's half naked body. Dean felt weird being kind-of dressed and not actually dressed. He tugged at the bottom hem of his tshirt, having to arch his back to get it up to his shoulders. Sam's hands joined his, tugging the shirt off over Dean's head and tossing it to the other side of the bed. That was better. Although Sam was still fully dressed and Dean wasn't.

"I like them too. Black is a good color on you." Sam was still perched next to Dean's hips, sitting and looking down at him. Dean propped up on an elbow, reaching out the other arm to tug at the hem of Sam's shirt. Sam got the message and pulled it over his head in one swift motion, his hair flying like crazy when it popped over his head. Dean laughed and Sam tossed the shirt aside, making a face as he smoothed his hair back down. Then Sam crawled back up the bed and layed back down next to Dean, pulling the sheets up over them again, letting it rest at their waists.

"That's because it's the color of my soul." Dean said as soon as Sam was laying down, raising his eyebrows jokingly. Dean was kind of kidding but mostly not. Sam laughed at him again, hand wrapping around the back of Dean's head and connecting their mouths again, but short and sweeter this time. Dean could always get breathless from this kind of kissing, the kind that had breaks for conversation. It was always just enough tension and satisfaction to drive him crazy.

"So long as it's not the color of your eyes," Sam said as he broke them apart this time and layed his head back down to look at Dean. Dean raised his eyebrows again, snorting at the joke that really wouldn't be funny in any other light, in anybody's life but theirs.

"Why not?" Dean played along, rolling onto his stomach and lifting a hand to Sam's chest, tracing absent-mindedly over Sam's anti-possession tattoo with his fingers. The same one that was on his chest. He was never gonna get over that.

"Because I like your green eyes. Much prettier." Sam kissed him again. Dean smiled when they broke apart.

"You've never seen me with black eyes, maybe I'm gorgeous."

"Maybe," Sam agreed, just to drop the topic so they could get back to kissing. Dean could fullheartedly get aboard that boat. He was already hovering over Sam now from tracing fingers his chest, he might as well make it official. Dean lifted a leg over to the other side of Sam, sliding his body up on top of his brother's.

Sam made an indignant sound, like it was such a horrible thing to bottom or something, but Dean just kissed it out of his mouth with another laugh. The cotton of Sam's boxers slid over Dean's lack-of, encouraging back the sort of thing that was ggoing to make a lot bigger mess than was just in his discarded boxers. Dean suddenly didn't care about the mess anymore, snaking his hips back and forth over Sam's. Sam groaned and tightened his grip on Dean's biceps. Yeah, they were definitely going to stay in bed all day.

Sam turned his head to breathe in oxygen, they'd had their mouths attached for a while, and Dean kissed his jaw, nipping slightly at the scruff that burned his lips. Sam closed his eyes, tilting his face to the side more so Dean had a bigger area to kiss. Dean slid his lips up to Sam's cheekbone, kissing a straight line from the corner of it to Sam's nose. Sam squinched up his face as Dean kissed his nose too, ghosting his breath down the side until he puckered up and kissed the tip of it. Sam made a bitch face but with his eyes closed, it didn't have any heat in it.

"C'mon, Sammy, you know you love all that girly crap," Dean said teasingly, kissing Sam's nose again. The words invoked a smile, which was exactly what Dean had been looking for. The moment Sam's dimples indented his cheeks, Dean kissed one quickly, tongue darting out to trace the dynamic contrast in the dent. Sam made a sound that was indecipherable but probably something between that offended noise from earlier and a giggle. Yes, a girly, twelve year old Sammy giggle.

He could just kiss every inch of that adorable face. Wait, that reminded him. Earlier, he'd been thinking how wonderful it would be to have Sam's mouth on him everywhere, kissing him all over. And the only thing Dean could think of that was better than that was having all of Sam's body underneath Dean's mouth. The idea soared through his head and Dean shot up, sitting with his knees in either sides of Sam's hips and making the sheet fall backwards as he looked down at Sam. Sam opened his eyes in confusement, mouth opening to ask Dean what was wrong. Dean spoke before Sam got out a word.

"Can I kiss you all over? Everywhere? Memorize you, take you apart inch by inch with my lips and my tongue and my teeth..." Dean trailed off, his temporary excitement stalling as Sam looked up at him like he was high on something. Right, like Dean had anything to get high on in the bunker. A moment or two of silence passed as Sam just looked at him.

"Yeaah," Sam finally said slowly, cautiously. "Why now?"

Dean sighed. He hated when Sam asked him why. Because then Dean actually had to think about his reasons for doing shit and that just wasn't his MO. He just did. And he just wanted to kiss Sam all over right now. But Sam always made a point to remind him that there was a reason for everything, no such thing as coincidences or random. At least he'd worded the question easier. If it had just been why, the answer would obviously be because Sam was gorgeous and everything. But why now, why did Dean pick this morning instead of a month ago?

"I guess-" Dean looked away. "I guess I want to prove to you I mean it. About us." Quick glance at Sam, who was listening quietly. Okay, his eyes weren't going to turn away now. He kept looking at Sam, as much as he wanted to spare himself the stare from the hazel eyes. Dean definitely saw their color now. "And I wanted to...I want to make you mine. Forever, no exceptions. Every inch of you too, not just the ones I normally kiss and touch. I guess that's why now."

Because of Suzy. Because Dean had been with someone else, even if only for an hour, and it felt like it had severed that connection he had with Sam. And he was going to work to get that connection back, whatever it took. And this seemed like a decent start.

That's what Dean should have said, word for word, but it was what Sam heard anyways. Sam knew him and Sam heard that in between the lines of what Dean did actually say. Which was important too, and true. So Sam got to hear both, with how well he knew Dean.

He scrutinized Dean with his eyes for another moment or two, then he nodded. Quiet, forgiving, sweet. So 100% Sam. Dean's mouth curved in a tiny smile, just because Sam was so...unnaturally incredible. The energy Dean had bounced off with had drained out, but the reason was still there. Stronger, now, too. So Dean leaned over, closing his eyes halfway there and going on faith alone that his lips would land puckered on Sam's. They did. And so they kissed, soft, just lips and no giggling this time.

There was no rush now, no need to have anything happen before they had to go, no worries of who might come in or who might be dying while they took some off time. They had all day in bed today if they wanted, and Dean was going to make the most of it. There was no end goal, and he certainly had taken care of the urge to orgasm any time soon. Sam hadn't been satisfied yet today, but that was the point. Dean was going to make it good, make it so slow it wasn't even about coming anymore. He had hours to kill, hours with Sam's body under him and he was going to spend every second of it doing something important, something that he could - would - remember forever.

He slid his lips over Sam's for a while, tugging sensually at Sam's mouth with the sticky connect of his own. Sam let Dean pick the pace, let him do this, cause goodness knows Dean needed it. And Sam needed it done. So he kissed Sam like he didn't get to very often: like no one was dying and they had nowhere else to be. Just kissing, and kissing and kissing. He'd lift his head away, drag Sam's bottom lip out for a moment, let him catch his breath, then lower back down, moving in slow and solid and deep, lips overlapping each other for a bit before Dean pulled off again, looking down at Sammy with bright eyes.

Dean didn't make a conscious decision to stop kissing Sam, his kisses eventually just strayed to the left. Which was the opposite side from the usual way Dean kissed down Sam's neck. He wasn't sure he'd ever kissed this side of Sam's face. Probably a few times here and there, but for the most part he always ended up on the other side for some reason. Sam had a little dark brown circle at the edge of his mouth, one of his many little flat moles. He pressed his lips to the corner of Sam's mouth and the dot, seam of Sam's lips centered directly underneath Dean's circled mouth. Sam smiled at the placement of Dean's kiss, just a little, which totally changed where the corner of his mouth was, the way it was in relation to the dot. He chased the corner of the grin up, kissing the tip of the smile there, too. It spread a little wider and Dean aimed and kissed again, pinpointing the top of Sam's smile and that little dot every time.

After the third time Sam ducked his head away, beaming and unable to look at Dean or get kissed again without probably giggling. So he took a second to compose himself, then he rolled his head back to look at Dean. Dean was watching him, fascinated, perched above him with gentle eyes on his face. Sam felt like Dean could see into his soul from there. Knowing Dean, he probably could. Sam almost made a remark, something lame and brotherly like if you take a picture it'll last longer, but he halted his tongue in time. As much as it felt usual to fall back to brotherly banter in the silent moments, Dean had asked this of him. And Sam wasn't going to mess it up. So he swallowed the tingly feeling he was getting as Dean devoured him with his eyes, took apart inches of Sam's face with that green. Instead he just returned the gaze, forcing himself to stay level and unmoving for Dean. Dean needed this. They both did.

Once Sam had composed himself - Dean felt like he could see the actual gears turning in that amazing brain of his - Dean moved down again, kissing Sam's chin. Sam tensed like he was trying not to shy away and laugh - they weren't ever really this strangely intimate. They kissed each other plenty of places, just always with the intent of turning the other one on. Or making them feel better. Never just to kiss for the sake of kissing, for the memorization of a person.

The closest they'd ever been to this, this kind of intensity, was actually long before they were dating. Or even had slept together. And Dean didn't remember it, not at all. It had been during one of those hundred plus Tuesdays that Dean died from the Trickster, that hellish Pig'n'a'Poke time period in Sam's life. Sam had traced his fingertips over Dean's face, memorizing it beneath his hand, with his eyes and touch instead of his mouth. It had been a huge moment for Sam. And then Dean had died anyway.

Part of Sam was pretty sure they'd never have that again. They'd been dating and sleeping together for years now but things had never been broken down that intense. They'd never had the time, the reason to take it that slow. During all those Tuesdays, Sam had nothing but time to kill, time for Dean to be killed. Dean had been shocked and resistant at first, then he'd just lain there and took it all. He was silent and still for Sam, the perfect doll version of himself - only with his emotions skyrocketing through the roof. Sam could remember feeling them, every single muscle that twitched beneath the tip of his finger, what must be running through Dean's head in that moment to make that very muscle twitch automatically in response.

Right now, Dean was still just kissing his face, slow, and Sam wasn't sure if it was going to come to that point. For a long time, he'd been hoping it never would. Because Sam had had that, had been in that precious moment with Dean, and he had lost it. Forever. It only lived in his memory and it was meaningless now, because to Dean it had never happened. Sam hadn't wanted another moment anything like it, never ever again. Because he couldn't have that and lose it twice. If he got to that level of intimacy and it was all yanked away from him again, Sam was pretty sure he might die.

But now Dean was hovering over him, looking down at Sam with eyes that were asking him to hold still, to be that silent, understanding version of himself that Dean had somehow been in the Trickster universe. With Dean looking at him like that, so quiet and reserved and honest and open, Sam felt like maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to let that happen again, to open that wound and let Dean make a new mark. It was time that they let themselves break past the barriers they'd put up for each other. Sam needed to let Dean in, even if there was a possibility Sam could lose it, could lose Dean.

Because if there was ever a time Sam was sure that Dean was his, it was right now. After all they'd been through, that wall Sam put up had to come down now. It was time. And Sam was ready. Dean was going to catch him if he fell.

They held eyes for a moment, Dean still hovering, waiting for something. Watching Sam think. Dean didn't know what it was about, was never going to know what it was about probably, but he still knew there was something. Some piece of Sam he had to hand over before they could do this. Sam closed his eyes. He held that memory up one more time, Dean's face under his fingertips. How everything had been different afterword. The searing pain when he'd lost Dean anyways, after having that hope, that next step. Sam held it all up and looked at it and decided it wasn't going to haunt him anymore.

When he opened his eyes again Dean was still there. Sam met his gaze and nodded. Dean blinked, like he hadn't been expecting that. Sam hadn't really been expecting it either, but he meant it. Dean still hesitated, unsure, and Sam nodded again. He meant it.

Dean's fingertips came up to his face then, running across the corner of Sam's eye. The place where Dean had so many crinkles, so many beautiful lines. Sam didn't have those like Dean did, nowhere near that. Dean painted his fingers over Sam's skin there anyways. Sam kept his face still, patient, looking up at Dean and seeing him in that moment, the moment where this had been reversed. For just a few seconds, they were both virtually focused on just each other's faces, fingertips extended and soft. Then Dean broke Sam's vision cloud, bending down to place a quick, soft kiss on Sam's lips. Then he was gone, out of sight.

Sam fought the urge to lift his head and locate Dean, it'd break the moment. Instead he layed and listened, hearing the quiet slide of Dean scooting further down the bed. Then there was a whooshing sound and a still chill as Dean threw back the sheet, probably off the bed entirely, leaving Sam lying out all by himself, just clad in boxers. It was a strange feeling, to not have half of himself tucked under the comfort of sheets. His legs were a little cold, his face flushed slightly with the edges of embarrassment. Just feeling so open, exposed. But this was Dean. Dean, who had seen him in every imaginable form of undress, Dean who took care of Sam every day of their lives. So Sam didn't squirm.

A strong hand lifted up Sam's lower back and Sam flattened his hands to the bed, helping hold his hips upwards as Dean slid Sam's boxers down. His half-hard dick sprang free, but Dean ignored it for now, just focusing on shimmying the last of Sam's clothes down his body, tossing them to the side with the rest of their clothes. Then Dean didn't move back up, settling at the foot of the bed - without much room, because Sam was so tall. There was a moment's pause, just enough time for Sam to wonder if Dean had maybe given up, or decided this would be too much of a hassle after all.

Then Dean's hand wrapped around Sam's foot, fingers curling over the top and thumb braced on his insole. Sam wasn't that ticklish, but it wasn't like he had a foot fetish either. Neither did Dean, as far as Sam was aware. Dean lifted Sam's foot off the bed, thumb running slowly over the rough pad of Sam's foot. Sam stared up at the ceiling, a mixture between confused and complacent. He had no idea what this was about, or what fascination Dean could have with his foot.

"You used to have a scar here," Dean finally said, voice a quiet low rumble. If there had been any noise in the room at all, Sam might not have heard Dean's words. But it was just them, in total isolation, and he heard Dean perfectly clear. He still didn't lift his head, didn't know whether he was supposed to respond or not. Whether his voice would be quiet enough to fit inside the bubble of serenity Dean had built.

Dean was right, though. Of course. Sam had had his scars cleared plenty of times, Dean had too. After their individual times in hell, both of their bodies had been brand new, missing all the scars and broken parts and - in Dean's case - crooked fingers. Cas had cleared a few wounds here and there along the way, so neither of them were anywhere near as scarred up and sewed together as they should have been.

The particular scar Dean was talking about was one of Sam's first, actually. It had been an early hunt, Sam had been 15. He'd stepped on a rusty nail and it had gone clean through his shoe and into his foot. Sam remembered screaming out and Dean rushing to his side, scooping Sam up in his arms only seconds later. He'd carried Sam out to the Impala, petting his hair and shh'ing him. Then he'd layed Sam down in the backseat, making a joke about how chicks only digged scars they could see and nobody was probably ever going to see his feet besides Dean. Sam had snorted at the lameness of the joke, but Dean had fixed him up the best he could, cleaning out most of the rust with Thieves oil - which burned to hell - but would definitely sanitize Sam and keep him from infection. Then Dean had drove them out for ice cream, letting Sam lick at Dean's cone too. They'd barely made it back to the hunt in time to pick up Dad, but luck was in their favor - save for the nail - and they managed not to get torn apart. Which was a rare hunt, far and few between.

The nail had left a circular hole in the bottom of Sam's foot, a hole that eventually closed up with repetitive care from Dean. Then it was a scar, a pea-sized white circle that was always white, no matter how dirty the rest of Sam's feet got. After he'd gone soulless and gotten a new body, the scar wasn't there anymore, none of Sam's scars had been. So he'd entirely forgotten about the incident, actually.

Dean hadn't. Dean apparently still remembered it perfectly.

"Rusty nail," Sam finally said, his voice coming out just barely above a whisper. Sam couldn't see Dean, but he could picture him nodding. Dean's thumb slid over the empty spot a final time, the roughness of Sam's foot making his touch feel like it was barely there. Then Dean was moving on, his other hand joining on the inside arch of that same foot, thumbs rubbing into the bottom. It felt good, like a foot massage. They never did anything like that for themselves, never really spent the time to take care of their bodies to that extent. It was normally just sew-up and move-on. Although if Sam thought about it, his feet had been through a lot. After all, they carried around a 6 foot 4.5 inch man every day and never got a break.

So Sam closed his eyes through the touch, feeling his muscles relax as Dean's thumbs kneaded his foot from toe to heel and back up again. The fingers on the top of his foot pressed in little circles as Dean's thumbs worked over his insole. Sam bit his tongue from the automatic you never told me you were a masseuse, Dean comment his brain tried to make. Instead he focused on his breathing, breathing in time with the rubbing thumbs on his skin.

His foot was lifted a little higher and something soft was pressed to the top of his big toe. Sam forced his breathing to keep steady as Dean's mouth ghosted over the tops of his toes, pressing the lightest of kisses across each of the five. Dean lifted his foot still higher, another soft kiss on Sam's heel. Then he was lowering Sam's foot back to the bedsheets, the bed making a quiet sound as Dean scooted over to the other. Dean lifted that one and the process was the same on the next foot, although there was never a scar on this one.

Sam'd broken his pinky toe on this foot once - stubbing it on a big oak door at Stanford - and that was the first place Dean's mouth went to kiss. His lips lingered on it for a moment, too long to be coincidental, then his hands started on massaging the muscles in the bottom of his foot. Sam thought for a few moments, trying to figure out how Dean could have known he'd broken that toe when they'd probably been halfway across the country from each other when it happened. He just drew up blank in his thoughts, and Dean was too busy massaging Sam's foot to give him any clues. Finally Sam just opened his mouth again.

"How did you know?"

"Hmm?" Dean answered softly, humming the question instead of speaking. His thumbs dug into Sam's foot a little harder.

"I broke my pinky toe at Stanford." And it's been fixed since then, was the underlying sentence Dean heard as well. Dean paused for a moment, then his lips were pressed to it again, soft and chaste this time.

"Do you remember why you ran into that door?" Dean prompted softly. Sam thought back, retracing his steps that day. He had been running late for his humanities class, had three textbooks piled in his arms and a heavy bag over his shoulder. It was before he'd met Jess, actually had probably been his first or second year at Stanford. He was moving a little faster than speed walking, but wasn't full out sprinting - he wasn't that late. His shaggy hair fell in his eyes as he turned a corner, temporarily obscuring his vision. Sam had cursed and flipped his head to the side, flicking the hair out of his face.

The moment Sam's vision was cleared, he saw spiked hair and a leather jacket and worn down jeans, drawn up shoulders and an unmistakable walk, bowlegs with boots and a saunter that owned the world. His eyes locked on the figure and his jaw might have dropped, Sam couldn't remember. Just that one moment he was staring at what had to be Dean walking away and the next he was in a battle with a heavy oak door. The door won.

Sam had walked directly into it, head turned to stare at the figure instead, and had dropped to the ground instantly, pained shout escaping his lips. His eyes automatically went down to his foot, which was throbbing by the way, but it didn't look like his shoe was bleeding. Then he was quickly looking up from where his ass was plopped on the ground, eyes searching for Dean again. There was no one even resembling him in the courtyard. Sam looked for a moment too long, then he sighed and was gathering his books back up, hobbling the rest of the way to class.

"Was it you on campus that day?" Sam's voice ventured, a little hesitant to ask. Dean rubbed his foot for a little while longer before he answered.

"Yeah." A beat or two of silence as that word sunk in. Then Dean continued, slow and soft. "When I heard you go down...I ducked out of sight. Figured it had to be a pretty decent injury if you yelled like that." Another pause, a kiss to the top of his big toe. "So when we started hunting together again a few years later, one of the times I took your boots off I checked your foot. And, sure enough, crooked pinky toe." Dean's voice managed to stay quiet throughout that entire story. He'd kissed his way down this foot too, and then lowered it back down slow to the mattress.

Sam opened his eyes and stared up at Dean's ceiling. Dean had been at Stanford, checking up on him. And he'd remembered something as tiny as that and then proceeded to check up on it years later. Sam wasn't sure what he could even say to that. So he didn't, he was quiet as Dean made an anklet of kisses around Sam's ankles.

Dean's palms ran up the top of Sam's shins as he kissed a line up the inside, from Sam's ankle to his knee, then repeated it on the other side. He took his time, each kiss placed meticulously and lasting for longer than Sam thought Dean had the patience for. His palms were careful over Sam's legs, moving slow and gentle so as to not snag at the dark hair sporadically covering them. He had more hair on his body than Dean did, but it wasn't an unusual amount. Dean neither ignored it nor seemed to care more, just treated it like it was part of Sam's body. Which it was, Sam supposed.

Dean's mouth did stop every now and then, tongue or lips or fingers tracing over a scar on Sam's skin. Most of them were ones Sam had currently, had gotten since he'd gotten his soul back. They were all faint and faded to the point of barely-there, but Dean stopped and paid them each attention anyways. A few were slashes from either a monster or something sharp, only three of those between his combined legs. Anyone else would have never noticed the faint little lines. There was one more serious scar, from where a bullet had clipped the side of Sam's leg. Dean kissed it slow and soft, mouth lingering over the ovular scar on the side of his leg. He didn't say anything about the scars that were there, they had been together when Sam had gotten each of them and Dean had been the one to apply the bandages.

A few inches beneath Sam's right knee used to be scuffed to hell, from a nasty experience in a vamp's nest that had Sam sliding on his knees across concrete. It was before hell though, so it was gone now. Dean fingered the place it used to be, remembering that one too. Sam wondered if there was any scar on his body that Dean had forgotten. Probably not.

Once he reached Sam's knees, everything below them basically having been covered in kisses, Dean's hands traced over them curiously, fingertips circling around his knee bone (was it maybe called a patella?) to trace the whole length of it. Sam had never really thought about knees, they were just something that had been scuffed a lot as a kid, had had a lot of scars, but were cleaner and normal looking now. They were just another part of his body. But now that he could feel Dean on his, he decided they were strange things. Most of the human body was strange, maybe.

Sam had never taken an advanced anatomy class, but he was pretty sure Dean did. Dean knew the name of every bone in a body, most of the muscles and veins and nerves too. Sam remembered big hands coming to cover his nose in the hallway, making him choke and backpedal as Dean snickered teasingly. Just got back from cat dissecting Sammy, its a great smell, isn't it? Sam would roll his eyes - it smelled horrible - and shove playfully at Dean's arm. Smells just like you, Dee. Maybe they should dissect you. Dean would laugh and ruffle Sam's hair, make some comment about how he was too pretty to cut up, and besides, Sam got Dean cut up enough with his clumsiness on hunts, wasn't that sufficient enough for Sam?

Sam chewed on his lip as Dean mouthed over his knee bone, debating on asking Dean why he'd never pursued it. Dean would have been an amazing doctor, he was absolutely smart enough. His stitches were flawless, he was great with injuries and quick thinking, his comforting and nursing skills could win awards. But the only time Sam had ever asked him, Dean just said that's not why he learned anatomy. He learned anatomy for the job, so he could fix Sam up and do it right. Sam had huffed out a breath and crossed his arms, 17 and annoyed with most of what Dean had to say about the future. It was around about the time Sam started looking into college, and he wanted Dean to, too. Dean wasn't interested.

So Dean had never been a doctor, and Sam had never been a lawyer. Maybe in a different life, that's what they could have been. Sam wondered if they ever would have been together in a life like that. Would they have needed each other if neither of them were haunted by nightmares? If no one had ever had to watch the other die? If they had taken each other's presence for granted, would they ever have fallen together in the same bed? Sam wasn't sure they would have and he didn't like the idea of that.

He focused back on Dean's mouth, letting the rest of the memories and questions in his mind slip away as Dean slowly spread Sam's legs apart. Sam's eyes fell shut again, feeling more exposed than ever. Dean was careful with him, only spreading him far enough that Dean could lick up the inside of Sam's thighs. Sam's body shuddered, his erection hardening at the wet sensation. Dean retracted his tongue in favor of his lips again, kissing his way up to more sensitive areas. The oxygen Sam took in got stuck in his lungs, body protesting breathing. He forced his heartrate down, tried to think of calm things as Dean kissed inches away from where his leg attached to his pelvis. The mouth continued higher, slow.

All of the kisses had felt sweet and sensual so far, but Sam was rock hard against his stomach now, balls tightened into his body in anticipation as Dean's breath ghosted over them. Sam bit his lip and turned his head, facing the wall with his eyes still squeezed shut. It was just so much. He could see Dean in his head, mused hair and stark naked, on his stomach in between Sam's legs, propped up on his elbows, legs bent up at the knees with his feet kicking in the air to keep from falling off the bed. It was such an enticing image, Sam wanted to look so badly. He didn't know if it would break it though, if it would break the moment of glass Dean had built for them.

He couldn't risk it. He'd rather only have the picture in his head if it meant he got to have this feeling for a bit longer. And he couldn't take this away from Dean, either. So he rolled his head back up to centered, eyes shut tight still, but not quite as intense as it felt a moment ago. Dean's mouth landed back down on Sam's skin, at the inside crook of where his leg met his torso. Dean had skipped over everything in between Sam's left leg and his right, just letting his air drive Sam crazy before he resumed his kisses on the other side.

Dean's hand clamped down over the top of Sam's thigh, holding him firmer to the bed, but still gentle. Sam turned his attention fully back down on Dean in curiosity. He hadn't been that forceful yet, not that this was forceful at all. It was still careful, still inside that serene glass house. But he seemed intent on holding Sam's leg down, stilling it. It was then that Sam realized he was trembling. His whole body, although his lower half the most. Minute shaking, like he'd been holding himself up on a pullup bar for twenty minutes too long. That was why Dean had Sam's leg pinned down, he was trying to ease the trembling.

Sam focused in on the warmth of Dean's hand, on the moon shaped arc his fingers and palm curved over the top of Sam's thigh as his mouth pressed tiny, soft kisses to the delicate inside. He breathed in deep through his nose, feeling the shuddering heighten for a moment, then Sam released the air out slow and controlled through his mouth. It was a form of yoga breathing he'd learned at one point, not that he'd ever tell Dean that, but it helped. Sam's muscles relaxed a little, his mind slipped a little more. He did it again, pinpointing his thoughts on the warmth of Dean's hand. The trembling slowed again, then as Sam breathed out his third breath, his body stilled again in peace.

The hard press of Dean's palm on top of his leg lifted a little, hand just resting now instead of holding. Dean's mouth continued throughout the whole thing, soft kisses and kitten licks to the white inside of Sam's thigh. He was moving closer to Sam's knee with each kiss, so it wasn't so torturous as the other side and Sam found himself enjoying it a little. Dean's lips had always been incredible, soft and plush and compliant under Sam's mouth. Now they felt kind of magical, tracing over Sam's skin in a precious pattern.

If Dean's mouth was painted red like a girl, Sam's lower half would be painted red too. There wasn't an inch on his legs that felt like it hadn't gotten a specific, important moment of sweet attention. It was a consuming feeling, having so much of his body feel so relevant. Like every place Dean had touched was beautiful, was Dean's whole world.

It was like being worshipped.

Sam had heard the term treat your body as your temple many times in his life, but this is the closest he'd ever felt to that. Except it was Dean's temple to worship at, Dean's church and religion and faith all rolled in one, all stowed and granted in every press of his lips. He was fairly sure that's not what the temple phrase really meant, but Sam liked this twist even better.

As Dean's mouth made a final trail up the top of Sam's thigh, his hands braced on either side of the muscle, Sam realized he wasn't fighting it anymore. He'd been opposed to this idea at first, he supposed. Then he'd been reluctant, then compliant. But now Sam wanted it, he wanted Dean's fingertips and palms and teeth and tongue and lips all over him. Every piece of skin Dean made his own felt like another puzzle piece, another shape of the person Dean was building beneath his hands.

Dean's mouth eventually kissed all the way up to Sam's hip bone, leaving a slightly damp trail in its wake. Each kiss felt a little different, some were wetter and some were softer, some twisted at the end and some felt like Dean's lips were entirely slack, weren't even really in a kissing position, just dragging his mouth over Sam's skin. But once Dean got to Sam's hip, his teeth sunk into Sam's skin, careful and slow. At first it was just a little cold, the slight touch of Dean's teeth on the top edge of his bone. Then Sam could really feel them, felt the press down on his skin. They sunk a little more, making the slightest of indents, then deeper and sure to leave a mark. It was like Dean was entering him, slow and cautious until he had sunk down as far as possible and Sam's hip burned and his skin protested. Any deeper and Sam was sure his skin would break and bleed into Dean's pretty mouth.

The teeth held that grip, right on the edge of drawing blood, not letting up a centimeter but not making that final press. Sam's spine wanted to twist away from the intrusion, from Dean's mouth, but Sam just clenched his fists and tried to breathe again. His hip jerked slightly in Dean's mouth as Dean's lips closed and he sucked at the protesting skin slightly. He was so close to drawing blood, and the way he sucked at the skin only made that chance get higher and higher. The suction drew what felt like every ounce of Sam's blood to the surface, pooling there under Dean's mouth, just a fraction away of spilling from underneath the thin cover of his skin.

Sam couldn't help it as his lips parted, a small sound of pain coming from his throat. Sam wasn't the type to make noises, but that hurt and his hip was throbbing now, his brain was telling him to go into fight mode now. He clenched his fists harder, fingernails digging into his palms as Dean sucked, slow and gentle like his teeth weren't threatening to make another scar on Sam's body. After the noise left Sam's mouth, Dean's hand rubbed small circles into his skin, a few inches away from where his mouth was attacking Sam's body. Just when Sam was sure he was either going to cry out for real, or his skin was going to break, Dean's teeth unsunk, as slow as they came in and hurting twice as much on the way out.

As soon as Dean's mouth pulled off, Sam let out a gasp of relief. He knew Dean had a thing for hipbones, always had, but damnit that was painful. Still was painful. His hip throbbed and burned, and Sam could feel the exact indent Dean's teeth had left in his skin. That was going to be a wicked bruise, a painful bruise that was probably going to last for a while.

Sam gasped again, eyes fluttering in pain as Dean's thumb traced over the mark he just made with his mouth. Sam could feel the possessive pride in Dean's touch, in the way he circled over the mark, regardless of the sounds Sam made. Which mostly consisted of whimpers and gasps. Finally, the stimulation over the bruise slowed and wrapped around to the side, fingertips tracing the skin there like it was special too. Dean's lips pressed a soft kiss to the edge of the bruised mark, then his kisses wrapped over to the side of Sam's hip.

Dean's body had been hovering over his, but as he kissed where Sam's love handles would be if he had any, an expanse of Dean's skin brushed over the underside of Sam's cock. He hadn't been paying much attention to that part of him once Dean's mouth was somewhere else, but now that Dean's torso slid lightly over the skin, Sam moaned. The sudden stimulation after being ignored for so long made it that much stronger, and his throat didn't give him much of an option but to sound that. Dean shifted a little more, knee landing on the mattress just outside of Sam's leg, making their legs brush for a moment as his torso moved to follow. Which meant he was no longer brushing against the sensitive skin on the bottom of Sam's cock. Sam cried out at the lack of contact, a pitiful sound that wasn't loud, but still there. The next kiss Dean pressed to his skin was soothing, but not apologetic.

Sam whimpered again and Dean pressed faster kisses, ten or twelve chaste ones in a three inch square area. Sam welcomed the slight distraction from the methodical slowness, revealing in the swipe of Dean's tongue over the next area of skin, the underside of Sam's rib cage. He moved back over towards Sam's stomach, no longer kissing up his side.

Sam's ribs weren't poking through his skin anymore, like they had during the trials. He wasn't quite as fit as he was before the trials, he still had about fifteen pounds to gain back to be in perfect shape again. But he definitely had abdominal muscles, and nice ones at that. Dean's mouth covered the top right one, which would be top left to Dean. He was above where Sam's cock hit his stomach, but not by much. If he kept tracing over the same paths, Dean was going to have to do something about it eventually. Or maybe he'd just disregard that part of Sam for now, like he had earlier. Sam groaned inwardly at that thought.

It was just that Dean's mouth was so incredible, and this experience was too, but he still wanted to orgasm, still wanted to have Dean's mouth on him in places that were hot and heavy and ready for him. Dean was teaching him some vague form of patience, instead. The wetness of a tongue traced a square around the perimeter of one of the abdominal muscles Dean was working his mouth over. He was hovering now, extra weight pressed on either side of Sam's body where Dean's hands braced him up, inches from touching Sam. If Sam was any less hard, his reddened head would be touching Dean's abs instead of his. But he wasn't, and there wasn't much he could do about it. So Sam might as well just lie there and take it.

When Dean reached the other side of Sam's ribs, his lips peppered the chaste kisses again, plump lips compressing against his skin over and over as Dean moved his body down, marking up Sam's side with warmth all the way down to his other hipbone. Sam automatically tensed in anticipation, but Dean paused above a little way above the protruding bone, moving inwards towards Sam's belly button a little, tongue flicking out to swipe a stripe of his skin. Sam forced another calming breath throw his body, bringing himself back to that stillness. He kept getting all worked up from Dean's mouth and that wasn't the point. Dean didn't ever seem to mind, but Sam still wanted to be that understanding, soft thing for him.

Dean's breath disappeared from Sam's skin, where it had been breathing over the wet place he'd just licked, making it warm. Now it went cold as Dean lifted his head away. Fingers replaced the tongue and air, tracing an imaginary J shape in Sam's skin. Sam was quiet and still, waiting for Dean to say something, even though Sam knew exactly what Dean was doing this time.

"Car glass," Dean whispered quietly, the J shape forming over Sam's stomach again, like the scar that used to be there. From the time a demon-driven semi crashed into the Impala, sending Dean into a coma and almost killing John, then messing up Sam's face for a while. It was the same crash that lead John to sell his soul for Dean, bring Dean back from the dead only for Sam to discover John lying on the hospital floor. Sam remembered that crash, he remembered the hell he'd been in when his dad died. Although it was nothing compared to the hell Sam had been in when he'd thought Dean was dead.

He'd held a stiff, cold coma-Dean's hand in his own, tears on his face and questions in his mind about the things he'd never gotten to say. Things Sam never realized he'd wanted to say until it felt to late. It was one of the first moments Sam started questioning his feelings for Dean again. When he was little, when Dean was nineteen, he'd definitely gone through a phase that left him confused and angry at himself for having all these sinful thoughts. But he'd buried them deep, only for that crash to draw a few of them back to the surface, just enough to make Sam desperate to have Dean back. Just enough to make him realize them more and more as time went on.

Feelings neither of them thought they would ever get to act on, let alone lead to this. The life they had now...this moment? What they were doing right now, something that had never even crossed Sam's mind as getting to have with anyone, let alone the person he loved most in the world.

He felt his throat closing a little in sentiment, in the feeling of Dean with him here, caring so goddamn much. Taking care of Sam. He didn't want to cry, he wasn't going to cry, but he was still grateful. More grateful of Dean than anything else he'd ever gotten to have in his life. To have, and to hold.

"Thank you," Sam whispered. Dean sat up, and Sam could see his face now. It was just as beautiful as Sam's face had been picturing it to be. His hair was in that crazy, messy mode and it was precious. His eyes were looking at Sam curiously, fingers still on the place they had just been tracing. Dean asked the question, thank you for what, with a slight tilt of his head. Sam's mouth curved up a little in a smile.

"For saving me," he clarified quietly. Dean cleared his throat and looked down, eyes on his hand as he traced the J a final time. Sam could see what he was thinking. Dean was thinking that it was Sam who saved him, not the other way around. That's what Sam loved about him, how wrong Dean could be about this. Maybe it made them more dysfunctional, or maybe it made them perfect for each other. But each one thought they had been saved by the other, each one knew they had saved each other. It made them equals on the playing field of emotions, of dedication. It was the only playing field they were equal on, and it was the only one that mattered.

Dean didn't answer Sam, not with words. He disappeared out of sight again, his lips landing on the invisible J scar that wasn't on Sam's body anymore, kissing into the past with the chance he'd never gotten at the time. Sam closed his eyes and breathed deep again. He wasn't going to cry and get emotional now, Dean wasn't done with him yet. Sam was going to be patient, Sam could do this. There was a brief pause, probably Dean making sure Sam recognized his you're welcome that he'd painted on with a kiss. Then Dean's mouth was moving again, in towards his belly button, towards other parts of Sam that wanted that mouth so badly.

Lips slid over his stomach, and it'd be ticklish if it weren't so hot instead. Dean kissed all the way from the invisible car crash scar to the hardened erection on Sam's stomach. The lips didn't pause or hesitate, going straight from kissing Sam's abs to kissing the underside of his dick. Sam arched off the bed, moan leaving his mouth as his head twisted to the side. Dean kissed straight from the base up to the head, not an ounce of tongue, just repetitive gentle kisses, all the way up. Sam wasn't noisy like Dean was, but there was an entire array of sounds leaving his body right now. Dean had never just kissed him there. It was always licking and sucking and the sexy things Dean could do with his mouth. But the lack of anything but affectionate, caring kisses felt like Sam's whole purpose had changed. Suddenly his hard on wasn't supposed to just be for sex, suddenly it was a part of his body as much as his arm was. True, it was much more sensitive than most other places on his body, but it didn't feel singled out anymore. Just more skin stretched over muscle, more places for Dean to kiss.

Sam whimpered at the feeling, and the realization. Dean was making him whole, making him notice all of these things about himself and his body that Sam had never cared that much about. Sure, he took good care of his body - the best he could with his lifestyle - ate good food, worked out. But it was never details that mattered, Sam had never really claimed his body as his own. It was always just something that was there, something he could get more fit, or healthier, or had to stitch up from a case that got sketchy towards the end. Now it felt like more than that, like every place Dean had brought to him were all Sam's for the keeping. But they were Dean's too, Dean had found them and was claiming them and Sam was slowly starting to belong to someone. To two people, actually. Sam and Dean, co-owners of every square inch of Sam's body that they could discover.

Dean's hand wrapped lightly around the base of Sam's cock and he lifted it off of Sam's stomach, kissing down the top side all the way to the base. Sam groaned and bit his lip to keep some form of control. Then Dean's mouth kept going, kissing through the patch of short hair leading down to his erection. Sam's eyes fluttered, Dean had definitely never kissed him there. Sam kept himself tidy, but it was never really a thing either way, it wasn't like pubic hair was something to avoid or something to make a big deal of. It was just...there, and Dean kissed up to Sam's belly button, still not treating it any different than the smooth skin his mouth was used to. It was a weirdly completing and comforting feeling, having every part of him treated like it was just as precious as the next. Regardless of the muscle, hair, or other human things about it. Like Sam was human and perfect, in every single way.

His scars did get a bit of extra attention, and Sam was fairly sure that was because Dean felt that was connection between the two of them. It wasn't saying Sam's scars were either more beautiful than the rest of him - or that they were less - it was just something that they could share. Something that proved to Sam how well Dean knew him. Something for Dean to touch, to remember the injury and maybe forgive himself for it. It was like reaching into the past, painting their sorrows and forgiveness on Sam's skin in white lines and arches. The scars were every part as much of Sam's body as they were of Dean's, and that's why Dean paused at each one, made a note of remembrance at the timeline and history that was mapped on Sam's skin.

Now, Dean kissed his belly button, a solid, kind of adorable sort of kiss. It wasn't the first time Dean's mouth had been there, Sam was sure of that. When he was a little kid - really little, actually - Dean used to tackle him to the ground, lifting up his shirt and pinning him down as he blew raspberries into Sam's stomach. Sam would giggle and laugh and squirm, doing his best to get away from Dean and the tickling feeling, but Dean always won and Sam would just laugh and laugh until he couldn't laugh anymore he was so tired from the effort of it. Then Dean would scoop him up, tugging Sam's shirt back down to normal, and stagger across the room to lay Sam down in bed. Then Dean would curl around him in the night, keep him safe from everything Dean had always known was out there. He hadn't been told it was actual monsters until he was six or seven or so (maybe five...Dean couldn't remember anymore) but after Mommy was gone, Dean knew the world was scary. And he had to protect baby Sammy.

Those same lips that had blown raspberries on his stomach kissed a line upwards on Sam's sternum as his hand slowly layed Sam's hard-on back on his stomach. Sam was going to go crazy if he didn't focus back on Dean's mouth, so he sent his mental attention there, to the feeling of Dean's lips puckered and kissing the bottom tip of his sternum. That was a bone Sam knew the name of, but he figured Dean knew all the parts of it. Dean did, everything from the Xiphoid Process to the Angular Notch of the Manubrium. He wasn't thinking about that though, he was just thinking about the exact piece of skin his lips were on, thinking of the taste of Sam and the feel of him under his mouth, marking it as a permanent memory in Dean's head.

When he reached the top (the angular notch), Dean's mouth kissed over to the side. The hard muscle of Sam's chest took on a different tone as Dean kissed over his pectorals, which felt abnormally sensitive from all the touching Dean had been doing. His tongue slipped between his lips as he got closer to Sam's nipple, kisses wetter now. When he finally reached the perky, pink skin, the kiss was barely wet, just enough to make Sam's spine arch a little at the sensation. Dean kept going, kissing down the bottom line of where Sam's pec ended, kissing all the way across Sam's chest again to repeat the same process over wet-ish kisses on the other side of his body.

Once that nipple was accounted for and loved on, just like every other inch of Sam's body so far, the next place Dean's mouth went was up and over, teeth scraping barely over the skin beneath Sam's collarbone. Sam made a low noise in his throat and Dean kept going, lips pressing kisses down the front side of Sam's shoulder. Dean's hand took Sam's arm, lifted it off the sheets to hold it up for Dean to kiss. Sam let his arm be controlled entirely by Dean, keeping himself like a ragdoll as Dean leaned over to the side and kissed over the lines of Sam's biceps and triceps. Sam managed to keep his complacency even as Dean kissed down his armpit, circling around and back up the outside of Sam's upper arm. It was strange at first, having Dean's mouth in his armpit, but as Dean's lips pressed and promised, it became just as normal as everywhere else Dean had kissed.

As soon as Dean's mouth made it to his forearms, there were quite a few pauses. Sam was pretty sure Dean may have counted the number of times they had to do a shapeshifter test on Sam's skin, the number of times Sam had to slide a knife over the inside skin an inch or two below his elbow. The last time Cas had been an angel, he'd angel mojo'd those scars away, because Dean didn't like them. Sam was pretty sure it had gotten to the point that Cas just automatically sent some healing juice to just that one particular spot any time he touched either of them. Now that Cas was human, they weren't going to have that trick anymore, although Sam hadn't had to do the shapeshifter test since the last time he'd seen angel Cas. The marks from the trials were a little lower down, but Dean hadn't reached those yet. They had faded considerably anyways, although that wasn't going to stop Dean from pausing on them.

He was paused now, his tongue skirting a line over the place Sam had a knife pressed to his skin so many times. Dean licked the gentle line again, just the very tip of his tongue tracing it, which felt barely wet by the time Dean had traced the invisible marks, over and over and over until Sam was pretty sure Dean had to have gotten every one by now. A tongue traced line for every time there had been a knife traced line. No wonder Dean always made Cas remove them, Sam had forgotten how many times they had to do that. Although they cut that same place for spells too, spells that needed blood. Dean had probably licked him enough times to cover those, too.

Except for the trials, because that had been a needle. And a lot of bruising. Sam had had to stab himself plenty of times, in as many different places as his vein on his arm would allow, hoping that would relieve some of the pain. It didn't. Dean hadn't been there for that, but he kissed the first needle mark like he knew how much it had hurt Sam. He kissed the ugly white circle (that had a permanently tinged blue color to it if you looked close enough) like it was made of glass instead of skin. His lips were gentler than they had been so far, and Sam hadn't thought that would even be possible. Just barely brushing over his skin, carefully and unsliding, just a soft soft soft kiss that lifted afterwards. Each of the needle marks got that same, delicate kiss, the space in between them peppered with normal ones. It was sweet and a little heartbreaking. They all felt like apologies, for having Sam do the trials, for Dean not being there until it was nearly too late. Sam had already forgiven Dean for that, but he forgave Dean again with his body, with the let go of the tension as his muscles relaxed into Jello.

After his forearms, back and front, were taken care of, Dean mouthed down to Sam's wrist, his lips pausing again on the palm of Sam's hand. Glass, and Godstiel. Dean didn't need to say anything, his mouth said more than enough for him. Sam wondered briefly what it would be like in a world were he didn't have that communicating ability with Dean. If they couldn't read each other like this, would they still have fallen in love?

Dean put Sam's arm back down after he'd kissed up each of Sam's fingers. Then it was on to the next arm, a pause at the shoulder where Bela had shot Sam, forever ago. That scar was long since healed too, but Dean hadn't forgotten one yet. Once that arm and hand (with another white line from the trials, the cut Dean had wrapped his favourite blue bandana around and accidentally temporarily married them) were kissed and savoured and precious in both their eyes, Dean's tongue flicked its way across Sam's neck. He'd kissed Sam's neck a thousand times, but today it was a necklace, starting from the far right side of Sam's neck and scooping down and around to the far left. Once the muscles there had joined the flushed, cared for rest of his body, Dean was sitting up.

Sam's eyes opened as Dean's breath disappeared from his skin, and their eyes locked as Dean was back in sight. As he sat up, his knees were braced on either side of Sam's hips, just inches from their cocks brushing. His eyes were still bright, and for once there weren't any worry lines on his face. Dean's mouth was reddened, a little bit swollen. But he wasn't complaining, his tongue just darted out to wet them, then his pretty mouth was opening to speak.

"Turn over," he asked softly. His voice was quiet but it cracked at first, rusty hinges for a moment because they hadn't said anything in so long. Dean didn't bother to correct the gruff voice or clear his throat, he just spoke and let his voice come out the way it was.

Sam looked at Dean a final time, taking in the flush of his neck and shoulders, the freckles on his nose and cheeks, the shiny, slightly puffy lips, the mused up hair. Then Sam shifted his shoulders and rolled over, jumping his hipbones to stay in the same spot as he rolled. Once he was face down, Sam let his body sink into the mattress again. The mattress cover pressed soft on his dick, which was still hard after all this time. But Sam was fairly sure it was impossible to not be turned on when you had Dean Winchester's mouth on you. He wanted badly to pump his hips across the mattress, get some sort of friction. But he didn't, he found some ounce of self control and lie still for Dean, head turned out to the side and resting on his cheek with his eyes closed.

A kiss was placed at the direct center back of his neck, Dean's hand brushing Sam's hair aside to make it possible. Then Dean kissed higher, smoothing Sam's hair back down as he kissed over the back of Sam's head, kissed the hair he gave Sam so much shit for but secretly loved. Well, Sam was pretty sure he secretly loved it. He certainly treated it that way now, kissed over Sam's whole head, turning his face gently to the other side to make sure he reached every spot. He kissed Sam's ears too, from the tips to the lobes, dry kisses that were nothing like the few times Dean had tugged at Sam's ears with his teeth and tongue.

Once Sam's whole head was accounted for, Dean kissed his neck once more, than sat back. Dean was perched on the top backs of Sam's thighs, dick brushing against the underside of Sam's ass. The realization made Sam moan, but he stifled the sound in the pillow. He wasn't going to interrupt Dean's magic if he didn't have to.

Dean had kissed Sam's back and shoulders a hundred times, had already mapped it beneath his mouth whenever he had sex with Sam from behind. So Dean took the time to learn it under his fingertips too, sitting up to watch his hands as they traced over the minutest lines of Sam's shoulders. He tapped each mole, there were plenty, and swooped gently over every curve of muscle and bone. His hands and fingers traced Sam's back, slow and steady, moving down to his ribcage next. His callused fingers danced over the line of each rib, not prominent but feelable if Dean pressed hard enough. He kept his hands with one on each side of Sam's back, not bothering to pay any attention to his spine down the middle yet.

His hands traced all the way down, two separate paths that arched over Sam's ass, traced around the bottom line of that two, then folded back up, pressing the heels of his palms into the muscle on the way back up. Dean had already kissed the backs of Sam's legs earlier by lifting them when he'd done the fronts, so he kept all his attention on Sam's back. Earlier, Dean had been rubbing it slightly and noticed a plethora of tense muscles and knots. Sam wasn't as tense now, he'd been relaxing more and more throughout this whole process and was actually nearly limp now. But the knots were definitely still there, and Dean was back here anyways.

So he dug his hands in, kneaded his thumbs into Sam's shoulders. Sam groaned in pleasure at the rough touch, the forced backrub that felt amazing. Dean's hands worked Sam's shoulders into pudding, making his body lax and his brain spark with warmth. Those hands rubbed and thumbed into the tense places under his shoulderblades, pushing hard and insistent until the knot released, sending a wave of pleasure and pain through Sam's body. It was a relief, but it came with the throb of having the muscles forcedly relaxed.

Sam could lay here forever, let Dean rub his back for all of eternity. He used to get back rubs more often, but it had been a while since either of them had gotten around to the luxury. Sam used to give Dean backrubs too, he tended to carry most of his stress in his shoulders, or in the slope just above his ass. Sam always had trouble breaking those knots though, because kneading into them made Dean's amazing ass move back and forth and Sam just could not resist that. It was much easier to give each other backrubs back in the days that they weren't together. Because all the clothes would be left on, and shoulders would just be rubbed and relaxed with pressureful thumbs.

Now, though, Dean had kept his composure this entire time and Sam highly doubted he was going to lose his willpower from kneading out knots in Sam's back. Dean worked through them all, every last one down to Sam's tailbone. It was amazing, and entirely worth the throbbing as his muscle was released. If Sam had thought his body felt loose and lax before...

When Dean's hands finally worked through the last knot, evoking another quiet groan from Sam, he was lowering his mouth back to Sam's skin. Sam felt his breath first, ghosted over the back of Sam's neck, then his lips pressed down and his tongue swiped out. Dean kissed the top knob of Sam's spine, kissed it long and harder than some of his kisses from before. Then it was on to the next ridge of Sam's spine, a moment spent with Dean's mouth pressed to that bone. Then on to the next, working his way down Sam's spine one spinal bone at a time.

It felt like Sam was filling up with warm water, from his head down to his feet, filling fuller and warmer as Dean moved his mouth further down. The warm, tingling sensation followed Dean's lips, making Sam feel drowsy and sated. Dean kissed more, further, fingers dual-action tracing his ribs as Dean's mouth puckered against his spine. He spent at least ten seconds on each, working his way down slow and steady. Sam had a lot more spinal bones than he thought. As Dean neared the bottom of his thoracic region, Sam hummed in anticipation of Dean kissing all the way down, kissing into Sam's ass and eating him out, ending this whole beautiful thing with a round of sated, perfect sex.

Then there was a pause, and Dean's lips weren't on him. Sam couldn't even feel the hover of his breath. Just, one moment Dean was kissing down his spine and the next it was silent and gone. After a beat and a half too long to be normal, Dean's mouth finally touched Sam again, and this time it was softer, delicate, almost scared feeling. Dean's lips trembled against Sam's skin, against the top edge of his lower back, and Sam's eyes opened. He couldn't see Dean, not from here, and he didn't have any idea what was going on. Dean's fingers had stopped, there were no more tracings of his ribs. Just the single, trembling pressed lips against Sam's back. Sam was still trying to figure out what, to figure out why, when the lips departed, breath still there. Then something hard and smooth was pressed up a little higher on his spine, Dean's air still brushing over the spot he'd kissed so timidly.

It took Sam a second to even figure out what he was doing. He ran the spacing through his mind, then realized the skin that was pressed higher up on his back was Dean's forehead, and his mouth was just barely above the spot on Sam's back. Dean probably had his eyes closed, was lying there on Sam's back, breathing on the top of his lumbar spine. Sam couldn't figure out why the hell he would. Maybe if he wasn't so relaxed and his brain wasn't so sated and Dean oriented, it might have clicked.

Then something wet hit just above where Dean's warm breath was, definitely not his tongue. Besides, it was a drop of something. There was a pause, then another. Sam ran the mental image through his head, trying to figure out where something wet would be coming from. His mouth sucked in a breath as he realized. Was Dean...was Dean crying?

It wasn't until Sam recognized the tears that he realized what was going on. The spot Dean had just kissed him, so hesitant, delicate, shaky, teary. It was where Sam had been stabbed in the back by Jake's twisting knife. The first time any of them died, the first event that shook their lives from Normal Hunters to the Hell-Purgatory-Heaven Traveling Winchesters. It was the mark that killed him. And it had been a wicked scar too, for a long time. When Sam had gotten back from Lucifer's Cage, it had disappeared from his skin. So Sam has forgotten about it. He had a back of mostly unmarred skin, why would he need to remember an old, nasty scar he used to have?

Except now Dean was crying on Sam's back and that ripped at something so deep inside of Sam. Dean's tears, raining on the imaginary scar they could both picture. Dean, chest in ribbons and lying glassy eyed on the floor because of it, Dead and In Hell because Sam had gotten himself killed and Dean couldn't live with that. Sam learned quite simply that he couldn't live with a Dead Dean either, had spent four months derailing so hard out of depression and mania and crippling, shattering loneliness. Even once he'd had Dean back, it had taken Sam a long time to get out of that dark place. All because Sam didn't kill Jake when he had the chance, all because Sam had gotten himself killed with a knife in his back.

There were tears streaming out of Sam's eyes now too, had been since the moment he realized Dean was crying onto Sam's skin. And they;d picked up with the mental image of Dean being shredded by hellhounds, had started in with soaking his pillow as he silently remembered those four months without Dean.

"Dean," Sam choked out, voice full of tears. Dean lifted his head, thumb tracing what would be the outer edge of the scar. Sam fought to breathe through his lungs that felt like they were compressed with tears. "C'mere."

Dean lifted his weight off Sam and the moment he did, Sam rolled back over in plae, on his back now so he could properly see Dean. His back was wet with Dean's tears, made the mattress cover wet and stick to him. Sam didn't notice, he was too busy looking at Dean. Dean, hovering over him with streaks of water down his cheeks and eyelashes matted together and a pool quivering along the bottom edge of the bottle green eyes.

Sam lifted his heavy, Jello arms, outstretching them to the beautiful, crying boy who was sitting on his hips. Dean leaned forward and Sam's hands took his face, held it as something precious. He guided Dean's face towards his, thumbs imprinted deep in Dean's cheeks as Sam pulled him in, pulled their mouths together. Sam released his grip on Dean's face in favor of pulling his arms around Dean's body. Dean let Sam pull him into Sam's embrace, let Sam gather Dean into his arms, wrapping protectively over Dean's back as he pressed their lips together, pressed his mouth over the trembling one. Dean's mouth was wet and salty and so was Sam's, and they kissed and kissed and cried, Dean's eyes dropping tears onto Sam's cheeks. They cried for all the times they'd died, for the times they'd lost each other in the past and might one day lose each other in the future.

They kissed and held each other, not letting the other's mouth leave for fear they might never have a moment like this again. They kissed and cried and the whole thing felt surreal and wet and beautiful and sad and like the closure neither of them had ever gotten for each other's deaths. They'd had more heartbreak than anyone Sam could imagine, they'd had more horrible, twisted things happen to each other than half the world combined. And somehow, they were lucky enough to have this moment, to have each other to hold and kiss and cry through it all.

There was no one else in the world who could comfort Sam on this level, who could comfort Dean on this level. They had both loved and lost so achingly desperately, loved and lost each other in the world and never ever given up. They'd somehow defeated so much, defeated so much and they ended up here. In bed, tangled up and letting everything out, letting every unspoken sob be released now, held perfect by the mash of their mouths. Sam wasn't sure how they'd accomplished it, how they'd jumped all of those obstacles to get to this moment.

So much had stood in their way. Their father, their childhood, their lifestyle, their blood. Their dreams, their personality conflicts, their destinies. The world, the hunt, the societal rules and standards. Their deaths, their secrets, their propensity towards evil. And somehow, out of all of that mess, they got their souls, as one, their shared heaven here on earth and waiting in the skies, too, were the pearly gates ever again open.

And they had each other to hold and kiss and cry in the moments that it was all too much and just came spinning, sinking down.

Oxygen eventually ran out and they broke apart, Dean's head tucking down against Sam's neck for a moment. They both had cried themselves dry by this point, but bodies still racked with sobs for a while after that. Then it slowed and the kisses turned a little less desperate, a little more savoured. Then the oxygen ran out and here they were now, tear stained faces and exhausted.

After he caught his breath, Dean lifted his head again, looking at Sam's face. Then he kissed the corner of Sam's eye, the opposite one from earlier. Sam smiled weakly, and his muscles relaxed down under Dean's mouth again. Dean covered his face in the kisses he'd been holding off til now, covered his eyelids and nose and cheeks and forehead and cheekbones and jaw bone and mouth, kissed away every tear track and every imaginary tear, kissed deeper than just the past fifteen minutes, kissed into the past and pressed his lips directly to the center of Sam's forehead, like Sam's first day of kindergarden. Kissed all over and Sam was complete, his body was his own, and Dean owned every ounce of it. Dean had every little piece of him, had placed his mouth on every inch of Sam.

Sam would cry again if he had any tears left.

Instead he let Dean's mouth land on the one place he had kissed the most, let their lips fold together and press each other. Then Dean's hands were pulling up Sam's knees and a slick finger slipped inside Sam's entrance. Sam stole all the oxygen in Dean's mouth with a gasp, the sudden cold and slickness very unexpected. Dean must have slicked up his hand with his own precum, used that to lube the way inside of Sam. That thought made Sam moan, the thought of their bodies being so close that fluids and pieces were that easily exchanged.

Dean worked him open slow, eventually leaving Sam's mouth to go place his final kisses there, along Sam's rim and the space surrounding. Dean slipped each of Sam's balls in his mouth, traced his tongue over the line between them and making Sam cry out. The parts of Sam that had been craving attention earlier were finally getting it, making Sam harder than ever as he arched under Dean's mouth. His swollen, gorgeous mouth that had kissed Sam everywhere, just like he'd said. That same mouth that now took Sam's length in between the puffed lips, drawing a pearl of precum out as he twisted and scissored his fingers inside of Sam.

They'd been here for hours, to the point that neither of them had any idea what time it was anymore. It didn't matter what time it was, they were still in their glass house, serene and each other's only thought.

Sam's body had been wanting to come for this entire time, Sam had wanted Dean inside him since the moment he'd woken up this morning, with Dean rock hard against his leg. Dean had been so beautiful, sleeping there, and Sam had pulled back his head to look at him. Dean's cheeks had been slightly flushed, lips parted and freckles obvious against the white pillows. Sam had experimentally circled his thigh up against Dean's erection, watched as Dean - still sleeping - hitched a breath and moaned quietly. It was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous, and Sam couldn't just stop there. He rubbed Dean up to his climax, watching Dean's face as he slept on, but came hard anyways, spilling into his pants as his breathing finally irregulated and he blinked himself awake. It had been positively beautiful and Sam had been dying to come since he'd seen that look on Dean's face.

So his body was oversensitive to everything Dean was doing to him right now, making this nearly impossible to hold off. Sam bit down on his lip and tried not to shoot his load into Dean's mouth on the spot, would at least like to have Dean inside him first. Thankfully, Dean seemed to recognize just how on edge Sam was, how Sam was riding the edge of his orgasm already. He pulled off, drawing his fingers out too. Sam whined at the loss of contact, but watched with hungry eyes as Dean slicked himself up, hand smearing the pearled precum over himself, over Sam's entrance.

Then their eyes locked again and Dean lined up, one hand guiding while the other braced Sam's leg open. Sam's muscles still wanted to be sated, but his sex drive was sending a different message. Which left Sam weak and hungry for it, but not able to do much to help. Dean didn't seem to need Sam to do anything anyways, just held on to him as he pushed inside. Sam cried out, nearly as loud as Dean now, the thick head of Dean breaching the inner rim of muscles. Dean was so good, so hot and thick and satisfying. Dean pushed in further, guiding his hips forward to bottom out inside of Sam. Sam's body arched and his eyes squeezed shut, hands digging marks into Dean's biceps. Dean moved his hands to Sam's hipbones, carefully avoiding the bruised one so as to not hurt Sam.

He dragged out of Sam and bottomed back in, rolling his hips to make the head of his cock brush Sam's insides, all the way into his throat, it felt like. Dean grated the muscles of his inner walls as he pulled back again and started thrusting at a slow, steady pace. It shredded the last of Sam's mental capacity, and his brain went as lax as his muscles, mouth parted as he lay there and could feel nothing but the rocking of Dean inside him, Dean pushing and grinding and pulling and everything beautiful.

Dean had always been thick but Sam had never felt as full as he did now. It felt like every time Dean angled his hips to sink inside of Sam, he was getting saturated in Dean, stuffing up and even more complete than he'd felt before. It was like the kisses had formed him, made the person, outlined and sealed together every inch of his outsides, and now Dean was filling up his insides, creating something that felt more human than Sam had ever felt before.

Sam breathed and Dean rocked inside him. Their bodies moved together, tear tracks faded on their cheeks and hearts and souls entwined. Dean kept his hands on Sam's hips for a while, drew the pleasure out of him that could make it last at least a little, not the right angle to hit Sam's prostate and make him see stars. Instead it was just the slick slip slide of Dean in and out of him, almost comforting and calming in the motion. Eventually though, Dean couldn't' stand to not be touching Sam all over, to not be kissing him.

He leaned over Sam's chest, hands leaving Sam's hips in favor of grabbing one of his hands, bracing the other on the back of Sam's shoulder. Dean's arm tucked half under Sam's back, fingers wrapping up over the top of Sam's shoulder, brushing his collarbone and holding him in place as Dean fucked into him, faster now but still not fast by any means. The hand that grabbed Sam's entwined their fingers, pushing the back of Sam's hand into the bed as he held it, bracing a bit of the weight there too.

Then Dean's cinematic lips were nestled between Sam's, lips every other as they held on to each other and kissed. Sam's free hand still lay heavy on the mattress, his brain unable to find the strength to do anything besides kiss Dean and feel, feel the way Dean was rocking inside him.

As soon as Dean had settled over Sam, their chests together and Sam's cock rubbing on Dean's stomach, Dean shifted his hips a little. His next push in and he grazed the smooth, soft spot inside Sam, making him explode in stars. Dean felt it and felt the intense shudder that ran through Sam's body, felt the way Sam's mouth went slack over his. And Dean rolled his hips, rubbing the head of his cock over Sam's prostate.

Sam shot white between them nearly instantly, body convulsing under Dean's. All the lax, relaxed muscles in his body tensed up instantaneously, making it hit that much harder. To go from the complete slack, Jello form Sam had been in to the instant hard, stiff shot of an orgasm was like dropping a piece of fire into ice cold water. Smoke and steam goes everywhere and normally the glass or whatever container is holding the ice cold water will crack. And that's what it felt like too, like Sam exploded into a million pieces at that moment, like he came apart and unglued under Dean's touch.

The world was white around him, too bright, then it was black for a moment and then there was Dean, eyes on Sam's face and hardly able to move with the clamp Sam had on him. Dean nearly came just from watching Sam alone, but his body had softened when he'd started crying and he still was riding that edge. Sam was beautiful, surreal, temporarily passed out below him. His eyes blinked back open, sated and not exactly on this planet yet just as Dean was scooping Sam up in his arms, lifting him up. Dean sat back on his heels and pulled Sam on top of him, bouncing Sam in his lap as he kissed Sam's collarbone, thrusting a few more times before he was coming too, Sam's head lax on his shoulder as Dean bit down on his lip. The shaky Sam escaped muffled anyways, the world going white for Dean too as he held Sam tight to him, hands on Sam's hips as he pulled him gently through the aftershocks.

Dean took the man gathered on his lap and lowered him back down slowly to the bed, placing Sam on his stomach in case his ass was sore. Which it probably was. Dean situated him carefully, Sam's head rolling to the side as Dean layed him back out. There was a wet spot, sure, but Dean didn't care and he doubted Sam did either. Although from the looks of it, Sam didn't care about anything right now, he was so out of it. Dean had never seen him come so hard. And it had been fast, too, Dean had only been inside him for...well, Dean didn't really have a sense of time right now. It could have been anywhere between ten minutes and an hour he supposed, although he highly doubted the latter.

Once Sam was situated and laying back down on the bed, Dean pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Sam's eyes fluttered and he looked at Dean for a moment, then his hand lifted to find Dean's. Sam squeezed Dean's hand once and then his eyes fell shut again and his chest started to rise and fall with the rhythm of sleep. Dean watched him for a moment longer, recognizing every place he look on Sam as something he was 100% familiar with now, something that he knew and had for his own.

Then he climbed off the bed, complaining in his head to no one in general, just that he had to get off the bed, and gathered up the sheets from the floor. Then he straightened them out and snapped them in the air, letting them fall down from the sky and settle over Sam's back. Once they had at least a bit of a covering, Dean climbed back on the bed, sidling up to Sam's side and laying on his stomach too.

He kissed the top of Sam's head, then draped an arm over Sam's back, over as much of his body as Dean could get with one arm. Then he fell asleep on the same pillow, early enough that it was still brightish outside, but neither of them noticed as they drifted into the dream world. Neither of them dreamed either, just slept peacefully and content. They had cried and smiled and Dean had mapped Sam out and both of them were well past the point of exhaustion. Maybe later, when they woke up and it was actually dark, they might have that sex with laughter Dean had been thinking about this morning.

Or maybe they'd just sleep forever, and Dean would be okay with that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be participating in GISHWHES (gishwhes.com - Misha Collins' scavenger hunt) this year (HOORAAAYYYY!!!!!) and I unfortunately will be needing sleep. So no fanfic writing for me :(:(
> 
> I promise I'll get back to it as soon as possible, big plot twisty stuff coming up soon yay :D
> 
> THANK YOU ALL FOR READING I LOVE YOU SO MUCH xx
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Dragonfli:
> 
> "The body worship and amazing sex afterwards was wonderful! It will keep us satisfied for awhile! Good luck with the scavenger hunt! Misha has a wonderful organization there."


	21. Lambent (Holy Terror 09x09)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phase 10 (The Card Game) (in case you haven't heard of it):
> 
> Every player's goal is to complete each "phase," or "hand" as the round is called. School phase requires a certain combination of cards, explained further below. The hand ends when either everybody lays down the correct cards for the phase, or when one of the people who laid down their correct phase also gets rid of all ten cards in their hand. If this happens, every player who didn't get the chance to lay down that phase has to repeat the phase again during the next round. Phases are repeated until the player gets the correct combo and lays their hand down on the table in time. So a perfect game would have 10 hands, but if the cards were unlucky the game could go on forever. Well, a long time. Statistically speaking you have to get the right cards eventually.
> 
> The combos are composed of two types of card groups: There were sets: all cards of the same number, so a set of 3 could be anything from three cards with a #1 on them to three cards with a number #12 on them, color regardless. The other requirement is a run: any number of cards in chronological order. So a run of four would be 1-4, 2-5, 3-6, etc.
> 
> The phases go like this:  
> 1) 2 Sets of 3  
> 2) Set of 3 Run of 4  
> 3) Set of 4 Run of 4  
> 4) Run of 7  
> 5) Run of 8  
> 6) Run of 9  
> 7) 2 Sets of 4  
> 8) 7 of one color  
> 9) Set of 5 Set of 2  
> 10) Set of 5 Set of 3
> 
> Whoever gets the tenth phase completed first wins.  
> A card is drawn at the beginning of every turn and a card must be discarded at the end of every turn as well.
> 
>  
> 
> :::
> 
> Note:
> 
> For the star-gazing scene, song recommend: Never Let Me Go by Florence and the Machine

"Hey Sammy!" a gruff, low voice sounded across the bunker. It was either instinct or habit, but Sam was up from his chair in the library and headed in the direction of Dean's call basically instantly. Dean hadn't sounded particularly distressed, just like he wanted Sam's attention, maybe wanted to show him something. Sam crossed into the computer room, glancing around and greeted with empty walls and chairs. Huh. The shout had come from this general direction, though. Sam pursed his lips and back pedaled, shooting a glance at the space between the library and the computer room. Maybe Dean was off in that little nook. They hadn't been back there since like, the first night.

Sam ventured down the short, open hallway that barely counted as a hallway, more like a cove that opened up into a small room. Well, if it even counted as a room. More like a nook. Which did connect to the kitchen, actually, Sam had forgotten about that. The only thing in here besides the kitchen entrance - there wasn't room for much else - was the big, red and gold couch they'd slept on their first night here.

The difference between this empty room and say, the storage room with the mattress and the desk, was that this room was finished, and decorated. The storage room had plain concrete floors and basically no lighting, with empty walls and a ghetto ceiling. The room with the couch was fully decored, mostly red and gold, warm and cozy like the library was.

Technically this room was probably less of a room and more just a secluded part of the library, but whatever. It was just a place to lay down and read whatever you'd found, or take a power nap in between researching.

Now though, nestled on the one piece of plush furniture in here, was Dean, facing the kitchen entrance and away from Sam. He had his guitar poised on his lap, and was looking up at the ceiling as he puddled around with a few chords.

Once Sam's boots stepped into the room, Dean perked up his head to look at Sam. He was dressed in the usual, flannel with a black tee underneath, jeans riding a little lower than usual on his pretty hips. From where he was standing, Sam could see a swatch of skin on Dean's side, where the couch material had snagged his shirts and lifted them away from his hips. It was an enticing sight, no doubt. All that skin peeking out, begging to be touched.

"Can you grab me my capo?" Dean asked, head tipped a bit backwards from the lounging position, body stretched over the couch. Sam tilted his head a bit, shifting his weight in confusion.

"What is a capo?" Sam asked, kind of wrinkling his nose at the word. It sounded kinky. Dean raised his eyebrows and snorted, turning back to the guitar in his hands and mindlessly finger-picking a chord.

"It's a little black clamp you put on the frets to change the key. It's in my room somewhere, could you find it?" Dean was humming something under his breath as soon as he stopped speaking, trying to find a note to match what he was humming. Sam sighed, watching Dean. He was a little absorbed in his guitar, the way he couldn't take his hands off it whenever it was in his general vicinity. Not that Sam minded, most of the time. He was glad Dean found a hobby that didn't include cars or killing things.

He leaned against the wall, shoulder supporting his body weight as he folded his arms over his chest, making the muscles of his forearms flex. It was just a little intentional, partially for comfort and partially to entice his brother. Next time Dean looked up, his eyes would do that scanning thing he was so good at and his pretty hands would be forced to put down the guitar, come have some fun with Sam instead.

"I don't know what it looks like. And I'm not particularly in the mood to canvas your room. It's a mess," Sam reminded him, a little more emphasis than was necessary on the word mess. Dean cracked a smile, probably thinking back to why exactly it was such a mess - pillows and sheets and clothes strewn all over the place, and most of those items were a little...dirty. His smile was more to himself than Sam, though, because he didn't look up. He just watched his left hand as he repositioned into another chord.

"Okay, then, grab me a pen and a rubber band. That should work." Dean still didn't look up and Sam sighed. Fine, he'd get Dean drawn in later.

Finding a pen and a rubber band was easy - Sam actually organized his belongings - and he was back with them both a few minutes later. Dean looked up at him again as Sam walked up to the couch and held them both out, rubber band dangling from his pinky.

"Thank you," Dean chirped, taking them both and instantly double wrapping one of the ends of the pen with the rubber band. Sam watched curiously as Dean flattened the pen along one of the golden lines on the stick part of the guitar, the third one to be exact.

Then he wrapped the bottom of the pen in rubber band too, stretching the band across the back of the guitar to hold the pen in place. When he let go, the pen was compressing all six strings, held down solidly by Dean's engineering.

He strummed a chord, and Dean was right. It did change the key, that sounded way different now. Sam glanced at Dean's little contraption, noting for a moment what a brilliant and perfectly executed idea that was.

"That's cool," Sam commented, eyes drifting from the makeshift capo and Dean's hands up to his face. Dean was watching his left hand fingers, looking intently at his hands as he adjusted to the new sound.

Sam contemplated for a moment. There was a perfectly good novel still in his chair in the library, opened to the page Sam had been on before he came in here. But the view in here was better, with the softly gelled hair and exposed skin to look at.

So he plopped down carefully on the couch instead, sitting on the opposite side from Dean, in between the sprawled out legs. Sam had to sit Native American style to keep his legs from crushing the barricade of Dean's calves. This was an interesting angle, with Dean's body splayed out in front of Sam, guitar resting over his hips as Dean's shoulders were propped up on the armrest, letting him look over the guitar at Sam if he wanted to. He seemed very busy though, making a concentrated face as he repositioned his fingers yet again.

Sam huffed out a breath, blowing a piece of hair away from his face. Dean was much too concentrated, he could use a good distraction. Besides, it'd be a start to the payback for all those years Dean spent distracting Sam while he was researching.

He started his fingers at Dean's knee, light and barely touching at first. Then he walked them up, like little people legs, one step at a time up the inside of Dean's spread thighs. Sam watched Dean's face as his fingers creeped closer, waiting for the sensation to kick in, for Dean to moan and pull Sam into him, setting the guitar on the floor so they could fuck right here on the couch. Instead, Dean's eyes watched his own hands in full focus.

Sam's lambent fingers didn't seem to be effecting him too much. Sam walked them up closer, higher, further towards the inside seam of his jeans. Dean still wasn't responding, light guitar diddling spilling out between their bodies instead. Sam sighed and took his hand back. Apparently it was going to be more difficult than that to get Dean detached from his guitar.

He sat still for a moment, thinking, then his fingertips were walking again, creeping up the face of the guitar. Sam plucked at the string closest to him, a high-pitched, dissonant sound coming out of the guitar. Dean finally looked up at that, mouth set tight and looking a little cross as he met Sam's eyes.

"Really?"

"You've been playing forever! Don't your fingers at least hurt?" Sam was trying to sound like he was an adult but he felt like whiny little Sammy asking Dean to play with him. Dean studied Sam for a second, probably looking for a motive. Then he sighed, the guitar falling silent as he withdrew his hands, looking at his fingertips.

"They're not bleeding yet," Dean responded snidely. Sam rolled his eyes, then watched Dean put his fingers back on the strings. Once his left hand compressed down the strings by the little gold bars, he winced slightly, like the strings were biting him. Sam might not have caught the wince if he wasn't propped up sitting in between Dean's knees. That wince did not look good.

He snatched up Dean's left hand, yanking it towards him before Dean could register and fight back. The tips of his fingers were rough, deep grooved lines in each of them. The skin around the lines was red and looked pretty damaged. Sam traced his thumb over Dean's middle finger, feeling the next wince more than he saw it. He shot his eyes back up then, meeting the green ones that were watching him curiously. "Have they bled before?" Sam demanded.

Dean shrugged. "It's the sacrifice of the trade, Sammy."

Sam twisted up his nose. That was just like Dean. So now Sam had to worry about him even when he was doing the simplest, least dangerous of things. He managed to even make something enjoyable and quiet into a harmful and bloody mess. Sam tossed Dean's hand back into his possession, his tone of voice blocking out some of the worry with his overexaggerated disdain.

"Great, now you're becoming a real rocker." Sam had heard plenty of occasions that famous guitar players played til their fingers bled, some past then. Sam didn't get why in the world you would feel that was necessary. Wouldn't it be so much easier and healthier and enjoyable if you stopped before your fingers freaking bled?

"Oh, you know you'd love me in leather and eyeliner," Dean teased, looking up from his own inspection of his fingertips. Sam rolled his eyes. He was not going to think about that. At all. Dean didn't see Sam's eyeroll, he was too busy sighing at his hand, slumping a bit into the couch in defeat. He grabbed the handle part of the guitar, sliding it off of him and rolling up a bit onto his side to place the guitar carefully on the ground.

The moment that Dean was lifting his torso back up to the couch empty-handed, Sam leaned over and had his palm running up Dean's chest, curving over sternum. There was so much warmth, so much unique, crafted muscle on Dean. Dean watched him with amused eyes, waiting patiently as Sam's hands traced over him. Then Sam dipped his head down, their mouths barely touching, lips grazing over each other as he felt Dean heat up, could hear his heart begin to race beneath Sam's palm. Sam kept that tension there, that anticipation as they were almost kissing but not quite.

Dean started to arch into it, chest searing up into Sam's hand. Sam had to be careful as Dean lifted his head up, chased after Sam's lips. Sam backed up in time, just centimeters away from satisfying Dean. He grinned, watching Dean get needy when he'd apparently not needed any of this a few minutes ago. He'd been absorbed and gorgeous and it had been entirely unfair. Now it was Sam's turn to tease.

Big, rough hands came out of nowhere. Suddenly their mouths were crushed hard against each other as Dean pulled Sam in by the back of his head and held him down, using a bit of his hunter strength to overpower Sam's light teasing. The rough, insistent kiss and forceful tug went straight to Sam's downstairs brain, making his jeans feel too tight and definitely in the way. Dean bit Sam's bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth possessively and running his tongue over it. The hard bite was drawing all of Sam's nerves to the surface, made his lip have a heartbeat as Dean sucked harder, made the whole thing throb even more.

Sam had been all for teasing Dean and making him wait for it, but now that teeth and roughness were involved, Sam's sex drive kicked in and he was hauling Dean into his lap before Dean could let go of Sam's lips. It was a bit of a tough angle to pick him up with Dean laying down and Sam still in between his legs, but Sam got his arms under Dean's back and lifted quickly, so there wasn't much option of protest. He was already in between Dean's knees, so Dean helpfully landed straddling Sam's lap. The only time Sam had to tilt his head up to kiss Dean was when Dean was in his lap, and there was something really great about that whole situation.

He had his arms wrapped possessively over Dean's back, one shoved up his layers of shirt to mark a brand on his already hot skin. Dean caught on to the new position fast, grinding down on Sam's hard-on and forcing Sam's head to tilt onto the back couch cushion with his insistently rough kisses. Everything around them was soft, unlike a motel chair, which was normally the only other place Dean straddled him like this with them both sitting up. They both kind of had a thing for this position, which only made everything that much hotter and more intense between them. Sam was pretty sure Dean liked it because he was sitting up and had more control than usual. And he was temporarily taller than Sam. Sam liked it because he still got to be inside Dean, and he got the added benefits of Dean getting off on controlling it. Power-bottom was a good place for Dean. So was submissive-as-fuck bottom, and god knows Dean liked that one too. Probably more. Although he'd never admit it, Sam was pretty sure Dean liked it best when he was held down and fucked senseless.

Speaking of which, Sam took his hands off of Dean's back, pushing their way in between their bodies. His fingers popped the button on Dean's jeans and quickly pulled down the fly, reaching a hand inside his boxers to pull out his erection. Dean groaned into Sam's mouth and Sam pushed Dean's pants out of the way the best he could, wrapping his fingers around the base and pulling up along the shaft with a twist of his wrist. It was a rough, uncoordinated motion without lube to slide the way, but Dean seemed to love it anyways. He bucked up into Sam's hand, groaning and moaning up a storm into Sam's mouth. Sam dragged his palm over the already slightly slick head of Dean's dick, pulling the moisture down as he jacked his hand up a little faster.

Dean bucked again, trying to get more friction as he slid his dick in the circle of Sam's hand. Sam squeezed and dragged down and up again, pressing his thumb against the underside of the head before rounding his palm over the slit on top again. Dean cried out, his mouth breaking away from Sam's with the sound. It was gorgeous and Sam could do this forever, but instead he let go of his grip on Dean, making him whimper at the loss of contact. He took the bottom hem of Dean's shirt and tugged upwards. Dean lifted his arms and Sam pulled it over Dean's head, tossing it aside. They always seemed to be playing a game of gather-up-the-clothes after they had sex. It was just that nobody really cared where all their clothes landed, so they never landed anywhere in the general vicinity of each other.

Sam shed his shirt too, tugged it over his head with a single hand on the tag in the back while Dean unbuttoned Sam's jeans. It would take them a year and a half to get their jeans off in this position. Sam sighed and looked at Dean for a second, perched on Sam's lap with his beautiful bare chest, matching tattoo and uniquely shaped abdomen muscles that Sam adored, erection pulled out of his pants and grazing over his naked stomach. Damn, Sam was lucky.

Then Sam put his hands on Dean's hips and lifted him up the same time Sam stood, only actually bearing Dean's weight for a few seconds until Dean got his feet under him and stood up, taking a step backwards so there was room for both of them to stand. Dean opened his mouth to ask something, but seemed to get his question answered before he asked it as Sam slipped out of his jeans and boxers, kicking them aside with his foot. It was a good thing they'd scooted down a bit on the couch when Sam pulled Dean into his lap, otherwise they would have landed on top of the guitar when they stood up. As it was, the guitar was right there and definitely in danger.

While Dean stripped his jeans and boxers off too, Sam picked up the guitar and sat it off to the side, far out of harm's way. He checked the doorway, but there was no door, just an archEd open space for an entrance. Sam cursed and grabbed his jeans, tossing them out into the space between the computer room and the library that would open up to this room. Kevin should get that hint, steer clear long enough to not be mentally scarred.

As soon as they were both naked, the biting kisses began again, and Sam lead them both back to the couch. He sat down the second the back of his knees hit, his mouth breaking away from Dean's unintentionally. Dean was left standing, looking over Sam with hungry eyes. He stepped forward and lowered himself back onto Sam's lap slowly, legs spreading as he sunk down. Sam's eyes went wide and he had to bite his lip at the sight. Dean was so fucking hot, all exposed with his legs spread, dick leaking precum against his stomach as he perched on the tops of Sam's thighs. Sam's hands ran over Dean's shoulders, down his built arms to the back of his hands. His palms slid off the backs of Dean's, landing on Dean's knees and still touching, still sliding, but up his body now, fingers spread to take in as much of that thigh muscle as he could. Dean closed his eyes and teasingly arched his back, grinding his hips down a little on the top of Sam's thighs as Sam touched him. Sam's eyes traced like his hands did, reaching the top of Dean's thighs and wrapping around to the round ass, taking fistfuls and dragging Dean in closer to him.

"Mmm," Dean said, rocking their dicks together against Sam's stomach. He leaned in close, breathing on the skin on Sam's neck as he spoke quiet into his ear. "If I'm a rocker now, let me rock you, yeah?"

The words were low and sexy and Sam was so so for this right now. He breathed out a yeah in response, bucking his hips up to slide them together again. Dean moaned loudly, tucking his head in against Sam's neck. He shifted his hips back, lifting his ass up off Sam's thighs.

"Open me up for you, sweetheart?" Dean whispered, licking a stripe across Sam's skin after the words. Sam had a spit-soaked finger pushing inside Dean seconds later, making him rock back on the intrusion and whine. Sam was pretty sure Dean didn't need to sleep with porn stars, he could be one himself with all those sounds he was making right now.

As soon as Sam had two fingers in, Dean was leaning back and swiveling his hips down, fucking himself on Sam's fingers. Dean's eyes locked on his and the green in his eyes got darker, more lust-filled as he rode Sam's fingers, in total control and loving it. It wasn't long before Sam had a third in, then he couldn't take it anymore, couldn't watch Dean arch so beautifully and fuck himself on those fingers when Sam was hard and needy and right here. He drew his fingers out of Dean quickly on an upstroke, making Dean moan annoyed at the lack of fullness.

But then Sam's hands were on Dean's hips and he was pulling him closer - the hand that had just been inside Dean leaving slick marks on that hip - and Dean was no longer protesting. He watched, intrigued - and incredibly turned on if the leaking dick against his stomach was any clue - as Sam lined up Dean's entrance. Dean cried out softly as Sam pulled him down in one quick tug, lining up one second then bodies flush and bottomed out inside Dean the next. Dean rolled his hips experimentally, making Sam see stars and Dean make more pornific sounds.

Dean leaned forward and placed his mouth over Sam's and they kissed, hot and wet and dirty as Dean rocked, drew in and out, rode Sam like a damn pro. His leaking cock brushed both of their stomachs as he pushed down, made Sam's abs cold and wet with Dean's precum, made his head spin that much more. Than Dean was pulling his mouth away, leaning back away from Sam. And leaning back. And leaning back.

Sam wasn't sure what angle Dean was going for but he got his hands on Dean's hips anyways, helping support him as Dean layed down on Sam's thighs, with Sam still buried deep inside him. Dean's shoulders were fully off Sam's knees, off the couch, and Sam was pretty sure Dean was going to fall if he didn't do something about that. Then his big, guitar-playing hands slid down the sides of Sam's thighs, down over his knees and his shins, slid across the tops of his feet and landed on the floor just in front of Sam's toes. Dean braced himself up with his arms on the floor, knees to the sky and legs curled up against the back couch cushion, ass basically sitting against Sam's abdomen with Sam buried inside. From this angle, Sam could see Dean's face and his gorgeous dick and the place where their bodies met, where Sam entered into the stretched out hole.

Dean pushed away from Sam and the couch, with his arms and his legs, revealing more skin and a better view to Sam, who had his eyes glued to where he was inside Dean's body. The lubed hole stretched out around Sam's cock, the flutter of that outer rim of muscles surrounding the smooth, hardened skin of himself, visually inside Dean. Then Dean slammed back down, sliding horizontally onto Sam and holy fuck that was a fucking deep angle and that was absolutely Dean's prostate and maybe his throat because god fucking damn it Sam was pretty sure he had never been this deep inside anyone before. Well, maybe this deep, but not at this angle and not with that view.

He watched as Dean's hole fluttered and stretched to accommodate Sam's cock, watched his body strain to open up for Sam's use.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam cursed, hands tightening on Dean's hip bones. Dean's eyelids were fluttering but he managed a weak smirk, pulling off and sinking back down on Sam again. It was Dean's turn to throw around the curse words, and god did he. He cursed and moaned and just kept sideways riding Sam, just kept fucking himself up against Sam's stomach from where his hands were braced behind him on the floor. His arms were a bit longer than the couch was high, so his shoulders were a little higher than his stomach, which made all of the muscles in his torso clench and tense up from the effort of supporting himself and fucking himself down on Sam.

Where the hell did Dean even get these ideas? Sam would seriously have not even considered this position, let alone thought it was possible. And then proceed to do it. But fuck, it was a good thing Dean did because he was seriously gorgeous like this. With Sam sitting up, he could see literally everything. Except Dean's forearms. That was the only thing blocked from view. The rest of it, the rest of Dean, was all layed out for him right here and Sam didn't have to do anything but hold onto Dean's hips and try not to come from the sheer sight of his Dean like this.

The tensed muscles of Dean's shoulders made his freckles that much more obvious, gave them a whole map of crevices and muscle lines to cover and outline. The freckles started to fade as they reached Dean's chest, and he had basically next to none on his pecs and abs. The tops of his arms faded too, so that they were basically undetectable on his forearms and biceps. The V lines of Dean's hips led down and faded into pure, silky white skin on the tops of his legs, not quite as tan as his arms and his chest. His ass was white too, even if Sam couldn't see it right now. When Dean was outside, it was almost always in jeans, no matter the place or weather. In the summer he'd work on the car shirtless, which is probably why the freckles on his shoulders stood out the most. But it also gave his stomach a nice golden tan, too. Which Sam couldn't help but admire from this angle. This seriously wonderful angle where he got to watch Dean fuck himself down on Sam.

Dean had said something earlier about rocking Sam but Sam seriously had no idea he meant this intensity. Sam was entirely fucked, entirely lost in just watching Dean. Unable to function, unable to focus on anything besides Dean's body and what the inside of it felt like and what the outside of it looked like as he took Sam's cock in him again and again. And his facial expressions, hell. Dean looked wasted on Sam's cock, looked like he could come at any second. His eyes were fluttering and his breathing was sporadic and his lips were parted and shiny wet. The lighting in here made the freckles on Dean's nose stand out too.

It was surreally beautiful, like some sort of age-old painting but so much better, so much more real and here and hot and soft. Sam could drink up Dean forever.

As it was, neither of them were able to hold out for too long, not as long as they had in the past anyways. The coil of need had been hot in Sam's stomach for some time before he finally couldn't take it anymore, before his body shuddered and his eyes squeezed shut and he emptied into Dean's body. The warmth shot up inside of Dean, the soft moan of his name. Dean gasped, on the edge, when Sam's shaking arms wrapped around his back, in between where he was laying on Sam's legs. Sam pulled him up with some ungodly strength unknown to man, and then Dean was coming onto both of their stomachs, white spirals arching up between them and draining Dean entirely.

Once their chests and the underside of Dean's chin were painted, Dean was collapsing against Sam, breathing hard and sticking them together more in the mess. He managed to wipe under his chin with the back of his hand, grimacing at the goo and wiping the back of his hand on Sam's arm. Sam pulled back from Dean, making a face at the gesture but losing any bit of annoyance he'd feigned as his eyes grazed over Dean's body again.

When Dean had done that quick gaspy thing he always did right before he came, Sam had lifted Dean up because he could only really see Dean painting his own face with come at that angle. Which would probably be really fucking hot but odds are Dean wasn't going to see it coming and get it in his eye or something ridiculous and then end up complaining for the next like, ten days. So Sam had saved him from an unintentional facial, had pulled Dean up to sitting again. But from where Dean sat on him, he still got to see Dean's face, see his neck flush red as his body seized and he hit his climax.

Now, he pulled away and scanned his eyes over Dean again, looked over that perfect body. There were streaks of white on him now, and his chest and neck were flushed red from orgasming. He had this sort of glaze in his eyes he always did directly after coming, his mouth crooked up in an attemption at a grin that looked more precious and tired than anything. He was still breathing heavy, his chest heaving and his body slack in Sam's grip. Sam was more than a little worn out himself, but they could seriously both use a shower and it wasn't the hardest or the longest round they'd gone at and still stood up from, so they probably should get into safer territory before they passed out asleep.

Sam cupped the side of Dean's cheek, tilting his face so he could kiss him, languid and slow and happy. When he pulled away, the smile on Dean's face was softer and more real.

"You are a rock star," Sam murmured against that mouth, eyes open to watch Dean. Dean smiled a little wider and kissed Sam again, let their tongues mingle together lazily. And a little crazy, Sam added in his head. He'd have said it out loud but having his tongue lick over Dean's seemed like it was much more important right now.

~*~*~

Their crazy couch sex had put Dean in a good mood for the rest of the day. To the point that he was whistling as he did his house work. Sam laughed when he heard it but Dean kept whistling anyways. Quietly.

Whenever he was cleaning, he always had time to think. Sometimes he listened to music but today the only form of sound was the quiet whistle and the thoughts inside Dean's head. Today he was thinking about a younger version of Sammy, how different their lives used to be.

In their childhood they fought more, Dean being cautious and rough around the edges and afraid of little Sammy's safety all the time. Now that Sam could take care of himself, Dean didn't worry like he used to. In fact, after Sam had been hunting with Dean and John for a while, some of that worry faded. So, the arguments did too.

They were closest in their childhood when Sam was a baby and a toddler, before he started in on all the questions. But as teens, they got even closer towards the end. The closer in time they got to Stanford, the closer they grew. All the way up until that last month, when Sam distanced himself hard and fast and painful.

But during those middle years, after Sam asked questions and found out but before Sam had started being able to care for himself and hunt, they fought all the time. Why this, why that, now we're moving Dean I don't want to move. I just want to be normal. Just leave me alone, I don't need you snooping over my shoulder every ten seconds Dean.

It hadn't been a good time period in their lives.

It probably lasted from when Sam was 10~ to 15~ During those five years, Sam kicked and hollered at everything. Those were tough five years for anyone, but for Sam they hit him hard. He didn't hate Dean, but if Dean had to pinpoint the time period in their lives that Sam started hating the job, that'd be it.

But during those five years of painful conversations and a constantly worried Dean, there was one repetitive good memory. One thing that made Dean smile every time he thought of it, the little bright light in that purple and blue time period of their lives.

It was a tradition they had, started back when Sam was still tiny. And it made Sam smile, brought out the 12 year old Sam laugh that Dean didn't get to hear very often. Dean couldn't remember if it had been Dad's suggestion but he doubted it. John never had any good ideas that were lighthearted and fun, he was too obsessed back then to create a little tradition. So it had probably been Dean's doing.

When things were tough, when Sam was unhappy and they fought and Dean worried and Sam shied away from Dean's touch sometimes, they would turn to their getaway. Which thinking about it now, seemed kind of pitiful that it was their happiest memories of those years. But at least they were still happy.

Sam's smiling face, high pitched laugh echoing off the walls of the laundromat as Dean tried unsuccessfully to bluff his way through two queens when Sam held three in his hand. Cards, everything from BS to Poker to Egytian Rat Screw. Sitting on the long bench in the laundromat, plaid shirts tumbling in a washer beside them.

John didn't come with on laundry runs, he had more important things to do. Maybe that's why the tradition started, because they loved the outing the meant they got to be stress free for a bit. There was nothing hunting them, nothing that could danger Sammy when he was sitting a door away from Dean in the back of a building that smelled like bleach and Glide. Dean always made sure to sit so he could see the door, just in case, but it was a habit that didn't preoccupy his mind.

He was too busy laughing and Sam's crinkled nose at a bad hand or rolled eyes at Dean's ridiculous play. They talked while they played, they laughed while they played. And it was never about hunting, not once. For just a moment they were the normal people Sam wanted to be, just two kids playing cards on a bench.

They still played when the Questions Years turned into the Confident Years, when Sam was 16 and learned to drive and started growing into his body a little more. He wore his hair a little shorter, started working out and talking to Dean again. He was old enough to stop pestering everybody about everything, started just trying to one up Dean on hunting instead. Wanted to be the best researcher, the best at everything. Dean took the challenge head on. They laughed more then, naturally, and John left the two of them with the Impala a lot, so there wasn't much stress either. Sam could shot a bullseye easy now, which meant Dean didn't have to worry so much. They pranced each other and elbowed each other and pointed out hot girls as dare challenges.

Even though they laughed in their daily lives then, they still made time to go to the laundromat and play cards, laugh some more. It was good, those years. Between 16-18, Dean had been in a great place. He'd had a family and a purpose and a little brother who hadn't turned out half bad, was smart as hell.

Then it all turned sour and Sam started getting cynical of Dad. Still close to Dean, close enough to complain, close enough to demand why Dean listened so blindly to the man. Then that last month hit and Sam avoided Dean like a biblical plague. Dean still scrambled to get Sam back in his life and then poof, Sam's bags were packed one night and he had a letter in his hand. Gone the next morning.

He'd asked Dean to come with him but of course Dean didn't. Couldn't.

The next time Dean went to get the laundry cleaned, he sat down on the bench and tucked his head between his knees and cried.

Looking back on it, Dean did a lot of crying in those months after Sam left. Kind of an embarrassing amount of crying, actually. He also did a lot of killing and screaming and dangerous shit he didn't want to think about, but yeah. It was a dark time. Made even darker without the light of their tradition of cards, of laughter and stepping outside the box of hell they lived in. Normalcy and fun and simplicity and safety and light, so much light.

He left the map table half cleaned, tossed the dishcloth in the sink on the way to his room. He suddenly had much more important things to do than clean the bunker from head to toe.

The black duffel he'd used his whole life was under his bed, had been unpacked for the most part. Dean rummaged through it now, searching for something he knew he still had to have. Well, or not. He came up empty, no work down corners pack of cards in there. Dean looked up and made a contemplative face. Where the hell were they, then?

He slid his duffel off his bed and pushed it back underneath with his foot. He opened up the drawers in his dresser, just in case he'd put them in here for some reason. Dean was pretty sure he hadn't, but he could check.

It wasn't like he had a ton of belongings they could get lost in, so Dean searched wverything he had inside of five minutes. No cards. Okay, it was retrace your steps time. What was the last time they'd played cards, using specifically that deck. They played a few times in bars, but the duffel bag set was their own personal deck, stolen from a pro cards game by yours truly.

Wow, they hadn't played in a really long time. Not just the two of them, anyways. They hadn't played since the trials...since Dean got back from Purgatory. They never played while they were chasing the Leviathans, or while Sam didn't have a soul. They didn't play once Lucifer was out of the cage, didn't play after Dean got back from Hell.

So the last time they played was...holy shinola it was like years ago, that one case where Dean wasn't allowed to sleep for a couple of days? It had been Sam's idea, they'd holed up in some motel room and sat on a bed, playing cards while Dean ate a chocolate bar to try to get some small dose of caffeine that would keep him awake.

Dean grinned as he remembered where that had lead. It had been one of their first proper make out sessions, before they'd really been together or labeled what this thing was between them. Dean had been contemplating his hand and sucking on a piece of chocolate when Sam had suddenly launched at him, licking the chocolate taste right out of his mouth. Dean had been surprised at first but man had he caught on quickly. And then he didn't want to stop, wanted to kiss Sam with their chocolate tongues forever.

The phone had rang and interrupted eventually, but Dean had still had time to tease Sam in the meantime about his chocolate kink. Which Sam had totally denied. Dean smiled to himself at the memory.

But where had those cards gone? Sam had gathered them up, had stacked them all nice and organized and probably color coded then slid them in the box, tossing the whole thing...in his duffel. So Sam had them, the bastard. Now that Dean thought about it, Sam had taken the deck of cards out of his bag that day too. Sam must have taken them out of Dean's duffel after Dean dragged Sam out of Stanford.

Dean made his way to Sam's room, which was as always, empty. He glanced around with a scowl, at the bare walls and the entire total lack of caring, almost paused and considered just decorating it right now for him. But he had a better idea in mind, one that had a lot more sunshine smiles in it.

Sam's duffel was laying on his desk, still 98% packed from the look of it. Dean sighed but went digging through the pockets anyways. He was fast, had a vague idea where Sam would keep them in here. He didn't want to go prying through the whole duffel, god knows what he might find. Their individual duffels had been their only source of privacy for a long time, and that was a hard habit to break. So Dean wasn't going to go exploring, there may be something in here that Sam didn't want Dean to see. And so Dean wasn't going to see it, not unless he had Sam's permission.

And based on the way Sam guarded his duffel like a Rottweiler, Dean would guess he definitely had something in here. But thankfully the inside pocket he was looking for was close to the top, less risky than having to dig through the whole thing. Dean held his breath as he plunged his hand in, feeling for the worn down corners of the box. Right...there.

He snatched the cards out, backing out of the room quickly. Crisis averted.

As he walked back down the hallway, on his way to the library, Dean looked over the deck of cards in his palm. Wow, it had been a long time. Dean wasn't sure why they ever stopped playing, but he had a feeling it was just one of those things. Dean had gone to hell and cards just didn't sound like the jolly old fun it used to after that. Then Sam had gone to Hell. Their whole lives were in shambles as soon as the angels showed up, everything from apocalypses and monster movements and demon wars getting in the way of normal, breaks, fun.

Dean hadn't thought about playing cards for fun in a long time. They played for money, hustled and scammed. But laundry days were either spent apart or talking a case. There were a couple of less-busy weeks that meant laundry days were kissing up against the machines. But nobody pulled out the deck and attempted to squeeze on that little bench, declaring they were going to go first in Egyptian Rat Screw.

Sam was dozing in his reading chair in the library, Slaughterhouse Five hanging open from his hand. He looked exhausted, head tilted to the side with a sheet of hair falling over his face. His lips were positioned funny, squished together from where his chin was pressing against the cushion. Dean smiled softly at the sight, at Sammy getting to read - he was on a reread the Classics kick - and falling asleep all adorable in his chair. There was still a knot of worry in the pit of Dean's stomach, but that was the sacrifice.

If they were going to have sex, Dean was going to have to deal with the repercussions. He'd tried to make it as easy on Sam as possible, tried to spare what little energy Sam had. It still took a toll though, and Sam passed out asleep a couple hours later was the consequence for that. So Dean shoved down his uneasy feeling, tucked away the worry. There was nothing he could do about it.

He pressed a soft kiss on the top of Sam's head as he passed, then he was headed for the back of the bunker and that flight of stairs.

"Hey, K-mart?" Dean knocked on the closed door, creaking it open a bit as he did. He peeked his head inside without waiting for a response. Kevin was at the desk that had come with the room, and he was fully dressed so Dean swung the door open the rest of the way. Odds are, he wasn't going to ever find Kevin in an awkward situation, but after working with Ash, Dean figured you could never be too careful.

"Very original, Dean," Kevin said dryly, not looking up from whatever he was writing. Dean shrugged. He thought it was creative, but whatever. Then Kevin swiveled around, sighing like Dean always brought bad news every time he came in. Which wasn't true, half the time Dean spent in here was making sure the little prophet was still alive and functioning. "What do you want?"

"Gee, great to see you too, Kev," Dean said sarcastically. He wasn't going to hold the cynicism against the kid though, he'd been through a lot and they always seemed to be throwing more at him.

"I'm making dinner in like -" Dean glanced down at his watch, "- an hour, then free up your schedule after that. Need you for something."

Kevin sighed, again, like Dean was just asking sooo much. Dean was not equipped to raise a moody, prophet teenager.

"Are you actually inviting me to dinner with you guys?"

"Hey, you're always welcome to dinner. It's just normally some food you complain about. But today, I'm making Thai," Dean smiled proudly. Kevin just looked at him.

"Just because I'm Asian doesn't mean I automatically like every food that's made in the Eastern Hemisphere." Kevin's eyebrows were up and his mouth was set in a sassy, straight line. Dean sighed. He tried, he really did.

"But you do like Thai, right?" Dean was pretty sure he could remember Kevin asking about it once. Or maybe not. But Dean knew this really easy recipe that didn't take too long and actually tasted pretty authentic. Even though it was basically like pasta with sauce and peanut butter and vegetables and sprouts.

"Yeah, I guess." Kevin leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen on his desk. Okay, Dean could read that body language. Kevin wanted to get back to whatever he'd been doing. Dean could respect that, fine fine.

"Okay. Cool. And just a couple hours after dinner, yeah? You'll see what for."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Kevin turned back to his desk and Dean closed the door back behind him, shaking his head as he headed back down the stairs. Teenagers.

The Thai pasta ended up being a hit, although Sam said it was a little bit spicier than he'd like. Dean told him that he could start criticizing the spices when he learned how to make something besides cereal. Kevin snorted and Sam rolled his eyes, but ate it anyways. And drank a lot of water. The plus side to being a little spicy though, meant that Sam was at least fully awake now. Nothing like habanero to wake you up. Although he hadn't been too groggy when Dean had shook him awake from his nap, thankfully.

Kevin helped clear the table and Dean handed Sam the cloth with careful instructions on how to wipe down the table. "You go with the grain, Sam. And don't just slide around the crumbs, scoop at the end, yeah?" Sam rolled his eyes again and made an epic bitch face but at least the table got cleaned while Dean washed dishes. Kevin went up to brush his teeth but promised (while rolling his eyes again - Dean put up with a lot of sass in this house) he'd be right back down for whatever Dean needed him for.

Once dinner was all cleaned up and the leftovers were safe in the fridge, Dean shut off the light in the kitchen. He made his way around the rest of the bunker, popping off lights in the hallways and the front entrance and the computer room. The only light he kept on was one of the red and gold lights in the library, over the top of the further of the two wooden tables. It had less research strewn on it than the other one, but Dean still moved all the papers and books off.

Kevin came back down, phone flashlight in hand, just as Dean carried the last pile of books off the table. Sam was propped against the wall watching Dean, but when Kevin came down he stood back up straight.

Dean beckoned for them to sit down, pulling out the chair at the end of the little table for Sam. Dean stood behind it, waiting until Sam eat down so he could scoot it back in for him. Then Dean and Kevin both sat down across from each other, forming a skewed triangle.

"What is all this about?" Kevin asked, tilting his chair back and balancing. Dean pulled the other little box he'd found out of his pocket, emptied the deck into his hand.

"We're playing cards." Dean answered, shuffling the vintage deck in his hand. Earlier, right after he'd gone to talk to Kevin, Dean had decided to continue his search. He'd sat the ol' 52 on his dresser, leaving the worn cornered deck of spades through hearts in his room. Then he'd headed all the way to the front room, to some of the first tables they'd ever seen in here. The Men of Letters had lived here full time, and therefore had nothing to do but research. And play games.

The first time they'd been in the bunker, they'd seen a half finished game of chess and some old cups of coffee. Dean had cleaned up the creepy mess a long time ago, had put the chess board away in its box, found the shelf that had a hole for it. Dean made his way to that same shelf again, running his fingers over the stack of dusty games. He found a tin container on the shelf below the chess board, and had pried it open with some difficulty.

Inside there was another deck of cards like the one Dean had just put in his room, except these had the words Coca-Cola printed across the back. Dean pulled them out, revealing two other decks of cards. One was for a game Dean had never heard of, but the other he definitely recognized.

He took out the colorful deck, mouthing the words on the back to himself. Phase Ten. Sammy used to love this game. They'd had a deck for a while, one Dean had lifted out of a library, actually. Some small town library with a play section for kids and card games. No one had been old enough in the play section to play Phase Ten anyways, so Dean hadn't felt bad about taking them back to Sammy.

It was a simple game, kind of like a version of Rummy. But easier by far. The cards were sorted into numbers, 1-12, and split up amongst four colors. There were wild cards and skips, and 10 phases of hands to get through to win. Pretty easy stuff.

***see end notes for game explanation

Dean and Sam both had the phases memorized, but every deck came with a phases card in it for a reminder anyways. Dean took it off the deck and handed it to Kevin, explaining the rules as he shuffled. It wasn't hard, really.

Sam perked up the second he saw the cards, eyes lighting up and lips parting. This Phase Ten deck was even cooler than the one Sam had lost (he'd left it in one of their damn motel rooms or his locker at a school or something). The colors were faded, but still quite clearly red, blue, green, and yellow. The font was definitely the best part, all the numbers on the front and the Phase Ten on the flip side written in that fifties signature vintage thing that had the weird slopes and Grease Lightning vibe.

Dean dealt out the cards - ten to everybody - and watched their faces as they picked them up. Sam, swooping them all up and then organizing them by number, then color. Kevin, who picked them up one by one and probably organized them like Sam did too. Great minds think alike.

Kevin got to draw the first card, either the seven that was flipped or one from the deck, because Dean shuffled and play automatically goes to the person on the left in basically every card game ever. Everyone seemed a little surprised they were playing cards, but they went along with it anyways. The first round was a little hesitant, like Sam wasn't sure if he was dreaming and Kevin wasn't sure of there was some hidden catch that meant he was really going to have to do research any moment instead.

After they tentatively got past the first round, everybody laying down their hand without too much drama, things started to loosen up.

"Kevin, don't discard any eights, Sammy's saving them." Dean grinned at Sam and Sam raised his eyebrows, rearranging the cards in his hand.

"How do you know I didn't pick up the eight for my run? It is set of three, run of four Dean."

"Because who the hell uses eights for runs? That means you have to collect all the middle cards and that's always way harder for whatever reason."

Kevin snorted, looking down at his hand. Once Sam discarded - a 7, which meant Dean had been totally right about the 8 not being for a run - Dean drew from the deck, the exact wild card that would complete his set.

"Booyah," Dean cheered, laying his hand down on the table and tossing a useless one on the discard pile. Which meant he passed this phase and could move on to the next when the hand was over. He still had two cards left in his hand though, so the hand wasn't over yet.

Kevin picked up the card Dean discarded, laying down his hand too. He was smiling wickedly, and for good reason, because he'd gotten even bigger numbers than he'd needed to. His run was 5 cards and his set was 4, which meant the card he discarded left his hands empty and the round over. In consequence, Sam got left in the dust, one round behind both of them.

So of course, Sam shot death rays at Kevin, exaggeratedly swooping out his arm and drawing the pile of cards to himself to shuffle for the next round. Dean and Kevin both laughed, watching Sam as he bridged the cards perfectly and started dealing them back out.

"I'm still gonna win this, you just watch me," Sam grumbled, the cards landing a little haphazardly in front of each of them.

"Okay, sweetheart, you have fun trying." Dean said happily, scooping each card up as Sam dealt them to him. Kevin looked up from his cards, shooting Dean a perplexed glance which Dean pretended not to notice.

Kevin hadn't really been very present during their transition stage, hadn't been around their new relationship much since the trials. They used to spend more time with the prophet, but lately they'd been wrapped up in the angel mess and each other, hence socializing hadn't been big on anybody's agenda.

Which meant Kevin had missed the change from the sex-and-comfort relationship they'd had before the trails to the fluffy-hands-holding one they were in now. The sex and comfort were still a huge factor, but so were kisses in the hallway and holding hands and name calling (not the brotherly kind - the sugar kind) and all those things that determined Dean had no man cards left to get taken away.

So yeah, it was probably strange to the kid to hear Dean use a pet name, but he'd catch on eventually. He'd been eyeing them both all night anyways. Dean was pretty sure the kid was suspicious that they might just start stripping each other at any moment and bang on the table in front of him. Some of that irrational fear seemed to have ebbed away as the game went on, but he still looked a little wary. They weren't that obsessed with each other that they couldn't keep it in their pants for an evening. After all, they had been used to not screwing for a lot more of their lives than they had actually been together, having spent 24 years without so much as a kiss. Dean was pretty sure that most of the time Kevin forgot they were still brothers, and it wasn't like Dean was going to remind him. That wasn't something anybody talked about, ever.

Dean must have been a bit distracted with his thoughts, because both Kevin and Sam laid down their hands and conspired to close the round before Dean could even get a run organized in his hand. He cursed, now his turn to glare at Kevin. Kevin smiled all cockily and just scooted the cards towards Dean.

"Your turn to shuffle!" He said, way too chipper. Dean hated the third phase, he always got stuck on it. Every time. Kevin might not know that but by the way Sam was grinning at his cards, Sam had definitely noticed it happened again.

Dean glared a little at them both as he dealt out the cards - swift, efficient flicks of his wrist that had each card sliding directly in front of their holder, forming a little pile all on their own. This part, Dean was good at. By the time he was ten, he'd been taught how to shuffle and deal cards perfectly, according to both the Nevada Gaming Commission of Las Vegas rules and the back street alleyway shady pool table drug dealer mobsters way. He preferred the clean unless and accuracy of a NGC deal, although his shuffle was more a combination do the two styles of cards. If you tried to play by official NGC rules in a bar, you were assumed a prick and a cheat, so learning both sides had been important. Well, Dean had thought so. Sam never cared much, just tried to get his awkward fingers to bridge the cards without fumbling.

Once the cards were dealt and the discard and pickup piles were straightened, Dean picked up his own hand, one by one. He had a bit of a better hand this time, with three of his four cards for the run already and two pairs to chose from for his set. He scanned his eyes over his fellow players, scanning expressions and trying to guess how good his opponents' cards were.

Sam had a stone cold poker face that worked on everyone in the universe except for Dean, which he was wearing now, eyebrows furrowed as he looked nonchalantly at his cards. Sammy was dealt it - or close - then. Dammit. Dean glanced over at Kevin, who's lips were working, mumbling something to himself as he made the fan of cards in his hand have perfect, even spacing. Dean had no idea what was ever running through that kid's head, and apparently playing cards was no exception. Dean chewed on his lip, contemplating the blue card in his hand. Kevin was ahead by one round, but Sam nearly always won this, so...

"Skip Kevin," Dean decided, laying down the blue card at the end of his turn. Kevin looked up, indignant and wide-eyed.

"What? What for?"

"You're ahead, numnuts. And if I'm goin down, I'm goin down swinging." Dean grinned and tapped his stack of cards on the table absentmindedly. He was one card away from getting out of this hellish phase. Kevin just rolled his eyes at Dean's remark, setting his cards down on the table with a pout. Sam snagged another card off the deck, fanning out his completed phase on the wooden table. Dean groaned. He'd totally picked the wrong person to skip.

"Uno," Sam joked, tossing a card at the discard, missing the pile entirely, and not caring a bit. Dean sighed, setting the card where it belonged and straightening both piles out. Seriously, keeping a tidy game was not a difficult concept. Dean would sneer something about uno being a different game, but he figured he'd have plenty of time to bitch at Sam tonight between ten entire phases.

At least that was something Dean wasn't wrong about. The more phases they got through, the more everybody loosened up and the jabs came harder, faster, somebody making some remark after nearly every turn. It was competitive and maybe a little childish but Dean threw back his head and laughed at all the jabs and comments anyways.

Sam pulled ahead of them in the phases, but Kevin finally caught back up to him on the run of nine with a cocky grin and a suck it thrown in Sam's direction. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized what he said and his face went ashen gray, eyes suddenly the size of saucers.

"Wait, wait, I didn't mean it like that, like not actually--" Kevin stumbled over his words, his face written all over with oh god, I just told a gay man to suck it, what have I done. He looked petrified.

Dean almost fell out of his chair he was laughing so hard. He sat down his cards and doubled over, tears at the corner of his eyes as he held his sides from the laughter wracking his body. Sam's face was just as priceless as Kevin's, like he was as just as horrified -- at the implication that he might have taken the phrase that way. Dean just laughed harder.

Sam looked at Dean with that tremendous shock on his face amplified, like Dean laughing at the awkward situation was somehow making it so much worse in Sam's head. Dean was bracing himself with a hand on the table, trying to catch his breath through the laughter. Theirfaces. The realization of the words, Kevin thinking Sam might take that the wrong way, it was all so fucking great. Sam stared at him a moment longer, then the wide eyes of horror gave way to a curled up grin then Sam was laughing too.

Kevin looked between the two of them, which made Sam start really laughing, then finally Kevin lost it too. The whole situation was too ridiculous not to. Kevin's high pitched, bird-call laugh didn't help Dean's laughing in the least because he was pretty sure he'd never heard the prophet laugh til now and holy shit he literally sounded like an emu.

The three of them were in peals of laughter, game ignored for a moment as they all laughed at the victorious words that had turned regretful so quickly. They laughed at everybody's initial reaction to Kevin's back pedaling, they laughed at each other laughing. Everybody sounded weird to everyone else's ears and everyone just laughed more at that. It was this big, vicious circle of laughing, the never ending looping ones that had people clutching their sides and gasping for air at the end. One of those moments that lasted so long no one really remembered the reason they'd started laughing in the first place.

Everything was red and gold and dim, vintage antique cards laid out on the table between the laughing bodies and smiling faces. Kevin was bright and happy and finally looked his age for a moment, like a college kid just having a great time with his friends. Dean sometimes forgot the kid was still so young. Sam was giggly and beautiful and healthy, even if just for only this second, while everything was saturated and Dean could pretend.

Even if just for this moment, this moment in time that the three of them were suspended like crystals just drawn out of the fire. The air was cool around them and in them and Dean felt refreshed, the streaks of tears from his laughter feeling cool and clean on his cheeks. It was like they were in a air pocket, like they had been drowning under the ocean for a long time and they'd found a sanctuary of oxygen in between some underwater rocks to fill their lungs back up before they got plunged under the surface again.

Except in reality Dean was actually having a hard time finding oxygen, what with the way his lungs were barely working from all the laughing.

Eventually he found a way to make his lungs work, breathed out through his mouth in an o shape, trying to calm himself back down as he wiped at his laughter-tears with the back of his hand. The other boys were trying to do the same, a dire need of oxygen breaking the infinitive loop of laughter.

"Whew, wow," a little laugh escaped Dean's throat and he looked grinning between the both of them. Kevin was wiping at his eyes too and Sam ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back from having been dislodged when he threw his head back to laugh.

"Kevin, I--" Sam started, another aftershock laugh interrupting his words. Kevin butted in before Sam could gain control and continue.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Kevin grinned, waving a hand of dismissal at the whole thing. Dean snorted again. The look of panic on Kevin's face earlier. Oh man.

They took a few more moments to catch their breath, each of them picking their hands back up eventually, little puffs of laughter and amused snorts fading away bit by bit.

"I don't even remember which phase I'm on, Dean said truthfully, scanning over his cards.

"Run of eight," Sam responded, always the record keeper. Dean made a face at his hand.

"Anyone wanna trade? I've got the perfect hand for 2 Sets of 4." If Sam was right about the phase Dean was supposed to be on, Dean was royally screwed.

"We're all on runs, Dean," Kevin reminded him, discarding a three. Dean eyed it - basically any card would be helpful right now - and Sam swiftly scooped it up. Dean was so sitting next to Kevin next time, he didn't pay attention to his discards like Sam did. Although no one paid attention to their discard cards like Sam did.

Apparently Kevin had done a fabulous job shuffling, because literally nobody had anything quality to work with in their hands. Which meant it'd be a long round, each of them battling to find some sort of run before the others could. It was a good round to get back into the game though, nice and slow, nobody dealt it to just knock everyone else out of the park.

Sam made a few underhand remarks at the quality of shuffling for this hand, which Kevin bantered back with easily. Dean flickered his eyes back and forth, watching the two of them affectionately. He wasn't a sap, he really wasn't, it was just. They didn't get times as easy as these very often.

Dean was the first to lay down his hand, just one card left I'm between his fingers, a yellow 12. Twelves were normally quite unhelpful in runs. A turn from them each later, Kevin laid down his run as well, ending the hand with a triumphant woop. And a very carefully worded "take that!" that had everyone snickering again.

The next round was one of those anomaly 12 second rounds where Sam got dealt all but one card for a run of nine, then proceeded to pick up a wild card on his first turn. Sam had his cards on the table and the round declared over with his last card as a discard before Dean even had a chance to pick up all his cards.

Kevin and he both tossed their cards into the center with exaggerated sighs. Sam was tied on the same phase with Kevin again, and Dean still trailed one behind. Poker, Dean was unbeatable. But Phase Ten? It was like...made for Sam.

"How is it that I never get dealt shit like that?" Dean paused his complaint while he bridged the cards, making a beautiful arch that fanned down with that lovely sound. Then he started flick-sliding the cards to Kev and Sam, counting to ten in his head over the sliding sound and taking up his complaints again. "I've had two wilds in like this whole game. You get them like, thrown at you."

"The Phase Ten gods like me better," Sam said with an amused shrug.

"I'm going to stake the Phase Ten gods with some sort of tree dipped in some sort of blood," Dean grumbled. It was kind of a pattern, most gods had to be staked that way. It as weird,but whatever works. It meant they had a lot of bloody sticks in the trunk.

The next round went pretty smoothly. After five or six rounds of drawing and discarding cards, Kevin laid down his hand. Then Dean, then Sam. No messes or cheating or leaving everyone else behind, they all just...advanced a hand. Since there weren't any jeers to be made, they played in quiet contentedness for that round, everybody watching each other take their turn. It was nice.

But the moment Kevin started dealing out the cards, Dean leaned back in his chair, hands propped behind his head as he grinned. Sammy and Kev were on his favorite phase. Sam barely had two cards in his hand before Dean turned to Kevin, loud-whispering to him smugly.

"Sam's saving greens." Kevin and Sam both looked up, Sam rolling his eyes while Kevin looked quite confused.

"I haven't even picked up half my cards yet, Dean." Sam countered at regular volume, making a sassy face and going back to sorting his hand. Dean watched him for a few seconds, watched him arrange his hand like it would make a difference, then he was tilting his head, looking at Sam coyly.

"Doesn't matter, you're still saving greens." Dean shot back with a pointed look. Kevin's eyebrows went up, curious now. He closed up the fan of cards in his hand, catching Dean's eye and looking back and forth between him and Sam.

"How do you know?" Kevin always seemed fascinated at how well they could read each other. Dean kept his eyes on Sam, smiling and waiting for Sam to cave.

"He always saves greens. No matter what." Sam shifted in his chair at Dean's words, like he was annoyed. But he had no one to be annoyed at but himself, because it was true.

"Why?" Kevin questioned again. Dean finally turned to the prophet, smiling cockily with that same grin he used to twirl flare guns on his fingers before he roasted a wendigo. Sam was going to kill him for this but it was totally worth gloating about.

"Because it's the color of my eyes."

"Shut up," Sam finally jumped in, words fast and a little embarrassed sounding. Right, like that didn't make the whole thing about twenty times more obvious. Dean couldn't help but laugh, loving the way Sam's cheeks flushed pink and he looked down at his cards like they could swallow him up and take him whole, save him from the embarrassment of this conversation. It was just too good. Dean leaned forward on the table towards Sam and propped his head in his hand, elbow on the wood and chin in his palm, looking over at Sam with exaggerated heart eyes.

"Oh Sammy, so romantic," Dean batted his eyelashes, making a kissy face - sound effects and all - at the flushed and embarrassed Sam. It was a major consequence of sleeping with someone who knew you so well, they had shit like this to hold over your head. And this was definitely a thing Dean was going to forever hold over Sam's head. He was never going to stop giving him shit about it, he had the absolute right to be making faces at Sam, making him squirm more in his seat and flush even redder.

A funny sound came from Kevin's side of the table and Dean glanced over, breaking off his loopy smile and hearteyes at Sam's red face.

Kevin had a hand over his mouth and was doing his best not to lose his shit and start laughing, from the looks of it. The sound had been a snicker escaping, which Kevin had quickly cut short with his hand. He took a second to get his chi again, then he lifted away his hand and looked at Sam incredulously.

"Do you actually--"

"I hate you," Sam interrupted, turning to Dean. That was enough of an answer for Kevin and he was suddenly laughing full force again. Like, full-on, head tilted back, body heaving sort of laughing. Just like that, instantaneous from disbelieving silence to making the loudest laughing sounds Dean had ever heard. He leaned back in his chair, the funny dying-emu-cries filling the room again. Dean smiled wide, looking from the dying-Kevin to the so-not-amused Sam.

"Oh you know you love me," Dean teased, scooting his chair a bit closer to the edge of the table where Sam was.

"Do no--" Sam started, his words cut off by Dean's lips landing on his. They interlocked, overlapping each other every other and wet enough to feel it down low as they slid their lips apart and away from each other. Sam's lips were pliant and a little hungry, threatening to chase Dean's when he pulled away and sat back down, but he managed to catch himself and straighten back up, tongue flicking out to taste Dean on his lips.

Dean plopped back in his chair triumphantly. Sam looked baffled, like he wanted to be annoyed with Dean but couldn't find it in himself to be after the quick kiss. Dean stared at Sam for a moment, their eyes locked as they watched each other, fascinated like they'd never met before, even though they knew each other inside out and upside down.

Suddenly Dean noticed that there wasn't little prophet emu laughter filling the room and he glanced over at Kevin. Kevin quickly ducked his head, shaking it slightly in amusement. He'd been watching them. Dean opened his mouth to apologize, he knew Kevin never signed up for this PDA stuff. But Kevin spoke first before Dean had the chance, looking up at them both.

"You guys are really cute. Not to be creepy or anything," he quickly added. Sam huffed out a laugh, looking at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Dean looked at Sam, then Kevin, then his cards, willing himself not to turn red.

"Thanks," he said to his red eleven card. They weren't really used to being complimented, especially not as a couple. Dean organized his hand. Not too shabby of a start, although the colors round always went fast so he'd have to have pretty lucky draws. "Is that my two?" Dean asked, pointing at the starter card for the discard like or the round.

"Nope, Sam's," Kevin responded, making Gigantore look up. Sam drew from the deck pike instead, ignoring the blue two card. Dean made a see-told-you sound with his mouth, which Sam ignored and Kevin smiled at.

Although at the end of the round, after both Kevin and Dean had laid down their cards - one left in Kevin's and and two left in Dean's - Sam finally picked up the last card he needed, hesitating a moment before fanning out his hand and laying it on the table.

It consisted of only greens.

Dean didn't say anything, didn't need to. Kevin was quiet too, an amused grin on his face as he examined the wood of the table and traced his finger over the lines of grain distractedly. But they'd all definitely noticed Sam's hand. It was kind of impossible not to. Dean just smiled to himself and scooped the rest of the cards into a pile, sliding it towards Sam.

"Your shuffle."

They stayed neck to neck for the rest of the three - well, four in Dean's case - phases. By some form of miracle, Dean was dealt it on one of his hands, boosting him up one to be tied with everyone else. So they all entered the last phase together, which meant the first person to lay down their cards won the whole thing. It was a madhouse.

The tension was the highest it had been all night, people shooting distrustful glances at each other and constantly opening and closing their fanned cards in their hands, refusing to risk someone somehow seeing their cards. The last phase always felt a little impossible to Dean. And with three of them on it, it got even harder.

If anyone happened to be saving the same number as anyone else, they were guaranteed to lose. So it was careful choosing, watchful eyes. No one dared draw from the discard pile and give away their plans, so the round went slow, torturistically slow.

Dean spent more time watching the other boys' faces than strategizing, which wasn't surprising for him. If this was poker, he'd have won ages ago. But he liked the calmer game too, if only because he got this opportunity. Kevin's eyes were shifty, hands are cards to match as he rearranged and rearranged his cards. Occasionally he'd glance up at Sam, attempt to read how close he was to getting the impossible set of 5 set of 3. To Kevin, Sam must have had a decent bluffing face because he looked a little more distraught every time he scanned Sam's face. Kevin looked over at Dean once, and snorted. Okay, fine, was it that damn obvious that Dean didn't have a chance in this round?

Even if Kevin couldn't read Sam's bluff face, Dean obviously could. Sam was getting closer, but it was slow progress. If Dean had to guess he'd say Sam was two cards away now. Which in this game, felt like a swimmer being 2 seconds away from their goal. To a normal person, it sounded easy and doable but in reality that number was huge for a swimmer. Or for a Phase Ten player.

Dean pinpointed the exact moment Sam found another card, the moment he only needed one more to win. There was the tiniest twitch at the corner of Sam's mouth, his eyebrows furrowing a little more and attempting to look even more concerned to overcompensate for the slip. Kevin didn't notice the slightest thing, was still just trying to figure out how to win this thing. Dean took his turn slowly, watching as both of his opponents got more edgy. This was great. They were both so into it. Like seriously, this was the point Dean wanted to coughit's just a card game under his breath. But they were both extremely intelligent, extremely competitive people. That was definitely the best part of this whole game.

Well, besides all the laughter and shining smiles and happy jabs at each other and the game.

Dean's eyes were on Kevin when Sam drew that final card he needed, but his gaze quickly switched with the movement of Sam tossing down his cards onto the table. There it was, a set of four 9 cards and a wild, then three 5 cards. He'd gotten it, he'd won.

The look of relief on Sam's face was priceless. He breathed out a rush of air, leaning back in his chair with a wicked grin. He'd warned them both in the beginning, and he was right of course. Sam had still kicked their asses. For the most part, Dean was just proud he'd made it to the final round. That was pretty rare for him in this game.

Kevin was staring at Sam's hand on the table, then slowly fanned his own cards out on the table. He had a set of four and a set of three, one card away. One card away from winning. All three of them looked in silence at Kevin's hand. Just out of curiosity, Dean mocked his own turn, then slowly flipped over what would have been Kevin's next card onto the table. It wasn't a wild, or a match.

"Well, you'd have lost anyways," Dean said, as if that was some sort of comfort. But Kevin was smiling by now, his little prophet face lit up in a grin.

"Rematch after the next hunt?" He challenged, raising an eyebrow at Sam. Sam threw back his head and laughed, his whole face glowing with the victory.

"Sure, Kevin, I can kick your ass again. I don't mind," Sam teased. Dean grinned and swept up the cards on the table, shuffling them for good measure before he straightened them out and slid them back into the little box they'd come in. He was just surprised this game had even been around for that long, for long enough to be played by the Men of Letters. He was glad it was.

"Okay, winner gives the losers backrubs." Dean grinned at Sam, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Aaaand, that is my queue." Kevin was out of his chair so fast he nearly fell over. Dean laughed, putting his hands up in an I swear that's not what I meant gesture, but Kevin was drawing his cell phone out of his pocket and flipping on the flashlight anyways.

"Good game, Kev." Sam smiled, standing up to reach over and draw the kid into a one armed hug. Kevin grinned kind of bashfully and drew away pretty quick, nodding at Dean as he headed for the stairs to his room. Dean watched him go, saw the pause before Kevin stopped and turned around at the corner.

"Seriously, though...thanks. That wasn't too bad." Kevin had a semi-appreciative look on his face and that was pretty rare. Dean wasn't gonna push it though, he'd let the kid have a moment.

"Thanks for joining us, kiddo." Dean grinned in response, tilting his hand in a single wave. Kevin turned on his heel again with a smile, light footsteps heading up the stairs. Dean tossed the box of cards down on the table, looking over at Sam. Sam, with his pretty smile and winner glow.

"So...how bout that backrub?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a poltergeist. They'd taken down at least 800 of these in their lifetimes and this one wasn't any different. Pissed off spirit of someone who'd died a wank death, then gotten buried in one of the biggest graveyards Dean had ever been in. They didn't take a lot of little jobs, especially not lately with the Zeke stuff going on. But one of their old friend's had called, said they had a friend with a problem. So they'd taken the trek to Tennessee, car ride filled with a sleeping Sam basically the whole way. Dean had kept pressing his fingers to Sam's neck or cupping his palm in front of Sam's nose, checking his breathing and his pulse. Sleeping Sam was just worrisome.

And now that they were marching their way through a foot of mud and sludge in the back of this bigass graveyard, Dean was worrying a little again. He got a really bad vibe from this place - not just a oh, dead people are buried here kind of vibe either. It wasn't creepy like Michigan, who displayed their graveyards on major roads like the graves of the dead were something to be proud of, it was creepy like Dean felt they were being watched, like there was something with glowing eyes in the trees surrounding this place. Who puts a graveyard next to a fucking forest, didn't anybody watch horror movies anymore?

Sam didn't seem bothered though, just trekking along through the slush and mud with his shovel thrown over one shoulder and a can of gasoline in his other hand. Dean fingered the lighter in his pocket, watching Sam under the moonlight. The silver played shadows under Sam's eyes, made his face look more sunken than it was. That could be another cause of Dean's deep-seeded worry right now. Something just felt..off. It was weird.

"You okay?" Sam asked, nudging Dean from where he'd come to walk closer. Dean looked up, making a distracted-sounding Mmm noise in his throat. Sam shot him another glance, pursing his lips like he wanted to ask more. He didn't say anything else, though. Dean wasn't sure how to explain away the feeling in his stomach anyways. It was just like something was about to go wrong, really wrong, and he had no idea what.

They eventually found the grave, taking turns digging, although Dean insisted on doing most of it. Sam was tired and drained anyways.

It was all pretty standard, the same hunt they'd done a thousand times with different names and graves. The point was that it felt official now, they'd reached that place that they were full on hunting again. No more protesting from Dean, no more sheltering the sleepy Sam who was getting consistently better. From what Dean could see, anyways.

As always, the pissed of spirit showed up just as they were about to torch the thing. A baseball bat sized tree branch came hurtling towards Dean, but he dodged it with a curse. Something materialized behind him, he could feel it, but then Sam's shotgun rang out and the thing dissipated from a shot of rock salt to the chest. Dean knew first hand that rock salt to the chest was quite unpleasant, even for humans.

Dean tossed his lighter in the grave before the spirit had a chance to appear again, and the whole thing lit up in flames. They hadn't done something as simple as a salt and burn in what felt like years.

Sam came over to stand by Dean, watch the rotting skeleton down there burn. His shoulder brushed Dean's, standing close and sharing in his warmth, the physical reminder of his presence. His safety. Dean fought the urge to lean his head on Sam's shoulder, tuck his nose into Sam's neck. He wasn't going to be that girly. Besides, the warmth of the fire should be satisfying enough.

The light the burning grave cast off was red and flickering, making the dirt on the sides of the grave look like Hell walls, made the forest around them look dark and creepier. But then there was Sam, standing tall and stock still next to Dean. The fire danced on his features, gave him shadows and red streaks and bright, reflecting eyes.

Sammy had always been beautiful by the light of a fire. If they lived a different kind of life, then maybe that could have been their first time. Maybe Dean could have layed him down on some ornate rug and rocked them together with the warmth and familiarity of the fire flicking shadows over their bodies. But they didn't love in that kind of luxury, it had been rainy and haunted when Dean had first layed Sam down beneath him. The Elysium hotel. So much had changed since then.

Even though the warmth of the fire was threatening to make him sweat, Dean snaked his arm around Sam's waist, pulled their sides in closer as his fingers curled over the squishy indent in Sam's side. A reciprocating hand automatically slipped into Dean's back pocket, cupping his ass slightly but more for the weight and presence of a hand there.

They stood there watching the fire and touching each other like that until the blazing flames started to die down. Dean needed his lighter back, and they weren't in a huge hurry to get out of here or anything.

Eventually he slipped his way out of Sam's light hold, grabbing his shovel to toss some dirt on the fire. Most of the flames extinguished, so Dean hopped down into the grave, grabbing his lighter with two fingers, wincing at how hot it was. Maybe he should light sticks on fire and throw them in. But this was the taught John Winchester Way and Dean just automatically did it like that.

He dropped his lighter on ground level, scooping a bit of cool dirt over it before he climbed back out of the grave. The pole of dirt got shoveled back over the burnt skeleton, then Dean swiped a hand over the layer of dirt on his lighter, picking it back up (cool to the touch now) and dropping it in his pocket.

Then they reeked back through the muddy shortcut they'd taken, the cemetery paths leading to a much too obvious hated entrance Dean had decided not to park by. It's be a longer walk that way anyways, so the quick access escape route was on the other side of this swampy mess.

They both stomped the guck off their boots once they hit pavement, just so Dean didn't have as much to clean out of the car when they got home. She'd still need a bit of a bath, though. Just like Dean did.

The case had been a couple days, so they'd shacked up in a cheap motel room, which had a much more uncomfortable mattress than Dean's. And much creakier one, if the whine of the springs last night as they rocked together was any indication.

They had kept it on the downlow with just rucking their naked bodies together, their entwined hands jacking both of their dicks smushed together between them. Nobody had felt like the mess of getting out lube and opening someone up and cleaning up the mess and showering. They'd just been at the library until really late, and the drive had been tiresome too. Not to mention that if Sam decided to fall asleep in the middle of the hunt, that could be bad news for everyone.

So they kept it simple and short, came together then kissed for a while. Eventually Dean fell asleep on his back, an arm slung over Sam who was draped comically over Dean's chest. Sam's long arms were stretched out, one on either side of Dean's head. The left arm was bent at the elbow, his hand resting over Dean's collarbone while the right curled under Dean's head, fingers tangled into his hair.

Sam's head had been resting over Dean's tattoo, cheek pressed against it through the fabric of the shirt Dean had thrown back on. Motel beds were too sketchy and gross now against bare skin all night. Their legs were mostly bare though, and tangled up a bit for warmth. It had been a pretty good night.

Now that the poltergeist was salted and sent over to the dark side, they had an empty motel room with a did functional heater to come back to. They could drive home right now, make it an all nightwear and crash back in Lebanon early tomorrow morning. Or, they could have a bit of fun and just drive back tomorrow. Personally, Dean was for the latter.

The motel door creaked too, whined something bitchy as Dean shouldered it open. Sam followed on his heels, kicking it shut with his ankle as Dean dropped his weapons bag on the nearest bed. They still got two beds, out of habit, and just to be safe too. The old friend who had called them into town was very aware they were brothers. They weren't expecting him to come visit, but just in case, having two beds was always a good idea. Besides, they had shared much smaller in their lives.

Now that the case was solved and they were freed up again, Dean was all for letting Sam go back to being his tired self. Which meant sex and other fun things. Although, they were a ways out from the house, and there was something Dean was really in the mood for that they hadn't done in a while. Sam was already starting to strip off layers, either for bed or a shower, but neither really fit Dean's genius plan.

"Sam, wait. Why don't we go out tonight?" Dean pulled Sam's overshirt back over his shoulder. Sam looked at him curiously, but let Dean button it up anyways.

"Go out where?" Sam ran his hands over the curve of that long, silken hair, smoothing it down as Dean dressed him back up. Once Dean got to the last button of Sam's shirt, his eyes flicked down. Sam had already started in on his jeans, too, before Dean had stopped him.

He zipped up Sam's jeans carefully, his eyes watching his hands but not the slightest bit sexual. Then he was fumbling a bit with the annoying button before finally slipping it through the button gap. It was just a terrible angle. Then Dean was looking up and patting Sam's stomach in an all done gesture.

"Just out. We could hit up some bar, I think there's one on Main Street." Dean was already walking back towards the door, grabbing his keys and wallet from his jacket. Sam grabbed his elbow as Dean reached for the door, stopping him in his tracks. Dean turned around with a question on his lips before that question got replaced with Sam's mouth, a deep, languid kiss over his lips. Dean closed his eyes and slid his hand up Sam's rib cage, fingers dancing distractedly over the plaid of Sam's shirt. The kiss ended just as Dean was about to break off for oxygen, his neck starting to crink from having to tilt his head back to kiss Sam.

"I could do that forever," Sam said with a smile, smoothing his hand down Dean's arm. Dean rolled his eyes, reaching behind him for the doorknob while still facing Sam.

"You're a total girl sometimes, you know that?" Dean said without any heat or seriousness behind his words, turning the door and having to take a step forward to open it. Sam put his hand over Dean's heart, maybe just touching, maybe trying to halt him again. Either way Dean opened the door up anyways, taking a step backwards out of their room.

"I really could, Dean. I could spend the next ten years just kissing you, exploring that mouth with my tongue, having your full lips under mine, feeling that intimacy of your breath mingling with mine..." Sam rambled, following Dean and shutting the door behind them. Dean had turned around once the door was closed, falling in step next to Sam as they crossed the little parking lot. The bar was within walking distance from here.

He raised an eyebrow at Sam, jostling their shoulders together. "Since when did you become a poet?"

"That wasn't poetic, you ass. It was just a confession." Sam huffed and nudged Dean closer to the edge of the sidewalk. Dean guided them back to the center, not particularly cool with walking in the muddy dirt. It had rained a few days ago, and this place was humid enough to still be grossly wet.

"You wanna hear a confession too?"

"Probably not."

"Okay, here goes. Your room is driving me crazy."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything! It's empty and cold in there, Sam. Like, hospital worthy."

"So? It's not like I'm ever in there anyways, Dean. When's the last time we slept in separate beds?"

"Don't pull that card."

"I'll pull any card I want," Sam growled playfully, pushing Dean up against the brick wall on his left. The sidewalk from the motel to downtown was surrounded by grass and mud for a little while, but they'd reached the outskirts of the downtown buildings already. That was the good thing about small town midwest, there was plenty of brick at the downtown storefronts. And everything tended to be pretty deserted on the outside. The weather up here was always shitty, so everyone was always indoors. There were a few people mingling across the street and down a few stores, but they didn't seem to notice the six foot four man who just pushed Dean up against a wall.

The brick was rough against his back, even through his layers. But Sam was crowding his space and pressing their lower halves together and Dean didn't really care about much besides Sam's mouth right now, putting their argumental conversation on the back burner for a bit. Instead Dean just looked up at Sam, anticipation making him warm with desire. Sam was quiet now, grinning a bit from the position he had Dean in. Dean watched him, quiet, waiting, chewing his bottom lip.

Finally Sam leaned down and licked over Dean's mouth, a tiny kitten lick over his bottom lip that had Dean releasing it instantly, eyes going shut as he breathed against Sam's mouth. They kissed and Dean forgot how to work his lungs. There was something about it, something about Sam that could just catch him off guard sometimes. Still.

They'd been kissing for years, nearly a decade, and it still made Dean's knees go weak. Sam's mouth tasted like rays of sun. He was so bright, so warm, so golden.

If Dean stopped and let himself think about Sam Winchester, it was enough to make him go crazy. The smile and the dimples and the laugh and the hair and the kindness and his voice, and his ridiculously fit body, and his brain, and the way he touched Dean like somehow Dean was the one to worship.

Then Sam was tugging Dean along by the hand, laughing like a golden bell at the stupefied look on Dean's face. Dean wasn't sure when they stopped kissing and started walking again, but Sam had him by the hand and here they were, walking the last few steps to the bar. And Sam was quite amused, too.

Dean shook his head to clear it, pushing the door of the bar open for Sam. Sam said a soft thank you as he stepped inside, followed closely by Dean. The lighting in here was dark, the smell of beer and smoke in the air. Dean waved the air in front of his nose, hopefully sparing his lungs from second hand inhalation and dying. Although with a quick glance around, he could see there were No Smoking signs posted, they just happened to be standing by the ashtray that reinforced that rule.

The smell improved tremendously as they walked to the bar, Sam's hand brushing Dean's lower back possessively. Dean let him, didn't say anything as he took a seat on one of the barstools. Sam plopped down next to him, dragging their stools closer together so there was no question on whether or not Dean was taken. Dean smiled to himself, ducking his head to keep his emotions from Sam. He loved watching Sam get all possessive and jealous. It made Dean feel like maybe he was worth something. If Sam wanted him bad enough to do all this, to fight for him...Dean had to at least a little valuable to his brother.

"Two whiskies, neat." Dean ordered, catching the bartenders eye with a nod. The man nodded, setting two glasses down in front of them. Sam wasn't owing the least attention, was too busy scooping the place out instead. Dean leaned over, glass hovering by his lips. "Find anything worth keeping?"

It was a joke but Sam looked at him in all seriousness, grabbing his own glass off the counter. "There's no one in the world that's a better catch than you."

Dean shook his head and smiled shyly, sipping more alcohol to excuse the sudden flush in his cheeks. Sam was just such a sap tonight. He scanned his eyes around the room too, anything to distract from the heavy gaze Sam had trained on him. There were quite a few people in here, but they were all in groups for the most part. Ten or so over here, another seven over there, everyone comfy and uninterested in the other customers. Save a few scragglers that roamed the bar and the open-table game of cards in one of the corner booths.

Off to the left side of the bar, Dean could see the edge of a billiards table, dark red felt mostly hidden by a big jut in the wall, blocking off the tables from the rest of the bar. Dean stood up so fast his head spun a little, swaying on his feet for just a half second before he was grabbing Sam's arm, tugging him off the stool.

"C'mon," Dean encouraged, fingers wrapped around Sam's wrist as he dragged him across the bar and around the corner. Anyone watching them probably were going to have all kind of assumptions about the two of them, and Dean wanted to shout to the world they were true. Yes, we are fucking, Dean just wanted to tell people sometimes. He didn’t though. Instead he lead Sam to the back corner, behind the wall barricade. Dean’s suspicions were right, there were two tables back here. One was entirely hidden by the wall, dark save for the light that shone down directly on the table. The other was half viewable, half behind the wall. One had red felt and the other had the traditional green, a roundabout with cues propped against the wall between them.

"Dean, I haven't played in forever," Sam protested, sitting his drink down on the shelf on one of the walls. Dean was already scooting aside the wooden diamond and brown plastic number bottle to grab the traditional wooden triangle.

"Exactly," Dean said, scooping the balls out of the pockets to line them up in the rack. Sam sighed but picked our a cue stick anyways, chalking the tip. He let his eyes wander over Dean’s half bent body as he lined up the triangle perfectly with the notched diamonds on either side of the pool table. No two pool tables Dean played at had the same kind of notched diamonds. They were something like the marks in the 5th, 7th, 9th, and 12th frets of every guitar. Always some symbol to mark it, different symbol every time. Dean’s personal guitar that Sam had bought him looked like they were pearl, a mottled white and gray Harley Quinn diamond except not missing the third. They were quite pretty, unlike this pool table’s markers. These were just red and black smudged lines, looked like somebody might have carved them out with a pocket knife and rubbed whiskey into it to discolor the wood. But it kinda fit the atmosphere of the room anyways, so Dean decided he liked them.

“You wanna break, Princess?” Sam cooed affectionately, leaning on the pool cue he’d chosen. Dean shot him an unappreciative sneer and lined up for the break shot anyways. Sam couldn’t break for shit, so Dean might as well. Despite the names.

His cheeks were warm as Sam watched him, he could feel all the places Sam was eating him up burning red hot. It made it more than a little difficult to concentrate. But Dean managed to line up the shot anyways, drawing back his cue and knocking the cue ball forward in one shift stroke. The white ball shot across the table, knocking the perfect triangle in a hundred different directions. Well, technically, fifteen different directions. It was loud and a bit chaotic for a moment, followed by the tell-tale sound of two balls dropping in pockets. Not his worst break, not his best either. Still, he straightened up with a grin in Sam’s direction. Sam was already headed towards the table, peaking in the pockets.

“Solid, and a….stripes. Okay, you chose.” Sam braced his hands on the table and looked up at Dean. He’d sunken one of each, so he got to pick his set. Dean pursed his lips, thinking it over. He won more often with solids for some reason, but the striped balls had higher numbers. Which may seem pointless but it was one more thing to tease Sam about. He’d pick the “older” and more mature set then.

“Stripes. Figure you could use all the advantage you can get, Sammy.” Sam huffed a laugh and raised his eyebrows, motioning a hand at the table that said go ahead. Dean tilted his head with a grin, then lined up his next shot. Of course, it went in perfectly smoothly. Sam narrowed his eyes, making that expression that read I’m not even going to be able to sink one before you win am I. Dean smirked and bent in half, getting eye level to the table to get the 13 ball in the left corner pocket. It was a bit trickier of a shot, but Dean could make it. Easy.

Just as he drew back the pool cue in his hand, a sharp pinch to the ass threw off his focus. Dean was straightening back up and spinning around even before the ball hit the bumper and bounced out of line with the goal pocket.

“Hey!” Dean said indignantly, shoving Sam with a flat palm to his chest. Sam couldn’t just pinch his ass when Dean was trying to make a shot. That wasn’t fucking fair at all. Sam just laughed at him, snarkily walking to the other side of the table and lining up a freaking easy shot. Dean pouted, annoyed, but watched Sam prepare the move anyways. Sam was just like Dad when he played, lined it up perfectly in his head with all the geometry lines and shit, then did that annoying back and forth slidy jacking-off motion before he followed through and finally hit the damn ball. Sam said it was the better way to play, to do the whole slidy thing. Said it made sure the shot was lined up.

Dean thought it was dumb.

Instead of all that fancy draw back multiple times shit, he just hit the damn ball. Got into the right spot, then popped it. That’s how real pool is supposed to be played. But Sam’s jacky-off slidy thing worked for him, so it wasn’t like Dean was going to try to change Sam’s style. He could still give him hell for it though. Especially since it was so provocative.

The purple solid rolled into the center right pocket, cue ball stopping just on the edge like Sam had aimed for it to. He got a sort of content look on his face, approving of the shot before he moved on to the next one. Big, sexy hand on the table, bracing the pool cue on the side of his fist as he slid it back and forth to line it up.

“You gonna suck it too, Sammy? Or is it just a hand job for the pool cue today?” Dean teased, fingers tracing around the rim of the pocket Sam was attempting to sink the 7 ball into. Sam made a bitch face at Dean and finally hit the damn cue ball, knocking into Dean’s 11 on the way and making the whole shot a bust.

“Great, thanks.”

“That wasn’t me! It’s not my fault if your pool cue doesn’t think you squeeze enough.”

“I’ll...squeeze you,” Sam huffed lamely in response, not really paying attention, just leaning up against the dirty ass wall to watch Dean take his next shot. Dean raised his eyebrows at the words though, even if Sam didn’t actually mean them. Sam just raised his eyebrows back, chewing on his lip. So Dean turned his attention back to the set up. It was a pretty terrible one, the only shot he even had a chance at being one of those bastard massé shots. He could do it though, if there wasn’t 6 foot four and a half inches of gorgeous distraction staring at his ass right now. Sam’s eyes were literally glued to him. Dean dropped his head in annoyance, letting out a groan.

“Could you not rape me with your eyes for like three seconds man?”

“It’s not rape, that is entirely consensual.”

“Not when I’m trying to take a hard-ass shot, it’s not.”

“Well it’s your soft ass that’s so damn enticing.” Sam shot back, crossing his arms and making every muscle in his entire torso and upper limbs stand out. There was this hellish line, that line that showed off the muscle in his forearms, running parallel with each of them and damn those were the same muscles that held Dean up against the wall when Sam fucked him. Fucking hell. Not to mention Sam was over here checking him out and making him hot under his collar anyways. And then proceeding to talk about his ass. It was just a lot of frustration at once.

Dean just growled under his breath and took the shot. It bounced between the corners of the felt at the pocket and bounced right back out. He sighed, straightening up with a mild glare in Sam’s direction that entirely read “your fault.” Sam just shrugged and picked up his cue, the dark lighting of the half room playing shadows across his angular face. Dean watched him, watched the way he was so graceful, the way the dim of the overhead dome showed that off. Sam leaned over, lining up a beautiful down-the-line shot if he could make it. Dean contemplated for a second, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought.

Number One Rule of Billiards: stay out of the line of shot, you’ll obscure the other player’s angle, and whatever you do, do NOT get anywhere within the vicinity of the shooter. Not just for injury risks, pool cue drawing back and all, but because it was just the quite-loudly-spoken rule of pool. You just don’t get in that space.

Maybe that made Dean’s blood heat up even more, maybe that’s just another reason why his heart was pounding as he crossed the length of the table, sidling his way up behind Sam. Sam was just bent over so prettily, lining up the geometry in his head and calculating angles and probably making some sort of fancy equation theorem thing in his head. It was a very serious game, not to be messed with, so maybe that was where the curl of thrill came from as Dean ran his hand down the slope of Sam’s spine. Sam stiffened, surprised, and Dean kept going, rounding his palm over that gorgeous ass.

“Dean-“ Sam warned, his voice nearly sharp enough to sound bothered. Dean ran back up the slope, all the way to the dip of Sam’s lower back, then trailed his fingers off, stepping to the side where he belonged.

“I know, I know. Steer clear of the shooter.” Dean said with only a hint of sarcasm. Sam probably rolled his eyes, then took the shot anyways, and that down the line did exactly that, the yellow solid one sinking right in the pocket. All the way lengthwise across the table. Dean raised his eyebrows, a little impressed. Sammy had another turn now, having actually gotten a ball in. Dean leaned back to prop his shoulders on the wall when he caught a glance of the brick from the corner of his eye and quickly changed his mind. He scooted a few steps further from the dirty, smeared thing and crinkled up his nose. Seriously, would it kill anyone to disinfect once in a while? There was like…things growing in the cement of this brick. Sam didn’t mind stuff like that, or at least he didn’t complain. No, instead he always made a point to say “how did you even end up in this life when you’re such a clean freak?” Dean always just made a face. Sam liked to be organized, Dean liked to not get fucking staff from touching a damn wall.

Sam’s next shot went in too, which wasn’t that surprising. The thing about billiards for them was that they were both so good, somebody had to do something if they wanted the other player to miss. Otherwise Dean could break, sink all of his balls, get the eight ball in, and Sam would never get a turn. So they actually didn’t play each other very often, both of them were too good to really miss balls and trade turns. Thankfully though, Sam finally got hung up when two of Dean’s balls blocked the shot in to his own. Dean mumbled something along the lines of about time and walked back up to the table, analyzing out the best shot in the situation. He had a pretty clean view of the 9, but that pesky 15 might be a doable shot too. He scanned his eyes over all the options, finally decided on the fifteen.

This time he ignored the burning gaze on his body. At least Sam wasn’t behind him anymore, he was off on the other side of the table, watching Dean quietly and humming along to the song playing quietly from the bar speakers. The cue ball hit Sam’s blue ball, making a loud smack and sending it rolling into the fifteen. The angle had been just a bit off, and the fifteen hit the bumper instead of the pocket. Pretty hard though, so it was rolling back, headed straight for the corner pocket on this side. It started to slow, barely rolling at all before riding right up to the edge. There was a moment’s of hesitation, then the ball finally dropped.

“That was total slop.” Sam pointed out with a sass face on. Dean denied it instantly of course.

“No, that’s totally where I was aiming for!” Slop was their coined term for whenever a ball went in a pocket from sheer luck, when a shot was too good even for them to have been intending it and then executed perfectly. It was thrown around a lot more in this game than probably necessary. Sam had been determined the King of Slop the last time they played, and he had then in turn determined Dean to be the Princess of Slop. Which did not settle with Dean at all.

“Right, yeah, okay. I’m sure it was.” Sam drawled sarcastically. Bitch face #9.

“You’re just jealous because I’m way better at this game than you,” Dean said back snarkily. Sam just laughed, raising his eyebrows. The shot had lined up another striped ball for Dean, so he walked around the corner of the table and bent down to eye level, lining up the angles. It wasn’t an easy shot, but if he hit the cue on the right lower side, it might spin just right. He pursed his lips, shifting his shoulders to make the shot.

Then there were big, warm hands running down the sides of his rib cage, hips pressed up tight against his ass, breath over the skin beneath his ear. Sam was at least semi-hard, the pressure of his erection through his jeans rubbing up against Dean’s left pocket. Dean relaxed his shooting stance, Sam’s lips coming in contact with the skin on his neck as his hands landed on Dean’s hips. Dean was still bent over for the shot, and Sam’s body was big enough - bigger than his - to encompass his entire back when he bent over Dean. Tingles went up Dean’s spine and he dropped his head with a groan. This was gonna be a good shot and everything. But now Sam was on him and Dean didn’t want anything but to rub back against that warmth, to get rid of all of the layers between them and have Sam on him, in him, everywhere. Sam kissed his neck again.

“S-sam,” Dean breathed, hands gripping his pool cue tightly. He debated just tossing it aside, wanting Sam so bad right now. They were in public though, anybody could walk back here at any second. And it’s not like they were in a gay bar, so there was always a chance their activities might be frowned upon even more. Sam just pressed tighter, forcing Dean’s hip bones into the pool table.

“Want help with that shot?” Sam asked, his tone of voice saying something very different than the words coming out of his mouth. Dean’s brain was foggy from reality, from anything but Sam and his pulse, the way his heart was pounding in his chest and the heat of Sam’s bulge on his ass. Dean wasn’t sure where Sam was going with this but he wasn’t in a place that he wanted to protest anything.

When Dean didn’t verbally respond - his vocal chords were going to sound broken and weak and hungry, he knew it - Sam’s hands left his hips, reached out to cover his hands. Dean was still gripping the pool cue, although it wasn’t lined up to the shot. Sam’s chin propped up on Dean’s shoulder, and he guided their hands into place. Dean backed up a little, shifting his hips to the hardened shape of Sam’s dick slid in between Dean’s pockets, lining up against his crack. Sam’s hands tightened on Dean’s in response, his breathing quickening a little against Dean’s neck. Dean’s eyes fluttered but he forced them open, blinking and watching as Sam slid them into place for the shot. Their elbows weren’t at the right place to have their arms line up perfectly, but Sam drew back the cue anyways.

He picked the exact same position and angle Dean had, although they had really different methods about the geometry and method of it all. The cue was resting on Dean’s propped hand, although Sam was the one who had the control and was sliding it. He flicked it forward once, green chalked tip almost hitting the cue ball but not quite far enough. Then he slid it back, repeating the little annoying half-slide jerking-off thing rapidly three times before he finally followed through, cue colliding into the marked up cue ball, little green spots from previous games blurring as it spun across the table, a loud sound ringing as it knocked into the target ball.

Dean could feel Sam hold his breath as the target ball spun and shot across the table, angled ridiculously as it flew into the side pocket. Holy shinola that had worked. Well, it would have worked if Dean had done it on his own, too. He wasn’t lying when he said he was better at billiards than Sam was. And Sam knew it, too. Just like how Dean was better at Poker and Sam was better at Phase Ten. Sam was better at running and Dean was better at driving. Sam couldn’t cook for shit and Dean was too impatient to research at the level Sam did.

Sam’s hands slid up the outsides of Dean’s arms as he straightened back up, chin untucking from Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s back feeling cold from the lack of contact. Dean moved to stand back up too, until there was a sudden large hand pushing down between his shoulder blades. Dean did not see that coming, at all, and suddenly he was face down against the pool table, cheek on the felt and hands and cue pinned under his stomach. He asked Sam’s name in surprise, a question of what-the-hell said in that one familiar syllable.

No words answered, just Sam’s hand pushing Dean harder into the table and his hips rotating roughly in a circle against Dean’s ass. Wow, that was fucking hot. It felt filthy, Dean bent over the table and held down as Sam stood behind him, grinding up against his ass. The fact that they were only hidden from a plethora of eyes by a thin half-wall that anyone could walk past made it even dirtier. Goddamnit Sam was strong, because Dean was actually attempting to stand back up, get his hands under him and push up, something, but Sam was holding him down easy as ever. That went straight to Dean’s downstairs brain, made him groan and buck against the table.

Sam’s hips circled against his ass again, the pressure of his obvious erection pushing harder against the seam of the ass of Dean’s jeans. God, Dean wanted Sam inside him right now. Really fucking badly. He had nothing, not even skin to run his hands over, not that gorgeous mouth to kiss. Sam was lighting him on fire with his touch and Dean just wanted to touch back. He closed his eyes, mouth falling open as Sam slid against him again. He tried to speak, a nondescript sound falling from his mouth instead. But he was stubborn if nothing else, so he finally got his vocal chords to cooperate.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed, his hands gripping the pool cue tighter. “N-need to kiss you.”

There was another rough grind against his ass, then Sam’s hand between his shoulder blades let up and Dean got his hands under him, the pool cue in his fists as he pushed off the table. He slide the cue aside, rolling it down to the other end of the table and knocking the eight ball with the hilt. Oops. The ball rolled, went straight in the corner pocket. Looks like Sam won after all.

Insistent hands spun Dean around, squeezing his ass and lifting him onto the pool table in one swift motion. Dean spread his legs instantly and Sam crowded up against him, their mouths colliding and fists grabbing hair and the backs of shirts, hauling each other closer as Dean’s ankles dug into Sam’s ass, grinding them closer. Their lips fit snugly every other, mouths opening and closing against each other as tongues tasted and teeth scraped. Dean rolled his hips against Sam’s stomach, his jeans not quite tight enough to give him good friction unfortunately.

Blunt nails scraped over Dean’s back under his shirts, bunching them up from the bottom as Sam’s hands scraped beautifully over his skin. Dean bucked against the lowest part of Sam’s abs, just a few inches too high from his spot on the table to grind their erections together.

Their mouths broke apart for oxygen, and Dean’s eyes opened up, taking back in their surroundings. Oh god. Dean was propped up on a pool table in the back of some dirty bar with Sam’s pool cue discarded on the ground and his own laying on the other side of the table, balls askew around them with quiet music playing over the speakers. Seriously, they couldn’t go anywhere without ending up this way, could they?

Dean started to laugh, the idea of it all hitting him. A night out for an old game and they end up dry humping each other on the table. Their lives had changed so much since they were kids, goodness.

The lips that had been mouthing along Dean’s neck lifted off, Sam leaning back to look at Dean’s face curiously, try to figure out what was so funny. The look on Sam’s face turned Dean’s quiet laughing (he wasn’t ever going to acknowledge the word giggle it just crossed that line for him) into full out laughter, hand leaving Sam’s hair to cover his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” Sam’s eyebrows were furrowed but he had a slight smile on one corner of his mouth. Dean took his other hand off Sam too, propped it up on the table beside him.

“This! Look at us, come out to play a competitive game and we can’t even finish a round before we’re fucking up against each other. I think you have a problem,” Dean pointed out, smiling at Sam from actual eye level. The extra couple inches that sitting on the pool table gave him was the perfect height to put Dean at Sam’s height.

“I think you meant we.” Sam tilted his head to the side, his hands coming up to rest on Dean’s shoulders, palms curled against his neck and fingertips playing with the tips of Dean’s hair. “We’re both kind of horny bastards.”

“Hey, you started it.”

“No, you showing off your ass by bending over started it. Dean, I don’t think you understand.” Sam’s lips were pursed comically, his eyes bright and shiny and happy. "Just how amazing your ass is.”

Dean definitely did not blush, his cheeks just got a little heated is all. He was never one for compliments though, never really knew what to say or if they were even real. But coming from Sam…it was really the only person who’s opinion counted for Dean. So maybe he really did mean it. Either way, it was cute. Sam was cute. And Dean didn’t have any words besides Thank You, which felt way to sappy for the moment.

He leaned forward and kissed Sam instead, still smiling against his mouth. Sam kissed him back, lightly pecking at Dean’s lips. Then Sam moved his head to the side and started to do that ridiculously annoying little bird kissing thing that made Dean laugh and cringe his body to the side. Sam’s lips tapped over his cheek - hard enough to not be soft sex kisses but not so hard Dean’s head turned from the pressure of it - in this fast repetition movement that reminded Dean of a woodpecker or something. Easily twenty kisses, scattered over Dean’s cheek in this little one inch radius. It was really cute, but really embarrassing for some reason and always had Dean trying to duck out of the way. He’d only done it one other time before, and Dean had managed to escape to his room that time. Now though, there wasn’t much of an out for Dean.

So he tucked his head against his shoulder, sliding to the side to try to escape and keep Sam from those little bird kisses. Sam leaned back with this beam that had his dimples in full force, smiling like how he used to as a kid. Dean hadn’t seen a smile like that in a very long time. It was like they traveled back in a time a few years, that the only thing they had on their plates was a poltergeist the next town over and Sam’s headaches to worry about. Dean probably was lit up like a major sap right now, looking at the rays of sunshine in front of him and feeling like he was standing in the middle of a star, wondering how the hell he’d gotten to a place so beautiful.

Then Sam’s arms wrapped over his shoulders and their bodies pressed together again, Sam’s cheek pressed up tight against Dean’s as his arms circled around Dean’s body, holding him tightly. Dean lifted his arms up too, the surprise taking a second to respond. But he returned the hug, arms wrapped over Sam’s shoulders and holding him tight. Dean’s eyes drifted shut, the way they always did when he was hugging Sam. They didn’t normally hug in this position, with Dean up on a table and Sam in between his spread legs. Dean’s feet had dropped to dangling as soon as he’d started laughing, so at least he wasn’t koala-bearing Sam with both his legs and arms wrapped around him.

It was quiet like this, with Sam’s arms wrapped around him, and Dean’s brain finally had the chance to register the music spilling out of the speakers. It was an Elvis song, something old and peppy and automatically cheese-central. Sam had been humming along earlier, and Dean briefly wondered if it had been Elvis then, too. There were a couple of Elvis records at the bunker, but Dean had never played any of them. They hadn’t listened to much Elvis as kids, Dean didn’t actually know any songs besides the Lilo & Stitch one and Can’t Help Falling in Love. But Elvis wasn’t really their thing, maybe in another life Dean would love it. Maybe in some alternate universe there was a version of Dean that slow danced to Elvis and sang along but in his hunting-with-Sammy reality, Dean didn’t even know the name of this song. It was nice though, how peppy it was. Kind of fit the ridiculous bird kisses and spontaneous hug moment.

I can’t seem to stand on my own to feet  
What do you think when you have such luck  
I’m in love, I’m all shook up

Elvis had a bit of an interesting voice. Dean put the music in the background again, focusing back in on the way Sam was holding him. The way they were holding each other. He could feel Sam’s heartbeat, the calm and slow beat of it against Dean’s chest. All of his sense were filled with Sammy, with his brother everywhere. Dean moved his head, turning it to the side to tuck his nose in Sam’s hair, inhaling with an expansion of his chest. Sam smelled like sunshine, too.

“You’re so sappy,” Dean murmured into Sam’s hair. Sam laughed lightly, arms unhooking from Dean’s back and sliding back over to his ribcage.

“Says the guy smelling my hair.” Sam countered with happy-sounding words. Dean retreated at that, opening his eyes up and blinking a few times to adjust to the billiards room lighting. Sam was watching his face, mouth curled up just a little but not enough for his dimples to poke through. Once his eyes adjusted, Dean’s eyes met Sam’s. His hands were on the outsides of Sam’s arms, that pause they always had after they hugged where they didn’t want to stop touching quiet yet, still had arms extended with hands touching shoulders. Normally they stepped back, had arms extended, but Sam still stood close so both of their arms were bent at the elbow, just hands resting on each other as they just looked.

The power of connected eyes was an overused cliché, but there was something about just a glance that could communicate so much. And now, sitting on the table and looking at Sam, both of them quiet and watching each other, Dean felt mountains move inside him. Here was Sam, in Dean’s embrace, here with him and for him. Sometimes it felt too good to be true. sometimes Dean thought maybe he was just dreaming. Or maybe over powered by some djinn. Or in heaven.

Except that Dean knew he couldn’t be dreaming, because his head wasn’t creative enough to come up with a moment this surreal. This beautiful and peaceful and honest and exposed as they looked at each other, eye to eye and heart to heart. He was 99% sure his head wasn’t this sappy romantic. And Dean knew it wasn’t a djinn, because a monster was never going to be able to create the look in Sam’s eyes right now, the perfect way his body felt under Dean’s hands. And this couldn’t be heaven, because a moment like this one hadn’t happened before. There had definitely been moments in their years together that were perfect and memorable of this caliber, but none quite like this one.

This one felt different. Not like the other day when they had cried together, tears and kisses over the invisible scar on Sam’s back that started this all. That had been monumental and different too, but this wasn’t anything like it.

They were going to die together. Dean knew it, could feel it in that moment. They had too. There wasn’t any other option now, not anymore. Dean knew he would never be able to hold his dead brother in his arms and live another day without either dying himself, or getting his brother back. Dean wasn’t going to make it alone.

And neither was Sam. He could feel it, in the pulse of the fingertips on Dean’s body, in the intensity of the gaze in Sam’s eyes. Sam wasn’t going to make it alone either. Sam needed him, Dean could feel it in the oxygen they were both breathing. Sam needed him.

The lighting changed, the world shifted a little on it’s axis. Everything saturated, a little brighter, like someone had upped the color wheel in Dean’s eyes. Everything was beautiful and Sam needed him.

Dean’d never said I love you out loud before but this felt like a moment where he might.

If their lives were a movie, some monumental song might be playing in the background, the camera panning around them in a circle as they watched each other. In reality, the song in the background had shifted to some nondescript oldies song that neither of them heard, and it was just Sam looking at Dean looking at Sam.

The moment could have lasted a year or only a few seconds, Dean didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if his whole thought process had happened inside a second or two or if they’d been standing here for minutes. The artificial light overhead didn’t give any clues, because the shadows on Sam’s face didn’t change like they would with the sunlight.

Sam was the sunlight anyways.

“Oh, woah, hey. Dudes, get a room.” A young voice said from over Sam’s shoulder. A low laugh accompanied the words, probably a friend. They both snapped out of it, hunter instincts taking over the moment and their step outside of reality.

Everywhere they’d been touching still burned as Sam backed away, voicing calm-sounding apologies even though Dean could see that Sam’s heart was pounding. He nearly stuttered, looking down at the ground instead of the two young guys who’d just walked in. He was frazzled, and Dean would love to just go kiss him into serenity but that had kind of been the problem in the first place. Dean hopped down off the pool table instead, grabbing his pool cue from where it was discarded on the table. Sam scooped his own up off the floor, hanging it up on the racks nailed to the wall.

They’d never gotten to finish their game, but this wasn’t the only pool table in the world and it probably wasn’t the best time right now, with the palpable tension in the air. The other two guys had come in for a game of pool, which from the way they were standing like eight feet apart, probably wasn’t going to end the way Sam and Dean’s had. Dean hung up his cue too, sweeping the few balls left on the table into pockets. He’d accidentally sunken the eight ball anyways, when he’d tossed his stick to the side. And the rules say that means Sam automatically wins, since the eight ball was dropped when Dean still hadn’t sunken all the stripes. Dean wasn’t sure if Sam even noticed that he had, though.

On their way out of the bar, not even the slightest bit drunk (maybe not even horny anymore), Sam knocked their shoulders together, smirking over at Dean as they walked through the door to the parking lot. Dean had looked at him, but Sam had just smiled.

They walked back to the motel in quiet contentedness, parking lot changing to Main Street, then to the sidewalk that would take them to the motel that was located almost uncomfortably close to town. The back of Sam’s hand brushed along the back of Dean’s as they walked, that tension of nearly-holding-hands driving Dean crazy. He could take that step and weave his fingers between Sam’s, but he didn’t want to break whatever quiet brotherly peacefulness they had going right now. He got another sunshine smile as they split off at the motel door, Dean to go check out and Sam to go pack up. By the time Dean was back, Sam had packed them both up. They knew it wasn’t going to be a long hunt, had only brought a couple of things with them. So Sam closed the motel door behind him with two duffels over his shoulder.

Dean opened up the trunk for him and Sam tossed the bags inside, closing it with a creak. They both started for opposite sides of the car as always, the energy between them not shifting a bit as the black metal stood between their bodies.

“I won, you know.” So Sam had noticed, then. Dean rolled his eyes, digging the car keys out of his pocket.

“That doesn’t count. You interfered with the game first, so clearly you have to forfeit.” Dean figured that was solid logic but Sam laughed at him, tugging open the shotgun door. Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam from over the car, handle on his own door.

Dean was about to say something else snarky about how the only thing Sam had won was him or something of the sort, but his brain decided to shut him down last second, mouth already open to speak. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t say it, he just. Didn’t. Dean closed his mouth again slowly. Sam’s laughter faded down and he looked at Dean curiously, waiting for him to speak. Dean just shook his head once, looking down and huffing a laugh. That was weird. It was like just looking at Sam had temporarily wiped his brain, made all of his thoughts shift off brotherly teasing to just looking at Sam again. This whole night was weird.

He opened up his door, the familiar creak loud between them, and slid in the car. Sam followed suit, two creaks again as their doors shut behind them. The hazel eyes were on him, waiting, curious. Dean started up the car, running the wipers over the windshield once to clear off the drying raindrops. It had sprinkled while they were inside, but the skies had seized the rain for a bit. Everything was still dark, rumbling thunder rolling through the veil of black and gray clouds blocking out the moon. Dean wondered if it was raining in Kansas too. Probably not, they didn’t get the same weather as here.

“Dean?” Sam finally prompted, sounded like he was going to start worry if Dean didn’t say something. It wasn’t that Dean was avoiding what he was going to say, it was literally just another shot at Sam. He’d just lost his words for a bit, just wanted to be quiet. But he wasn’t going to have Sam worrying, so he shot a grin at him from the driver’s side as he pulled out onto the main road.

“Bitch, I’m always going to beat you at pool. Don’t deny it.” Thunder rumbled again, sounding dark in contrast to the resplendent laugh coming from Sam’s lips as he looked back out the window, tension drained from his shoulders.

The storm hung over them for a bit, menacing and promising. But they didn’t get another drop of rain, not even a lightning strike. Just the ominous occasional thunder. The closer they got to Kansas, the more the clouds started to clear. Once they crossed the border, everything was dark and cloudless, the moon a little more than a sliver in the sky. Sam was knocked out in shotgun, head against the window and eyes closed. He wasn’t sleeping deeply, just slightly nodded off. It was late anyways, there was a chance Sam was just asleep because of the time, but it still made Dean’s stomach tighten. Just the reminder that Zeke was in there…that Sammy was barely holding up. It was more than a little upsetting. Dean didn’t let it break his mood, though. No angels were going to rain on his parade tonight.

They didn’t get times as easy and nice as this very often, so Dean’s stupid guilty head wasn’t going to get in the way. He turned up the stereo a little instead, a Guns and Roses power ballad filling the car. Dean glanced over at his sleeping little brother. Maybe Rock and Roll really could heal a soul. Mentally, Dean knew it could, but physically would be nice. Hell, he and Sam would never have had a single problem if good music could physically fix things too. At least it could help their brains, sometimes. Nothing like listening to Jovi’s cover of Drift Away to pull you back from Hell memories. That was the one other occasion that Jovi rocked.

Girl you know you need some time  
Everybody needs some time on their own

It was the last day of November, which was cool, although it wasn't raining currently. Whatever, at least they got one of two. And it had been raining earlier. Normally, Dean would listen to this whenever it was stormy and just get the one that way. Now it was the opposite, but there were rain noises in the background of the song anyways.

This was a really damn good song. Dean wasn't particularly a big Guns and Roses fan - Axel was a total deuschbag - but November Rain was a classic and epic and it was on. So. Nine minutes of good guitar it was.

The rest of the ride back to the bunker was uneventful, Sam just slept and Dean listened to music, checking on Sam every couple of minutes. Sam blinked awake when Dean cut the engine, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his eyes. Dean actually grabbed their duffels from the car this time, following Sam down to Dean's room. It was pretty amusing how Sam, even 3 in the morning Sam that just woke up, went automatically to Dean's room. It was like home base in the bunker for both of them. Dean could call it "their" room, but he liked calling it his. Even if Sam slept in Dean's room every night, Dean still had something that was all his. He could technically kick Sam out that way, if he wanted to. Obviously, he didn't. But there was still that option and that was nice.

Dean sat down the duffels on the floor, out of the path from the bed to the door in case they needed out quickly or in the dark. Sam was standing in front of Dean’s dresser, looking at his things and waiting. He looked up as Dean walked over, then Sam’s hands were on Dean’s cheeks and he tilted Dean’s face up, closing his mouth over Dean’s. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist, spinning them in a circle so Sam would fall onto the bed. Dean walked them over to it, leaning over to tip Sam onto his back on the mattress.

The angle on his mouth changed and Sam suddenly whipped them around, smashing Dean onto the bed, scooting them up higher and kissing him roughly. Okay, not exactly what Dean had been intending. Sam had been teasing him ridiculously earlier, Dean would like to get some of that dignity back perhaps. He shoved his shoulder up, rolling them over so he was on top of Sam now. Dean rolled his body down Sam’s, lining up all the warm places and getting a bit of friction as they made out.

Then Dean was being shoved back down on the bed and Sam rolled over him, pinning Dean’s body down with heavy knees trapping on either side of Dean’s legs. Ugh, not fair. Dean arched up into the touch, body flushed and red from being pushed around so easy. Sam got off on pushing him around, Dean could tell. As upsetting as it sometimes was, Dean kind of did too. There was this one time that Sam had literally hoisted Dean over his shoulder, scooped him up and fucking tossed him on the bed like he weighed nothing. It had been so fucking hot, lord. Dean moaned thinking about it, the sound swallowed up by Sam’s mouth.

Their mouths broke apart, Sam scooting down as he maneuvered Dean out of his shirt.

“What were you thinking about?” Sam asked, voice a tad bit breathy as he stripped his own shirts off. Dean raised his eyebrows. When? Oh, probably just now when he’d made that sound.

“You,” he replied simply, sliding down the zipper on his own jeans. Sam snorted and tugged the denim off of Dean’s legs, tossing it aside and wincing as the some part of the jeans clanged against the wall. Probably the button, but still. Dean glared but Sam had already moved on, stripping the rest of Dean’s clothes off of him. Dean was a little surprised Sam was so enthusiastic. True, they hadn’t resolved the tension they’d built up at the bar, but Dean figured that three in the morning Sam would just want to sleep, have sex sometime tomorrow. But based on the way Sam was wiggling out of his jeans, Dean would guess he was in the mood right now. Not that Dean was going to protest, Dean was always in the mood.

Once Sam was naked too, he was crawling back onto the bed and Dean was reaching up for him. He didn’t get the warm embraced welcome he was expecting or looking for; Sam had him flipped and pinned inside of seconds. Dean didn’t even get an option, Sam had Dean’s knee hiked up and his stomach on the mattress before Dean could even say his name. A slicked up finger slid into him and tore a shout from his throat, the pieces of Dean’s brain not quite connecting to his body as his scenes went into sudden overload. The muscles inside his ass tensed and fluttered, the sudden slick fullness bringing a bit of a burn along with.

Dean bucked and whined against the bed and Sam didn’t slow a bit, adding another finger before Dean had even adjusted to the intrusion of the first one. He was being stretched out too fast to be comfortable but the urgency and anticipation of the whole thing just made him want more, want Sam now and quick. He at least got that much, because three rough fingers and a squirt of lube later Sam was pushing down on his shoulder blades again, sinking in balls deep with a quick snap of his hips that had Dean crying out again.

Sam fucked him hard into the mattress, filling Dean and pulling him apart. It was fast and rough and desperate, like every second since their game of pool had been driving Sam up the wall with frustration and need. Dean laid there and took it, felt every ounce and didn’t bother holding back the noises ripping him into pieces. Sam groaned above him, pitching his hips against Dean’s ass. The pummeling took his breath away, took his brain and made it pure mush. Dean’s lungs stopped working properly, he was gasping for air underneath Sam’s body. The oxygen couldn’t find a place in his body alongside the huge driving force from Sam.

The lack of being able to breathe had his muscles tensing, his head spinning. The part of his brain that he always got to turn off during sex flipped a switch back on, the tense and lack of oxygen registering as dangerous somewhere in his head. His hunter instincts soaked in, his body sparking with adrenaline. The fight or flight piece of his head activated - Dean’s head was always fight instead of flight. The need to kick and break free shot through his body with the same sensations that had his body was burning with pleasure.

Fists wrapped up in the sheets, threatening to tear. The tenseness of his muscles didn’t matter from this angle, Sam had him anyways. Dean closed his eyes and focused in on the hand in between his shoulder blades, trying to take comfort in its warmth and let his body categorize it as amazing instead of Danger. Dean fought his urge to fight, forcing that adrenaline and violence through his body to tingle in his fisted hands and the rough way he rocked back his ass in time with Sam. He was helpless to do anything but that, even if he wanted out (which he so so didn’t), Sam had him pinned and useless like this.

Just when Dean thought he couldn’t get any hotter, any more torn, Sam was leaning down by his ear, mouth hot and attention seeking as he growled words against Dean’s skin.

“Who’s the bitch now, baby boy?”

Every single time in his life that Dean had called Sam a bitch (which was a pretty large number) had led to this apparently, to some form of retaliation that had Dean being fucked senselessly into a mattress and whispered words that turned his world upside down. Most of the time Dean was pretty sure Sam topped because he liked taking care of Dean, but right now it was the opposite, he was wrecking him, ruining him and it was fucking amazing. It was one of those moments that if Dean could speak, he’d be babbling all sorts of nonsense about how totally okay he was with being Sam’s bitch. But thankfully he couldn’t speak, he could only gasp and whine and angle his hips back for more.

He’d called Sam baby boy before too. Sammy actually had a bit of a kink for it. Which was understandable and all, but then having those words turned on him? His body slipped into a state beyond responding to Sam’s thrusts, his entire body trembling and shaking as the heat took over him like a blanket. He’d just been called baby boy by his little brother, by his own baby boy. While getting his ass mauled.

The small bit of oxygen he’d wrestled into his body knocked out of him like a punch to the gut. The thrusts kept coming, fast and dominating as hell. Dean’s mouth hung open, mouth wet against the sheets. Sam pushed and fucked, the growly, bitey way he got whenever he was in this position. Teeth peppered bites - a little more violent than sexy - over his shoulders and his back, leaving red and white broken circles in their wake. If Dean could see Sam right now instead of just feeling him, he’d have come a long time ago. The way Sam moved in him was worth being on his stomach though, it was worth having the wall as his only visual. His eyes were closed most of the time anyways, sinking into the feelings ricocheting off his mind.

Sam bit hard and twisted Dean’s skin between his teeth. That was definitely going to leave marks.

To say Dean was overwhelmed was a bit of an understatement. But Sam was relentless, didn’t give him time to process or cope at all, had no chance to handle the words either, just reamed him like he owned Dean. And when Sam had him like this, Dean felt like Sam did.

If he came embarrassingly fast after that, it was still all Sam’s fault. Sam ran his hungry hands all over the sheen sweat on Dean’s body as he shook and moaned, hips stuttering against the sheets as the damp underneath him spread. The all over insistent touching on his skin stimulated his nerve endings and absorbed all the energy from his body, soaked up the rest of the brain power Dean had. It was sloppy and messy and warm all around him and Dean wanted to just close his eyes and sink into the darkness, let the bed and kind memory foam take his body and shove him into dreamworld, where he could stay warm in Sam’s arms.

But he hadn’t come impossibly hard, and he still had enough of his brain in tact to flutter his eyes open when Sam gave a final shutter and pulled himself from Dean’s body. The sudden cooling emptiness had Dean moaning quietly, turning his face into the bed. Sam’s come was draining onto his thighs and the bed, but Dean wasn’t going to be getting up any time soon. And based on the way Sam deflated onto the sheets beside him, he’d guess the same for Sam.

Gentle fingertips danced over the back of Dean’s fist, making his body aware of itself again. He still had his fists clenched desperately in the sheets, his face tucked away from Sam into the bed. The tracing pattern Sam painted on his hand was calming and endearing. Dean relaxed his grip slowly, letting his balled up hands release the sheets and flatten out onto the bedspread. The last bit of tension left his body as his hands relaxed, his shoulder blades sinking down more too.

Sam was drawing the same thing on his hand, over and over. Two symbols, placed a centimeter apart. They were both pretty simple, and Dean thought maybe the first one was a letter, until he realized the second one most definitely was not. He lifted his face from the sheets, turning his head to the side to rest his cheek on the bed and look at Sam. Sam’s eyes flicked up to his from where he’d been watching Dean’s hand instead. There was a slight pause in the tracing when their eyes met, a tiny smile tugging at one corner of Sam’s mouth. Dean blinked and watched him, the room silent save for their tandem breathing.

Even in the darkness of the room, Sam was the brightest thing Dean had ever seen. His eyes flicked back down to their hands, and Sam’s fingers started the drawing again. They both watched as Sam made the lines over Dean’s skin, the symbols that Dean was sure he knew. The second one was actually more of a clue to the first, because it was a lot more unique. Sam’s fingers were so graceful, artfully and slowly marking Dean’s skin with the invisible ink of his hands.

Dean wracked his brain, trying to place them. He knew them both, he was entirely sure. He wasn’t going to ask Sam, it’d spoil the moment. Besides, he probably didn’t have much of a voice right now. He didn’t exactly have a fully functioning brain either, so that made it harder. The first one was like a sharply drawn “P,” but the second wasn’t anything like a letter in the alphabet…wait, not the English alphabet anyways. It was a rune, a Latin rune from the Runic Alphabet. Duh.

If the second symbol was a rune, that would make the first one a rune too. The “P” shaped thing…that was Wunjo. That all had really weird names, but they were in books and lore freaking everywhere, so Sam had forced the names and meanings and shapes down Dean’s throat as a kid. They’d been working all angel and demon stuff lately, didn’t really have time to go after ancient things like Wendigos and other creepy crawlies that would draw the symbols in caves or carve them in victims. Angels and demons really didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Runic Alphabet, so it’d been a while since Dean had seen them or heard them at all.

That first symbol, Wunjo, that one’s literal translation was joy. Bliss, perfection, harmony, hope, trust. Basically everything optimistic and content. And Sam was drawing it into his skin. Dean grinned, ducking his head. If that’s what Sammy thought…

He really wasn’t blushing. Or at least he was trying not to anyways.

After he managed to get his ridiculous smile to fade a bit, he scooted his head back up to watch their hands again. Sam was tracing slower now, watching Dean instead of his fingers. The second symbol consisted of three lines, one short one at an angle, a long vertical one, then another short one angled in the opposite direction. Ihwaz, then. That was the one that had the really confusing translation. It was kind of like this link between Heaven, Hell, and Earth - some kind of spiritual process of awakening and connection. A sort of immortality mixed in with the mystery between life and death. Confusing, to say the least. But it fit them, because wasn’t that kind of their whole lives? After all, they shared a Heaven, and that was definitely the sort of link that Ihwaz was talking about. A timeless bond of immortality. Soulmates.

Dean’s fingers curled and uncurled on the hand Sam was drawing on. Joy, perfection, connection, soulmates. Traced on Dean’s hand in ancient Latin runes. Dean could stay here forever, let Sam paint those symbols on his hand in permanent ink, let him paint those symbols on Dean’s soul. But instead he slowly lifted his hand away from Sam’s drawings, making him look up at Dean in confusion. Dean gave him a nod, his eyes crinkled at the corners with a soft smile. Sam scanned his eyes over Dean’s face, recognizing that Dean knew what they meant, he’d gotten it. And if there was moisture at the corner of one of Dean’s eyes, it was just because it had been pressed into the sheets for so long. That was, of course, the only reason his eyes would be watering.

The hand he’d lifted away from Sam’s touch came back down, gently flattening Sam’s hand into the sheets. Sam went silently, watching Dean with curious, bright eyes. His long, silky hair was dark against the pillow, hands and body and everything bigger than Dean, but just right to still fit in Dean’s arms. He ran his thumb over the back of Sam’s hand once, just feeling the skin. He already knew what he was going to draw, it was kind of axiomatic.

Sam did have an unfair advantage though, he knew the Runic alphabet much better than Dean and he already knew a rune was coming. They were only so many to choose from. But there was only one that Dean wanted to have etched into Sam’s hand. To Dean, it had always looked a little bit like the S from KISS’s symbol, that lightning strike-ish thing. Except a lot thinner, and it had notches at the top and bottom. So a sharp, stylized sort of S. S for Sowilo.

Literal translation: the sun. Wholeness, strength of the soul, motivation, life-giving force. Basically it was Dean’s Sam. Sam was at least 80% pure sunshine, and he was 100% Dean’s life-giving force. This rune might as well be made for Sam.

He recognized the symbol the moment Dean made the last notch on the “S” thing, hand curling up in reflex. Dean had only gotten to draw the damn thing once before Sam was looking at him, eyes wide and emotions written all over his face. Dean glanced up at Sam, then held the gaze as he drew Sowilo on Sam’s hand again. It was just one rune, and maybe not as powerful as the ones Sam had drawn on him. But it was the best Dean could say.

And this was probably the only moment ever that he might actually thank Sam for being such a deusch about forcing Dean into studying and learning all the Latin stuff as kids. It had come in handy before, but this was definitely the best occasion Dean had used it for.

After the third time Dean went over Sowilo, Sam’s hand scooted out of the way of Dean’s fingers. Sam’s index finger slipped in between Dean’s first two, both of their hands propped up on their sides. Sam’s thumb ran gently over the top of Dean’s first finger and Dean’s thumb ran over Sam’s, both of them watching their hands. Dean could picture them, could picture what the runes would look like, still etched into their hands. Sam’s eyes came up to Dean’s face again and Dean looked up.

 

Then Sam was reaching forward, hand still wrapped up in Dean’s, placing his palm cupped on Dean’s cheek. Dean unraveled his fingers from Sam’s and traced the S-ish thing a final time on the back of the hand that was now cradling his face. Sam pulled his hand off and they switch places, Dean getting Wunjo and Ihwaz drawn on him a final time.

Their bodies were at least a foot apart, but Sam scooted forward and closed that distance, hand still on Dean’s cheek as he closed his eyes and leaned his head forward, lips brushing over Dean’s. He was just a centimeter to far away to be kissing Dean properly, but Dean just reached for him, letting their lips brush and rub against each other. Sam’s bottom lip caught between Dean’s, tugging before slipping free as Dean moved their mouths. Everything was slow and breathless, their hands over each other and still on Dean’s cheek. Dean reached his mouth forward again, catching on Sam’s lips and repeating the same pull and slide free. Sunshine.

Sam shifted his shoulders and hips, sliding that last inch in and bringing their bodies flush, mouths properly on each other now. Dean was too tired to kiss with much finesse, he just responded to Sam’s soft tugging and sliding. They kissed languid and slow and soft, Sam controlling the motions. It wasn’t long after their mouths were moving together that Sam paused, Dean stilling with him. Their mouths were still every other, Dean’s top lip in Sam’s mouth and Sam’s bottom lip in Dean’s. Sam held them like that for a few moments, maybe just reveling in the feeling of Dean’s lips, of their connected mouths.

After a little bit, he moved again and Dean moved with him. Sam slid their mouths together, apart, together. He ducked his head a little lower and mouthed Dean’s bottom lip in between his own, flipping the kiss and sucking lightly on Dean’s lip. Dean’s fingers curled around Sam’s hand, a shiver going down his naked spine. Sam’s hand raked back through his hair, short pieces parting way for blunt nails. Dean was getting more and more sleepy as Sam kissed him, his initial attempt to hold up after sex starting to fade. The fact that his eyes were closed wasn’t helping any. Neither was the feeling of Sam’s mouth over his, the warm and wet promise that Dean was loved and cared for. It was like he was being begged to fall asleep, to rest his body and his soul.

The kiss stilled again, Sam nursing lightly at Dean’s bottom lip. Dean breathed into Sam’s mouth, fingers going limp against Sam’s hand. Sam dragged their hands down and wiggled them in between their chests, clasped together now between their beating hearts. He wasn’t completely sure, it was late and he might be a little sleep-delusional, but it felt like maybe their hearts were beating in time. Sam’s lips were still cupping Dean’s, but they were both still now, breathing against each other from the loose form of their mouths that still allowed in oxygen.

Sam was drifting off too, Dean could feel him fighting it. But there was no reason left for Dean to fight anymore. He just let his body succumb to the warmth and comfort, hands and mouth entwined with Sam’s as the dreamworld stole him away.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was Sam who found the case on angels. Because Dean wasn’t looking for anything that had anything to do with angels ever. But once Sam tugged Dean over and showed him the article pulled up on his laptop, Dean couldn’t very well say no. It didn’t mean he was excited about it in the least, but if he protested something like this sort of case, Sam would know there was a reason. And all of the things they’d built up between them over the past week would be for nothing. Dean was not going to lose that, was not going to lose where he and Sam were right now.

Their lives were practically goddamn perfect, and Dean was holding onto that with everything he had. They’d reached a place that had never been closer to perfect. All they needed now was for Zeke to hit the pavement, and everything would fall into place. As soon as Zeke was gone, it would solidify everything between him and Sam and then it wouldn’t matter anymore how bad it got. They’d built their lives around each other and this was the final string that could tie them together in something this serious and honest and final for the rest of their lives. Just one more step, and everything they’d built up to could finally reach that place with no more lies, nothing but this amazing thing that was between them.

It was so surreally perfect sometimes, Dean could hardly believe it. There was a plethora of new memories blossoming between them, an infinity of unbelievable things they piled on top of the million and one moments they had together. A lifetime with someone at your side and there were more memories than imaginable, but Dean was pretty sure he had them all. Or could at least get them all after the right prompting.

Just yesterday morning, Dean had decided to relive an old memory they’d never had the chance to expand upon. It had been an easy and lazy day around the bunker, Sam searching for cases with his feet propped up on the kitchen table while Dean whistled and whipped up a batch of melted chocolate. He hadn’t let Sam see what he was making, even though it wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to make. It was still a surprise, though. So Sam was stuck at the table.

Once Dean finally got the temperature just right - warm and melted but not hot enough to burn a tongue - he sauntered his way over to Sammy with the bowl of melted chocolate and a big wooden spoon.

“Taste-test time,” Dean announced, shutting Sam’s laptop with a hand and scooting it across the table. Sam made an annoyed face and sighed. Dean nudged his shin with a finger, prodding Sam to put his feet on the floor. Sam sat up straight, opening his mouth obediently. Dean prompted him to close his eyes too, even though Sam was squinting a very obvious peak. Dean scooped a bit of chocolate onto the spoon and put it carefully in Sam’s mouth, watching with anticipation as Sam’s eyes opened back up and he rolled the chocolate on his tongue.

While Sam’s eyes widened at the taste, Dean scooped a spoonful for himself, holding the warm chocolate on his tongue. Yeah, that was really damn good.

“Wow, this is-“ Sam started, his open mouth suddenly covered by Dean’s. There was moaning and chocolate swirling between them, Sam licking the taste hungrily out of his mouth. Chocolate kisses. They’d done it once before, a loonngg time ago, but Dean remembered how much Sam had loved it at the time. And that had been some nondescript motel chocolate bar, nothing compared to the batch Dean just made. A few minutes later, Dean finally broke his mouth off of Sam’s, laughing as he straightened up. Sam was still wide eyed, looking at Dean like he was some sort of crazy deity.

“You remember that? That case where I wasn’t allowed to sleep? That dream jumper dude, and we were playing cards on the bed…” Dean trailed off, looking at Sam with raised eyebrows as he swirled the spoon in the bowl of chocolate. Sam huffed a laugh, tongue darting out to run over his lips.

“I do remember. That was before -“

Before hell, before everything changed and Dean lost that spark of joyful innocence and hope in his eyes.

“Yeah.” Dean interrupted quietly. Sam might have said something else, maybe before we were together or something along those lines, but either way the thing Dean’s head had just reminded him about pre-hell was true. He shook it off, holding the spoon up like a popsicle and licking a flat stripe over the chocolate on the cupped side. Sam laughed at him, getting up from his chair and taking a step towards Dean. Dean put his tongue back in his mouth, humming at the sharp sweetness.

Sam crowded his space, backing him up against the table before snatching the bowl from his hands. Dean said a muffled “hey!” that didn’t come out very clearly from the chocolate in his mouth. Sam laughed again (Sowilo sunshine), lighting up the room. Then he propped himself up on the table next to Dean and they both sat, bowl between them on the surface while Dean’s feet dangled a little and Sam’s brushed the ground.

They took turns putting the chocolate covered spoon in each other’s mouth, sometimes just to steal the taste away with a tongue filled chocolate kiss. It never escalated more than just a light make out session, both of them satisfied and content just to kiss each other. Maybe the next time Dean made this they could find some more creative things to do with it, but not this time. It was simple and peaceful and childish and another rung on the ladder of Sam and Dean.

They’d been laughing and kissing and happy and that wasn’t a common enough thing for them for Dean to not take notice, make it a mental note in his head. Sam, his sunshine, taking the spoon with a dollop of chocolate on it and touching it to the tip of Dean’s nose. Then kissing it off, tongue flicking out over his freckles as Dean squeezed his eyes shut and complained that Sam was a total bitch. He was pretty sure Sam kissed his nose long after the chocolate was gone, but Dean was smiling by now and he wasn’t going to push Sam off.

Now, with the dark around them and an angel case ahead, Dean just wanted more than ever to get rid of Zeke. He needed his Sam, needed that moment to be just them. For it to be guaranteed to happen again, for them to make this vow they’d made in that church without having to lie the next day about it. Dean was going to get Sam to be 100% his again if it was the last thing he did. He was only getting more and more impatient though. Everything kept getting sweeter and every moment with Sam felt like a monumental one, like everything counted and everything was so big, just leading up to this moment that he got Sam back and all the memories got to be justified.

He just needed Sam, now more than ever. It had been so long and Dean just couldn’t do this lying thing anymore. Not when they kept getting closer, not when the only air he was breathing anymore was Sam’s. The lying was getting near impossible, the closer they got. Dean had always thought they had been close, ever since the moment Dean first laid his eyes on that tiny bundle of blanket held in his mother’s arms in a hospital bed. But Sam never seized to amaze him, they somehow always found a way to weave a little closer, press a little tighter into each other’s lives. But that last space, those last few inches between them were blue eyes and angel grace.

And not the normal blue eyes and angel grace that got between them, because that particular angel was no longer angel, was no salesperson. It wasn’t Cas between them anymore (Dean didn’t let himself think that name) (ever), it was Zeke and Dean just couldn’t take that anymore. There was always an angel in between them it seemed. Just so long as Cas didn’t randomly show up anytime soon, they might survive this if they booted Zeke. Priority #1.

Dean glanced over at the passenger seat, the stiffness of his brother’s body making him queasy like it always did. Somebody else inside Sam, even if it wasn’t like that, still drove Dean up the wall of insanity.

"So, he's better?” Zeke had just dropped in in the middle of talking the case with Sam, which Dean had actually been okay with this time, so long as he got good news. So long as it meant Zeke was out, soon. Now, preferably, actually.

"Yes. Sam is much improved. It shouldn't be much longer now,” Ezekial monotoned back to him. Yeah, Dean had that speech memorized. It was exactly the speech he didn’t want to hear. He wanted Zeke out.

"Okay, you know you said the same thing to me last week, right?” Dean was trying not to get frustrated, but their conversation last week was still fresh on Dean’s mind. The tears on Sammy’s face…yeah, no. Bad bad memories. And Zeke had just been all high and might “it shouldn’t be much longer now” and Dean had wanted to punch him so badly except that that would just hurt Sammy, not Zeke.

"As I told you when we met – this will take time.” Zeke sounded so calm and Dean wanted to scream. He didn’t though. He’d held out this long, maybe just a few more days and then Sam would be his and it would be forever and wonderful and he could wait a few more days for Sammy’s sake.

He exhaled, impatient and frustrated and really wishing things could be different. But mostly he just wanted Sam. Right now, actually. Maybe he’d gotten more rude and more curt with the angel but this was too damn hard to hold himself together through all of this and not get pissed. So he snapped at Zeke, hands worrying at the leather of the steering wheel under his hands.

"Okay, well, go then. Heal. I'd like my brother back, please.” Dean stared forward, trying to let the yellow lines disappear beneath his car feel like something regular, something promising. Instead he felt like he was shriveled up, like his throat was contracting and his eyes wanted to water. His poker face was flickering with the pain he didn’t want to show but just the words my brother felt like enough to break him. He waited, waited for the sweet sunshine voice to come back. When the steel version of Sam grated back out more words, Dean blinked away his rage.

"I must say, Dean, I'm very uncomfortable with this whole trip. Investigating crimes involving angels – or anything involving angels – puts me, and therefore, Sam, at risk.” Everything ever put Sam at risk. It was called hunting. Life. The job. It had been that way since Sam was six months old, and Dean had been looking out for him since he was six months old. Before them. That’s how it goes, Sammy gets put at risk and Dean sacrifices whatever he can to pull Sam out of it. Besides, even if Dean wanted to skip out on this case, he couldn’t. It’d arise suspicion and then the last week of heaven would be twisted and discarded as something that meant nothing the moment that Sam decided he didn’t trust Dean anymore.

"Well, family business, Zeke. Okay? If we ignore this, Sam's gonna think that something fishy's going on.” Dean said it as dead-panned as possible and Zeke didn’t answer at first, using Sammy’s sunflower eyes to look at Dean instead. He finally sighed, his voice sounding more like a threat than a request.

"Then I trust you will be discreet.” Dean just turned back to the road. Bastard. Of course he has to pipe up the one time they go to something that looks angelically nasty. Although…did that? Wait, what?

"Wait, if you know where we're going, that means you've been listening in. Are you – are you hearing everything between me and Sam?” Dean tried not to sound panicked. It was just a question after all. Even if it felt like a death sentence. Because if Zeke…if Zeke was present for the entire past month…

The thought of someone else watching listening in as Sam traced perfection and immortality onto Dean’s hand made his insides twist up, the dinner he’d made them both threaten to make a guest appearance. All of the things they’d said to each other over the past few days…all of the looks and loving and touching, none of it private. Everything that was Dean and Sam having a third pair of eyes, watching and listening in on their sacred nights. The closeness they’d had, everything they’d shared recently…the tears and confessions and promises and the falling asleep together all of it. Not theirs, not really. Dean was numb.

"No. Just a word here and there.” Dean’s blood started pumping again but he still felt lightheaded, queasy. How many words here and there were ones meant for Sam and Sam alone? When had Zeke shown up, in the middle of the night with Sam deep inside him? Watching as they shared breakfasts and laughter? Dean used to worry about Zeke hating him for showing up, but after everything took a turn to important, now Dean was starting to hate Zeke for showing up. "I have better things to do with my time than eavesdrop, like heal your brother."

"Okay, 'cause here's the thing—“ Dean started. Here’s the thing: My brother and I are at a very important place in our…relationship, and the sooner we can get to, you know, private again, the better. I don’t know how much of us you’ve seen, but we have a lot going on. I’m not going to apologize for it either, because I’m not going to lose him. That was the whole point of you healing him. So just, heal, yeah? I’ll call you if I need you, but other than that Sam and I need our privacy.

Or not. Because before Dean could give Zeke the back up off my boyfriend speech, the bubbly words of his brother were filling the car again, interrupting Dean mid sentence and starting in mid sentence himself, too.

"— you know, I was gonna say, it seems like it's getting really quiet out there, you know?” Dean’s eyes flew over to Sam, looking back and forth a few times to be sure. Definitely Sam. "Not a peep from the angels, even Buddy Boyle goes off the air and stops recruiting for them.” Sam looked over at Dean expectantly. Dean blinked at the road, squeezing the leather of Baby’s wheel under his hands. Grounding, back to Sam. Angels were all gone, the heated parts of Dean’s head could cool off and calm down. He swallowed, trying to adjust back to Sam’s conversation and just saying the first thing that made a tolerable amount of sense.

"Obviously calm before the storm."

"Yeah, maybe,” Sam said, sounding unconvinced and turning back to the shotgun window. Dean breathed out slow, trying to settle down from his conversation from Zeke, when Sam suddenly did a double take, following something outside his window with his eyes, even going so far as to turn his head and follow it as it disappeared in the dust behind the car. That couldn’t be good.

“What?” Dean asked, trying not to sound too worried. Then Sam went on his whole spiel about how he was missing chunks of time and Dean tried to dodge the best he could, throwing out whatever he could to toss Sam off the tracks. He still looked unconvinced though, and Dean couldn’t let Sam fall back into blaming himself, worrying about them. That had been a fucking disaster, after that case with Vesta. So maybe he stretched the truth a little, maybe he felt guilty as hell but knew Sam needed some sort of reassurance now. Dean wasn’t losing the new progress.

"You're not up to warp speed yet, okay? But you will be.” The will be was the only not lie Dean had left. It was the one thing he could promise Sam and not lie about, even if Sam was looking at him like he totally was. So Dean smiled, genuineness lost in his eyes but maybe unrecognizable in the dark. "Would I lie?"

Sam scanned his eyes over Dean, thinking who knows what. But he didn’t say anything else. And he looked a little less worried. Like maybe they’d avoided Huge Collision Number Two of Sam blaming himself for everything that had happened to him. It was all Dean’s fault, and Dean knew that, but he couldn’t tell Sam that for a little while longer. Just a few more days, he promised himself. It wasn’t a lie because in a few more days, Sam would be okay. A few more days.

Well, so long as nothing came bounding between them in the meantime, anyways. Only problem was, the one chance Dean had at actually laying low and holding out for a few more days before everything was safe and secured - of course - got thrown out the window. They’d come this far, only for the last three yards to be thrown the biggest curveball that could be thrown in the game.

Red alert alarms were already going off the second they got to the scene, their first greeting being "Ah, one of your guys is here already.” They’d shot each other looks that said oh shit at the same time, nodding at the cop and putting their ID’s back in their pockets. It was never good when there was somebody else on the scene. Seriously never good.

It could be anything from a legitimate FBI agent that got their asses thrown in jail and a ton more problems in their to some twisted monster who pretended to be an agent only to screw them over later and set them on themselves to an angel come to bait the Winchesters or clean up their mess to the King of Hell come to cause whatever the hell damage he could.

Seeing who it was, though, Dean would take any of those in a heartbeat.

There was no trenchcoat warning, no blue Sales associate vest either. No, there was a sleek, well-fitting Fed suit, black and sharp and wickedly gorgeous. Cas had probably never put on a suit in his life before now (discounting the one he wore under his trenchcoat), Dean had certainly never seen anything on him that was this…refined. Classy. Sexy as hell. All that black, against his black hair, brilliant blue eyes seeming 800 times more intense, more mesmerizing and deadly.

The stark white of the vest, blue tie to match his eyes. Dean had a memory about a blue tie and Cas, one he very kindly did not want to think about right now. The way he patted the man he was talking to on the shoulder, so casual and friendly and so so Cas it hurt. Physically. Ripped something inside of Dean. Cas was here and looking like some male model of gorgeousness, walking up to them with a grin on his face.

"Ah, my colleagues,” the voice that haunted Dean’s nightmares and his dreams. He could smell him now, too. He smelled like lavender and wood, walking up to Dean and barely a foot away and Dean’s insides were a puddling screaming mess. On the outside he painted the mask he had ever created.

Cas was here and Dean’s lie was threatening to unravel because of it. Zeke would be pissed. Cas was here and Dean wasn’t sure he could do this. He hadn’t worked with both of them at once since that Looney Tunes Case and that had been fucking hell. He could not have this on top of everything right now. Even if none of that were a big deal, which it really fucking was, Cas was here working a CASE. On his own. With no backup. With ANGELS involved. Aka everyone who wanted him dead. Cas, who was supposed to be safe and distant and the only reason Dean could ever sleep at night was because at least one of the three of them had gotten out and was safe and happy. And here was Cas, crushing every bit of that hope Dean had had.

So yeah, painting on the pissed face was something Dean could do right now. Pissed that all of that had just been ripped out from under him.

Dean wasn’t looking at Sam for once, although Sam was fucking beaming like his entire world just got a damn puppy or something. He clapped Cas on the arm, grinning and happy and just like he’d been the other day with that chocolate in his mouth, except this was because of Cas which was so so dangerous and not just for Sam, for Cas, and how the hell was Dean supposed to protect them both when they were acting like grinning fools and being so damn ignorant about this whole thing?

To be fair, Dean hadn’t told either of them anything. But he was keeping them apart for a reason, and not just because of their fucked up love triangle either. Although not that Dean could call it a love triangle, it was more like Dean loved them both and Sam was the only one that loved him back. Which was just as well because Cas deserved way better than Dean. Even if maybe there was a part of Dean that thought Cas did like him back at least a little, it wasn’t enough to be that monumental, was it?

“Agent.” Sam teased, smiling. Now was not the fucking time.

“Agent,” Cas replied, his entire body lighting up like this adorable thing that really should not…ugh.

“Cas,” Dean cut in, not caring that it might come across as rude because what the fuck was Cas doing out here playing with fire that a specific target for him? It was only a matter of time before he stuck his curious cute little nose in something and ended up getting chained to the ceiling with a knife cutting open his chest. And Dean couldn’t fucking live through that, Cas was supposed to be out and safe and gone. Instead, here he was smiling at Sam like he wanted to play games with his two best friends. "What the hell are you doing?"

“Um,” Cas leaned in close, spiking Dean’s heart rate and speaking quieter. "I still have that badge you gave me.” He said it like a secret, like it was something cute and treasured and so out of context in Dean’s head. Dean physically leaned backwards, instantly 8,000x more of a deusch but he couldn’t do this that close to Cas.

"Yeah. Uh, what the hell are you doing?” Dean snapped, knowing how the words would dig in where it hurt, knew the way he was leaning away from Cas would hurt even more. And they did, Cas’s entire cheery visage sunk like the damn Titanic. Wait, no, not the Titanic - more memories of Cas that Dean couldn’t handle right now.

"The murders were all over the news. I, I thought I might be of help.” Dean didn’t want to look at the hurt and rejection in those baby blues. Hurting Cas was like kicking a puppy. Except about 8000x worse because Dean loved him on top of that. Dean wasn’t sure how he was going to say we don’t want your help without coming across as a total jackass. Which would get him questioned by Sam later. Dean could picture the conversation now, Sam tugging his elbow and pulling him aside, standing so close Dean would have to tilt his head to look up. Dude, why are you being such an asshole to Cas? Did you two break up or something? He’d have that joking tone but his eyes would be worried to all hell, thinking maybe Dean had done something and this whole thing would be a fucking mess. So he was pretty grateful when Sam interjected and saved Dean from having to sound like an extremely obvious dick who didn’t want Cas here. Which he didn’t. Because it put Cas in fucking danger and that was the whole point of being a sales associate, the whole reason Dean could sleep at night with Cas in Idaho.

"Yeah, but Cas, you know that this is an angel situation, right? I mean, you left that night because angels were on your ass,” Sam explained. Cas got a bit of a funny look on his face, like he might suddenly correct Sam. Dean had told them two different stories, and now that they were talking about it this was bad bad bad because that was not why Cas left, just what Dean had told Sam as an excuse. No, Cas left for a lot worse of a reason than murderous angels on his ass. He left because his supposed best friend was the shittiest person on the planet.

"Yeah, and you were living the life, you know?” Dean interrupted, before Cas and Ssam both figured out that Dean had lied. He was pretty sure the discomfort was quite visible on his face, but he tried to pull at strings, bring any sort of safety back into the equation. Even if it sounded ridiculous coming out of Dean’s mouth. "Early retirement, working your way up the Gas-n-Sip ladder.”

Dean’s shot in the dark just got these looks, like he was being a ridiculous child, speaking nonsense and not seeing the big picture in the least.

"If angels are slaughtering one another, I have to do what I can to help.” Or not, Dean wanted to interject. "It is a risk we should be willing to take, don't you think?” Cas tilted his head all adorable, his voice saying duh while his eyebrows hiked up, expression almost flirty. If Dean could travel back in time right now to all those moments he preached Free Will and risks we should be willing to take to Cas, he’d punch himself in the face and duct tape his own mouth shut. The things he’d taught Cas had come back to bite Dean in the ass so many times now it wasn’t even funny. Sam just shrugged in agreement, his mouth curved in amusement.

Everyone looked so happy just to be together and Dean could feel the protective walls he had sheltered his boys in crumbling to the ground. He had to keep them apart, but for actual legitimate reasons this time. As much as it sucked. He’d loved to have them both in his life, couldn’t even imagine the bliss of living with the two of them. Dean had pictured it before, what it would be like to wake up and throw on his bathrobe, walk into the library to see his best friend talking to his boyfriend at the table over cereal. It was something Dean didn’t get to have. Maybe, maybe when Zeke was gone. Just another reason to want this whole nightmare over.

“Hey,” Cas said, drawing Dean’s eyes back to him. Then he grinned, his face lighting up and sending flashes of unwanted memories ripping through Dean’s body. "Cas is back in town.”

He sounded so geeky and adorable and it was the most Cas thing he could have said and he was trying so hard and holy shit that could not even be real. The grin on his face, the tilt of his head. That eyebrow cocked at Dean. It was a shot at debonair, maybe, but mostly it melted something inside of Dean. Which was dangerous, very dangerous. So he shoved off the urge to smile. This was Sam’s life at stake, and Dean wasn’t going to keep Cas here any longer than he had to by actually smiling at him. As much as Dean would love to be beaming the way Sam was right now. Instead he focused in on the geeky of it, the way Cas still failed at the simplest of things. Like not being a total loser. Adorable, precious loser that Dean wanted in his life, but still a loser.

"Seriously, did you –“ Dean scolded, before turning to Sam to emphasize his point. “Did he just say that?”

Sam looked at Cas and smiled so fondly Dean just stared at him. Somehow, despite standing in the middle of a crime zone with a pissed off distant boyfriend at his side while he faced a man he used to hate and be jealous of - his original competition and nemesis - Sam was beaming like the sunshine he was.

There was Cas, happier than Dean had seen him in a long time. And looking gorgeous and brilliant in his stark fed suit. Then there was Sam, smiling at Cas with that same joy Dean had dragged out of him with warm melted chocolate. Except this fond smile wasn’t for Dean. Sam genuinely had missed Cas, Dean could see it. The two people he cared about most in the world cared deeply for each other and that should be the best news Dean ever got in his lifetime.

Except it wasn’t. Because right now, they couldn’t be in the same state with each other, let alone sharing a beer. Which of course, they were. They’d all gravitated here, which wasn’t surprising in the least. Dean could really use some alcohol in his system right now. Preferably the right amount to make everything a little foggy, to take away the immediate guilt and pain hanging in his face. Then he could just pass out and sleep somewhere, let all of his troubles not be his for a few hours.

But as tempting as it was to get drunk off his ass and just ignore the hell he’d stepped into, somebody had to keep Zeke and Cas from colliding, and Dean was the only one who even knew about Zeke. So, obviously, Dean had to stay sober enough to handle this mess. For Sammy’s sake. Cas’s sake, too, as much as Dean wanted to pretend it wasn’t. So long as nobody got all sentimental, Dean was going to be fine. He could handle this all, right up until the point that the mess got emotional again. Funny, that was the one thing running through Dean’s head, and what’s the first thing Cas says after they get their beers and sit down?

"It is so good being together again,” Cas grinned. Dean wanted to throw something. "You know, this is my first beer as a human. I hope it's okay, me joining you?”

He looked so much like he just wanted to be here, to belong with them. He tried so fucking hard and he wanted it so bad and Dean was a terrible terrible person for forcing Cas away from this. But it was for Sammy’s health, for Cas’s safety. It seemed like every word Cas said, Dean’s heart sunk a little deeper in his chest. The hopeful, bashful I hope it’s okay? That wasn’t even fair. What the hell had Dean done in his life to deserve this? And it wasn’t like Cas was referring to his and Sam’s relationship, it wasn’t even that simple anymore. That might have been a factor, perhaps, for the question. But Dean had a feeling it was a lot more than that.

"Why wouldn't it be okay?” Sam asked, sounding cheery and friendly and comforting. He actually liked Cas, and this whole thing could not have had worse timing. Why couldn’t they have run into Cas a week from now? Once Zeke was gone and Sammy was better and they could actually work together? When it actually would be okay for Cas to join them. Because Cas was right. It wasn’t okay for him to be here, it wasn’t okay at all.

But the problem was, Sam was looking at Cas like why in the world would it not be okay and this was exactly the problem Dean was trying to avoid earlier. They had two different stories, so Cas assumed he wasn’t welcome and Sam assumed Cas had left by choice. So if the conversation kept going in this direction, nasty things were going to be unsurfaced. Which meant Dean had to interject with a distraction again, something less obvious maybe. Because if he got shut down again and Cas and Sam kept talking logistics, odds are Zeke was going to pop up and this mess would reach extreme proportions.

"You know, Cas, are you sure you're ready to jump back into all this? I mean, it seemed to me like you'd actually found some peace.” Dean certainly had found some peace. With Cas out and safe, he’d been able to sleep at night. Now that Cas wanted back in, when he was already number one wanted on the angels’ lists right now, Dean was going to be a wreck constantly worrying about him.

"Hey, you once told me,” Cas had his beer in his hand, shaking it floppily at Dean as he spoke. He was smiling and loose and happy, a kind of contentedness about him that Cas had never had as an angel. Being human looked good on Cas, it did. He looked happier, less tortured by himself and his family. Even the way he looked at Dean was more fluid, less of the intense and more of a fond gaze. “…that you don't choose what you do. It chooses you.”

Dean blinked, twisting up his mouth. He did not remember that conversation at all. That sounded a little buddha sounding to have come from Dean’s mouth, but with Cas’s memory retention being on a celestial level, Dean supposed he could have said that once. Although the idea of the words were kind of lost on him. Cas could see that on his face, decided to elaborate for Dean’s sake.

"I'm a part of this,” Cas said, tipping his beer bottle comically to clink it against the rim of Dean’s. "Like it or not.” His voice was certain, sure of himself and confident in a way Dean couldn’t remember Cas ever being. Or honestly, maybe Cas’s tongue was just loosening up a bit from the alcohol. Already. He used to be a heavyweight champ, an angry drunk on the rare occasion that he downed a liquor store. Apparently human Cas was just the opposite, a lightweight who just got infinitely happier the more he drank. It was kinda cute.

Last time Dean had seen Cas, Dean had tried and tried to convince Cas to come hunting with him. To engage, to want to be with Dean. He’d begged Cas for his help, practically dragged him along on that case. Now, Cas was eager and wanting to be helpful, wanting to be with them. And Dean wasn’t supposed to…he wasn’t allowed to have Cas here. All because of the freaking angel inside Sam. It wasn’t even fair. Dean’s best friend, diving into their problems headfirst, beaming at Dean like Dean hadn’t dumped him in the dust. It was a second chance, 80th chance, that Dean didn’t deserve. And it couldn’t have worst timing. Right on the ten yard line.

Sam was more than happy to embrace Cas’s enthusiasm though. That might be the most amazing thing of this whole experience. Sam and Cas had stopped fighting a long time ago, Sam told Dean he’d come to terms with Cas being in love with Dean. Which had surprised Dean a lot. He’d always thought they fought because Sam know Dean liked Cas, not the other way around. Sam had said Cas did like Dean, but Dean was pretty sure that wasn’t the case, and told Sam so. Sam didn’t have anything to worry about. Cas didn’t actually feel that way for Dean, why would he?

But either way, they’d stopped fighting over that weird mess a while ago. But they hadn’t been grinning at each other and smiling and wanting to spend time together before now. Sam wanted Cas in on this, enough even to give him the hunter run-down, saying it man-to-man instead of all teach-y. Like Cas was an equal.

"All right, well, then, in that case, we have to figure out, uh, who are we up against, what do they want, and how do we stop them.” Sam took a drag of his beer and Dean watched his mouth for a few seconds automatically, then turned to look at Cas as Cas slur-spoke his next words.

"Well, Bartholomew wants to reverse Metatron's spell. Presumably to – to retake Heaven once his following is large enough. That's according to April.” Cas spoke slow, looking back and forth between them both. April? Who was April? Oh yeah, damn, Dean had forgotten about her. The red head Cas had screwed. Who then stabbed Cas in the chest. Dean remembered her. Quite well.

"The reaper you banged,” He clarified. Maybe it was a little obvious that that’s how he remembered her, but Dean had bigger worries right now than being overanalyzed by himself and Cas. Yes, it was a big deal in Dean’s head that Cas had banged a reaper. Yes, Dean had thought about it and yes, he was jealous as hell. And no, Cas never needed to know any of those things.

"Yeah, and you stabbed.” Cas shot back. Dean blinked. When Cas said it like that, it did kind of accent Dean’s jealousy. The format of their words just ended up being “you banged her” “you stabbed her” and it sounded like the stabbing was a direct retaliation for Cas sleeping with her. At the time, it hadn’t been. Because Dean hadn’t know she’s screwed Cas, just that she’d killed him. Both were more than enough reasons for her to die, though. Even if she hadn’t had stabbed Cas, had just slept with him, Dean still might have stabbed her. Maybe. Probably. Just on the principle that she took Cas’s virginity. All this time, and some gorgeous redhead took it.

“Yeah,” Dean said, trying to be as casual as possible. So yeah, maybe Dean had stabbed her. Depending on how intuitive Cas was as a human, he may have figured out Dean was jealous of her. Angel Cas tended to be pretty clueless to human emotions, Dean literally had to spell everything out for him. Hell, the first time he’d kissed Cas he’d been forced to sit down and give him an explanation, have a whole conversation about it. It just wasn’t a thing Cas could grasp without some pushing in the right direction. But maybe as a human, maybe he’d pick up on the way Dean’s fingers tightened around his beer at the mention of her name. Maybe he’d see the flicker of jealousy in Dean’s eyes and finally know, finally get all the things Dean never had the courage to tell Cas the right way.

Well, there were a few times he’d said it as simply and straight out as possible. And Cas just ditched him afterwords, so it’s not like Dean was going down that path again. Especially after the last big confession…kneeling bloody on the floor in front of his guardian angel, beat to hell and bruised and throbbing and reaching up for Cas anyways, a low I need you finally filling the space between them.

And what had Dean gotten out of his confessed heart? Cas had decided not to trust Dean, had bolted literally minutes after Dean told him. Cas had ran away, and Dean’s emotions had been ripped from under him. That was the first moment he was 100% sure the feelings were unrequited. And he refused to believe anything else since. He loved Cas and Cas didn’t see him that way anymore. When they were younger and things were simpler, Dean was pretty sure Cas liked him back. But Dean hadn’t been able to sort out his feelings for the angel at the time, had blown his shot. It wasn’t until Cas was dead, taken by the Leviathans and then drowned in a lake, that Dean realized he felt so strongly for Cas. By then, it was too late. Because when Cas got back from that, Dean hadn’t meant the same thing to him anymore. Cas didn’t like him like that anymore, had only been denying Dean and running out on him ever since. So it didn’t matter that Dean was jealous, that he’d stabbed Cas’s one and only hookup.

"She was hot,” Dean offered after a bit of an awkward pause. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting in response, but it wasn’t the way Cas threw his eyes to the ceiling, mouth smiling wide and eyes reminiscing.

"So hot,” Cas sighed. Okay, not that hot. Then he added on, digging the knife a little deeper in Dean’s chest. "And very nice."

“Mm,” Dean hummed in response, nodding. She still deserved to die. Maybe more, if she was so great. He could pretend he wasn’t jealous but they were talking about Cas having sex here and that was a conversation Dean never thought they’d be having. It seemed so casual, like something they should definitely talk about more often. Wait, shit. Cas might not be able to read him but —

Dean glanced up quickly at Sam. Sam wasn’t glaring, didn’t look like he was reading too much into it. If any of Dean’s emotions were on his face whatsoever, Sam was going to see them. Sammy looked a little surprised, was glancing back and forth between the two of them. He had a slight smile on his face, amused at the conversation. So he wasn’t mad, at least. That was good. Because once Dean started going soft and Sam started noticing, then came the questions and the jealousy and the issues and it was just all way too big of a deal.

"Up to the point she started torturing me,” Cas added again, staring off into space. Well at least Cas didn’t still like her, that was good. Actually, that was really good. Dean was almost glad that April had secretly been a major bitch. Because that meant Cas wasn’t still longing for her, it meant Cas could look on to a bigger, brighter future. With preferably someone taller, less ginger and more muscular. Maybe green eyed, sitting right here, had been wanting Cas for years…but wait, that’s right, they weren’t allowed to even be friends right now, let alone more. Freaking deuschbag angels.

"Yeah. Well, not every hookup's perfect.” The words of comfort may have possibly had an underlying meaning but Dean was going to pretend they didn’t for right now. Instead he could be the best friend, he could manage to talk about sex and not flirt with Cas. He had to keep up that wall, that barrier between them that kept Dean’s heart safe and Cas’s heart safe and Cas was looking at him with those big, beautiful blue eyes.

That was the blue of the sky, those eyes. Which was so symbolic, ironic or whatever. Because whenever Dean was hurting, whenever he needed hope or comfort or anything Cas related, he was looking up at the sky. He’d look up to the heavens for his Cas, look up and be greeted with the color of the eyes he was looking for. Cas was the sky Dean looked to, and a piece of that sky was trapped in the eyes Dean looked to.

His hand was on Cas’s arm before he could register it was happening and stop himself. As soon as his skin touched the warmth of Cas’s jacket, though, his brain kicked in and he quickly covered, lifting his hand again and patting Cas’s arm twice. Just a comforting pat that wasn’t sending shocks up Dean’s fingers and into his shoulder, making his entire body feel like it was being vibrated. Cas was looking at him with a smile, like the single touch had been the one thing Cas had been looking for all evening.

Cas was smiling at him and it had been Dean that caused that smile and just the thought of that had Dean lighting up. For a few brief seconds, the angst and troubles slipped Dean’s mind because a beautiful boy he lovde was smiling at him and hell if Dean wasn’t smiling back.

He wasn’t sure how long he was looking at Cas, but suddenly someone was clearing their throat and Dean snapped out of it, looking over at Sam. Sam looked amused, but he also had that look on his face that said he would “leave Dean to it.” Dean hadn’t seen that look in a very very long time.

"All right. I'm gonna get us another round,” Sam said, excusing himself from the table. Oh oh no Dean knew that speech, that was the I’ll see you back at the motel speech Sam used to give Dean whenever he was looking at someone like he was about to get laid. Sam was giving them privacy, but why? They were in a closed relationship and it wasn’t like Cas was interested anyways, Dean didn’t exactly need alone time with Cas right now. Even if Sam looked like he was totally okay with it. More than okay with it. Which was definitely not Sam’s style, they’d just gone over this like a month ago, with the Suzy thing. Sam had been jealous and pissed and hurt and now he was purposely shoving Dean at Cas?

There had to be a motive there. A very serious motive that Dean had no idea could be.

"Nah. I'll get it,” Cas offered, hopping off his bar stool before Sam could. Dean raised his eyebrows. Okay, so it was a competition of who can leave who with Dean alone right now. Dean wasn’t going to make a preference either way, he was just going to sit here and let whoever wanted go get the damn beer. It wasn’t that complicated, even if it felt like it kind of was. At least if Cas left, Dean could pester Sam on what the hell his little shove at Dean was. Because there was no way Sam had done that randomly, he hated ordering beers.

“Mm,” Cas hummed contentedly, rowing the last of his beer and setting the bottle down on the table. He looked positively giddy. And really really human. "You know, I've never done this before.”

Then he was sauntering off to the bar, swaying just a little. Dean’s eyes followed him, watching the smaller man as he leaned against the bar, smiling that sinfully innocent smile of his. Dean sighed, trying not to sound overly fond.

"One beer, he's hammered.” Sam huffed a laugh, and now was the chance, Dean got to ask Sam what the hell was up with him—

Flash. Blue. Shit. Zeke was back and he looked pissed. Just when Dean was starting to let himself forget how shitty this whole thing was. Zeke turned Sam’s smiling face into a solid wall, looking at Dean with hazel eyes that lacked any bit of the sunshine Sam had. Zeke was always steely and stoic, but shit he’d never looked this pissed.

"Oh, boy.” Dean was about to get so much shit right now. There was no way he couldn’t with the face Zeke had on right now.

"Well? What are you going to do about this?” Zeke’s words were robotic and monotone and choppy and mad. What was Dean going to do about this? About what? His gaze flicked over to the side, off Zeke-using-Sam’s-face and to the ex-angel leaning on the bar. Cas was ordering, all smiling and innocent and Dean knew that’s what Zeke had to be talking about but he really really wished it wasn’t.

"About Cas?” Dean clarified, wishing to hell it was something else. Knowing it wasn’t. But it was the fact that Zeke wanted Dean to do something about it that Dean didn’t get. Yeah, he knew he’d been told Cas couldn’t stay in the bunker with them because it was dangerous or whatever, Zeke had made that clear. But what the hell did he mean by do something about him? They were literally just having a drink. Sure, Dean might have let down his guard a bit, but it wasn’t like they were parading through the streets and putting Sam and Zeke in danger right now.

"He is a beacon, Dean, pulling every angel for miles down on our heads.” Yeah, in some bar in the middle of nowhere? Besides, it was the three of them, what the hell was going to be able to come at them and somehow win?

"All right, you know what, Zeke? Level with me. What is it that you're so afraid of?” Dean snapped, narrowing his eyes at the angel. Dean had been playing Zeke’s games for too damn long. When he’d first seen Cas he’d been so eager to dump him, shove him out of here but it was fucking Cas. Dean’s best friend, guardian angel, freaking savior, and here was this random angel - who was supposed to be Cas’s friend - trying to get rid of him and Dean was just going to stand back and let it happen? No. No, he was done with that he needed some real answers right now.

"I told you,” Zeke said, some of his intimidating façade crumbling at Dean’s anger. Fucking right, bitch. But the loss of pissiness in Zeke’s voice made him sound weaker, like maybe he was lying. Or just uncomfortable. Either way, Dean felt uneasy and he didn’t like it. "When I chose to answer your prayers and heal Sam, I chose sides. That means I'm not in good standing with certain angels.”

Oh poor baby. Not in good standing. Dean had never been in good standing with another soul besides Sam in his entire life, and he fucking fought his way through it. This was ridiculous. That was the whole point of Team Free Will, screwing all that shit about being scared and in good standing. Choosing sides not just to choose, but to stand and fight. To haul ass halfway across the country on a minimum wage pay check and abandon the one bit of peace and safety in your two thousand year long life and face the world on your own as a new species without help from your closest friends, who you think hate you, buy a tux and play the part of a freaking FBI agent - which is super illegal and actually kind of difficult - all so you could help a little? Yeah, no. Zeke could shut the fuck up and sit down.

"Okay, well, you know what? Cas isn't in good standing with any angel, all right? But here he is, ass on the line, fighting the fight.” Dean leaned forward over the table, glaring with as much acerbity as possible. Saying that stuff about Cas out loud felt good though. It was true. As infuriating as it was - aka. infuriating enough for Dean to want to stab everything that breathed - that Dean had another loved one in the line of fire that he would have to spend sleepless nights worrying about, at least Cas proved to not be a freaking coward. "So tell me, what makes you so special?”

Just when Dean was pretty sure he’d finally gotten the right line in to set Zeke straight, to shine the light on this shadowed puddle of ridiculousness, happy drunk Cas was back, leaning over the table to set their bottles down with a flourish. The tension - not the good kind - in the air between Dean and Zeke was broken, and Dean leaned back in his chair, still glaring lightly at Zeke. Zeke was even more pissed than before, suddenly left with nothing legit to say in response to that.

"Here we go. Three brewskies,” Cas chirped, sounding adorable. He sat down in his barstool with a smile and Zeke leveled Dean with a look. It may be Zeke behind the face, but Dean still could read the expression perfectly. Just because Dean had gotten some good words out, nothing had changed. Cas was still a danger to Sam’s health and the pointed look was a very clear reminder of that.

"I'm going to get something out of the car,” Zeke said pissily, getting out of his chair and stalking away. Yeah, that wasn’t obvious at all. Dean took a swallow of his new beer as quickly as he could, reveling in the burn of the alcohol down his throat and wishing it was whisky. That would make this so much easier. But as Sam’s body disappeared out of sight, Dean deflated with a sigh. If Zeke was still so sure that this was the only way for Sam’s safety, it wasn’t really a question. Cas still had to go. He may be brave and gorgeous and the most wonderful addition Dean could have in his life right now, but this was Sammy. Cas would understand, once Dean eventually told him one day. For now, Dean would do what he could to live with the consequences.

You and me, come whatever. If kicking his best friend to the curb for the hundredth time was the whatever, it was the sacrifice Dean was going to make for Sam.

The alcohol wasn’t quite getting to his system yet, not enough to help as much as Dean would like it to. But his head was still a little bit fuzzy, his throat still felt a little scratchy. He blinked, taking another drag that put a lot of beer in his mouth. Maybe more than he should be drinking at once. He briefly wondered if drinking alcohol faster made you drunker. The lights of the bar pulsed, a little bright, and Dean dipped his head, shaking it slightly and trying to clear up from the sudden swig.

Then Cas was clearing his throat and Dean had an excuse to look at him.

"I, um, I noticed you look…” Cas paused and Dean stared, soaking up the look on Cas’s face. He was just a little blurred around the edges, sharp enough for Dean to still see how damn hot he was in that suit. If Dean had a couple more beers, maybe he could drag Cas backstage, find some room behind the bar with an old saggy couch and strip that hot fed suit off of him, show Cas that Dean’s mouth was so much better than that redhead’s. Just a couple more beers. “...kind of uncomfortable whenever Sam mentions my leaving.”

Cas looked up at him and Dean sat there and looked, eyes scanning over Cas’s pretty face. He was sitting for a little longer than he probably should have been. Was he supposed to be responding? Cas didn’t look as happy as he did when Sam was here. He looked more upset now, less drunk and more real. Maybe he’d passed his blur off to Dean. Dean was pretty sure there was only a few centimeters in the bottom of his bottle. How did that happen? Dean took his eyes off of Cas’s face. Cas leaving. Dean didn’t want to think about it but Cas was talking about it.

Could Cas see Dean’s answer on his face anyways? Probably. Cas seemed hesitant, but he finally asked the question, looking at Dean with big blue puppy eyes. "Doesn't he know that you told me to leave?”

Dean looked down at the table, lifting his hand up in the air. Shit, this. He wasn’t going to answer that question. He was definitely not drunk enough for this conversation. Cas deserved answers and he didn’t deserve the shitiness of Dean’s friendship, but here they were.

"Here's the deal. When Sam was doing the trials to seal up Hell, it messed him up. Okay?” Dean was talking a little bit with his hands, maybe sounding a little out of his head. This was just…not a good conversation. At all. Cas looked down when Dean spoke, sitting and absorbing with that awful crease in his forehead that said he was trying to understand but feeling hurt. It was Dean’s fault. "The third one nearly killed him. If I'd let him finish, it would have.”

Cas looked a little surprised at that. Dean supposed he hadn’t been there, maybe Dean hadn’t really elaborated just how much it had taken a toll on them all. He’d said something along those lines in his first prayer to Cas, in the hospital’s church, but obviously Cas hadn’t heard him. Cas had been human. Cas was human. And trying to understand. Dean was human too, and so was Sam, and all three of them were hurting. Sam, though, Sam was the one who was dying. Still. He was living codependent on angel juice right now, and that was something that still made Dean choke up a little when he talked about it.

"He's still messed up. Bad.” Dean tried to handle his emotions, not think about Sammy lying broken on a white hospital bed, Dean’s entire world slipping between his fingers as both of their lifelines beeped on a little monitor, registering their hearts and knowing that Dean wouldn’t be alive anymore the moment it flatlined. Technically, his heart would be beating and his blood would be pumping but the moment Sam wasn’t alive anymore, Dean’s soul snuffed out and so did his will for anything.

"You said the angel, Ezekiel, helped heal him.” Cas did remember that, then. But the problem was, Cas just said past tense. It was more like present tense. Dean looked down at the table, tracing the grains of wood with his eyes. Avoiding the question, because he wasn’t going to go into that. Cas may not read him like Sam could, but Dean could be a shitty liar at times and he just couldn’t have Cas prying. That could lead to hell for everyone. Instead, Dean diverted from the question, eyes back on Cas’s face and thinking about Sam - dying Sam. Which definitely kept the words like pretty and back room at bay for now.

He looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment, a habit Dean hadn’t broken yet. It used to be a call for strength and courage, from Cas. Who wasn’t up there anymore, who was sitting right here next to Dean, the toe of his shoe knocking into the side of Dean’s and looking confused and beautiful and vulnerable. Dean was going to kill him with this. It was going to destroy Dean, there was no way it wouldn’t destroy Cas.

"Look, I got to do anything I can to get him back. Now, if that means that we keep our distance from you for a little while, then... Then I don't have a choice.” Cas looked away from him. He didn’t understand, but how could he? Dean had given him nothing but rejections and a ton of shit about Sam. Cas couldn’t connect the dots when Dean had hands covering all the dots from sight. But it was what he had to do. He wished he had other words, words like I Love You and I’m Sorry and I Really Do Want You but they weren’t words for Dean’t mouth, weren’t things he could use. Instead he fumbled his way through much more painful ones.

"t don't feel good about it, but I don't have a choice.” Cas was staring at the table now, looking broken already. But Dean still hadn’t delivered the punch. He could go into it with a sentence of truth, even if he wanted it to be so much more than thanks for the help, he wanted to hug Cas and tell him how beautiful his courage was and how proud Dean was of him. This had to be swifter than that, cleaner. A sharp break that would leave them both crying out in pain. And burying it all deep in a week, not having anything real or good to hold onto. It was the best way.

"It's great to have your help, Cas,” Dean tried to soften the blow. Cas finally looked up at those words, eyes landing on Dean’s. The color of the sky, his heaven looking back at him and waiting, preparing for the worst and internally praying it wasn’t going to come. Dean let his eyes linger on Cas for just another moment, absorbed the beautiful broken man in front of him. Then he pulled the lever on the guillotine, watching both of their hearts roll off the wooden structure and into the dust.

"Okay, but we just can't work together.” Dean swallowed after he said it, the bottom rim of his eyes wet. Cas’s eyes matched Dean’s and the hearts rolled on, going their own ways. Separate, forever getting further away.

Silence fell in between them, broken hearts both staring at their respective bottles of beer. Dean snatched Sam’s full one and downed it, refusing to look and see if Cas noticed. Cas didn’t touch the bottle in front of him, taking the exact opposite approach Dean did. He sat there, numb, and Dean just drank. Drank and looked at the door, waiting for the deuschbag angel dick of Ezekiel to come back through the door and take Dean away from this place.

Dean just wanted his brother back.

And he'd do whatever it took to get him. He'd break half the universe's hearts if he had Sam all to his own again. Except it felt like maybe breaking one ex-angel's heart was a worse price to pay than half the universe.

~*~*~*~*~

A few hours and pavement under the tires later, Dean was determined to forget the heartbreak on Cas’s face as he had to deliver that message again. You can’t stay. We just can’t work together. I hate you I love you please don’t leave me I’m sorry I need you Cas please. Yeah, that. Only problem was, being determined to forget about something made you think about it more. So by trying to ignore the shattered piece of his heart, Dean noticed it even more. His grip on the steering wheel on the ride home was white knuckled and he couldn’t stand having the radio on, just stared straight ahead at the road to Kansas like it was his own personal highway to hell.

Sam noticed.

He forced Dean to pull over, too. Dean said he was fine, didn’t want to listen to Sam’s self-help yoga healing crap. But Sam didn’t exactly give him an option, had Dean in shotgun inside of a couple of minutes, staring moodily out the window. Eventually he rested his temple on the glass, staring at the nothingness passing by on the way home. Sam said they had to talk about it and Dean didn’t want to. Sam said they had to talk about it anyways. Dean said he just hated that all of this angel stuff was happening. They were supposed to be the good guys, you know? And yet here they are, seems like the whole world is evil. Hell, the angels and evil. It was an upsetting concept.

Sam bought it.

It was a sob story that Dean actually had thought about, but that wasn’t why he was upset. It was Cas, of course. Sam turned the radio back on, quiet, when he took over driving. Aerosmith’s Angel came on. Dean was pretty sure Sam didn’t notice, but he did. And his bottom eyelashes started to clump together, tears threatening to fall out of the dangerous ledge they were hanging over. Cas, gone again. And here was Dean, about to cry about it.

Dean Winchester did not cry.

He looked out the window, searching for some sort of landmark he could use. Streetlight, up ahead. The second they passed under it, he’d flip the switch. The car would get bathed by that familiar ugly yellow light and Dean would suddenly feel nothing. He’d turn off the Cas part of his brain and he’d be okay. He’d fake it, feign it until it came true, even to himself.

One, two, three.

The streetlight hit and Dean shut down, blinking once and letting his eyes dry up as he sat up in his seat, lifting his head. His hands weren’t angry and shaking anymore, there was no more furrow between his eyebrows. Instead he was calm, fine. The word Cas slipped into a meaningless void, something like when you repeat a word too many times and it loses all sense of rationality and purpose. Cas Cas Cas Cas what was that?

He was fine.

It was scary as hell maybe, but it worked. Looking back on it, a month from now, he might be a little scared of himself, a little worried about how fucking unhealthy it was to just shut down part of your heart like that. But if it meant he could put Cas behind him, it was worth it. If it meant he got to turn his body and his soul and his heart back to Sam, then he’d do it a hundred times. He’d done it plenty of times before. It was how he got through it last time too. Shut it all down, and it becomes meaningless.

So the smile that Dean shot at Sam when he pulled into the garage was genuine. He was okay now, creaked open his door and unfolded himself from the seat, stretching his arms wide as he grinned over at his brother. Sam snorted a laugh, opening up the trunk and getting their stuff. The Cas part of Dean had been numbed, was entirely irrelevant and subdued for now. It was a dangerous game Dean played at, doing that. It got harder and harder to thaw the ice every time, but so far it was worry it. So far, that's how Dean survived.

Dean took his own bag out of the trunk with a lighthearted smack to Sam’s ass, laughing as he dodged a punch at his arm in response. They trampled down the stairs a little loudly, crashing into Dean’s room as always. Dean tossed his duffel at the corner and Sam did the same, then they were both left standing in the middle of the room, empty handed and looking at each other. It wasn’t as late as 3am like the other day, probably more like 11pm. So there was plenty of time…

Dean raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the bed. “You up for a round or what?”

“Classy,” Sam teased, running his fingers through his long silky hair and tucking a piece behind his ear. He scrutinized the bed for a moment, like he was picturing Dean’s offer. Finally he looked back at Dean, a legitimate mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Dean didn’t even think that was a thing, but there was no other way to really describe that look. Although Dean really did try to avoid words like freaking twinkle. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

“What? There’s a better idea than sex? Um, I doubt it.” Dean wasn’t opposed to doing something else, but the look on Sam’s face was a tad unnerving. He looked like he was up to something and odds are that wasn’t going to be good for Dean. At all.

Apparently Dean was a riot tonight because Sam laughed at him again, grabbing his wrist and tugging him out of the room. Dean stumbled along, cursing as he tripped over Sam’s big feet. After a few complaints to slow down, Sam started walking normal-sized-people speed thankfully. Once the hallway opened up into the computer room, Sam tucked his arm around Dean’s waist, drawing Dean into his side like a girl. Dean sighed but returned the motion, wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist too. The doorway to the library room was big enough for the both of them, but Sam let go anyways, grabbing Dean’s hand and tugging him along that way.

Dean may or may not have dragged his feet - literally - and complained to Sam about where the hell he was taking Dean at 11 o’clock when they had a case to work tomorrow. Sam just replied with the infuriating you’ll see and tugged Dean’s hand a little harder. Dean jogged a few steps to get back in line with Sam, starting to get legitimately curious as Sam lead them up the stairs, one hand on the banister and the other in Dean’s. Maybe Dean did complain too much but Sam was dragging him around the house by his hand, how could he not? Sure, when it was dark and they were holding each other in the dark after an amazing orgasm, Dean could cave and be all gooey girly sensitive. But they were definitely not in bed and Dean hadn’t orgasmed since…this morning, so he had every right to act like the little shit he was being.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked again, more serious this time. Sam had just opened up the outside door of the bunker, the one that they first came in here from. Sam didn’t bother answering this time, just let go of Dean’s hand to close the door behind them. The outside air was a tad bit chilly, making Dean glad they were both in so many layers. December in Kansas wasn’t too bad, but it was still December.

Dean followed Sam up the few concrete steps that lead to ground level, road stretching in one direction and just a dead end hill the other way. Dean wanted to ask his question again but he knew there wasn’t a point, Sam was being stubborn and apparently Dean wasn’t allowed to find out where they were going until they were there. But based on the fact that is was nighttime and they were on foot, it couldn’t be far. Sam wouldn’t take him trekking halfway across the globe without weapons or a car or something.

The hill that the bunker was underneath was pretty steep on the one side, but Dean knew Sam had a few running trails on the other side that were more tolerable to climb. Sam headed in that direction, just leading the way and expecting Dean to follow.

“We better not be doing one of your stupid workout routines.” Dean grumbled, lifting his boots to get up the ledge that led up the hill.

“They’re not stupid,” Sam retaliated. There was a moment or two of silence as they walked up the incline, Dean smacking a bug off his arm. “But no, we aren’t.”

Dean hummed in reply, looking around them. It was underbrushy here, bushes and vines and a few small trees growing on the side of the hill that made straying off the path look very unappetizing. But there was a path, and even if they weren’t, it wasn’t like Dean was going to stop following Sam. The bushes got smaller the higher up they went. The hill wasn’t huge, but big enough for Dean to be dying with anticipation by the time they reached the top. It flattened out just a little bit, the path curving off to the right and down this slope, circling around to probably end up back out by the door. Dean looked over their surroundings, seeing some bits of underbrush and not much else.

“Uh, Sam?” He asked, not exactly sure what the plan was from here.

“We’re not there yet, c’mon,” Sam said, his voice in researchy- mode. Dean sighed and followed as Sam cut off the path, going straight where it turned right. The underbrush wasn’t bad at all here, tiny bushes giving way to softer grasses after a bit. It was flat for a little before dipping back down. The last time Dean went hiking like this was damn Purgatory. Although this didn’t look or feel anything like Purgatory, but still.

Once they started down the hill on the other side, Dean could see an even bigger one up ahead. Except this one was grassy and open, less steep of a climb. Dean had his eyes glued to his feet practically this whole time, not particularly in the mood to fall in some hole and break his ankle when they were currently in the middle of hunting angels. That’d be more than a slight disadvantage. He only glanced up to check for Sam’s shoes every now and then, finding the grass and occasional weed underfoot much more interesting than the view from the hills. He didn’t really even think about that, he was too busy trying not to die from Sam’s random boy scouts outdoorsy urge.

He really hoped Sam wasn’t planning on having sex out here because they hadn’t even brought a blanket. Grass and god knows what else in uncomfortable places…no thank you. Dean was too busy thinking about what might happen on their little hike to actually be paying attention, so he entirely missed Sam suddenly stopping. He bumped into Sam’s back with his chest, dislodging Sam from where he’d been standing and looking at whatever was so intriguing.

When he turned around to Dean, he snorted and a side of his mouth tugged up in amusement. Dean didn’t think it was funny that Sam just randomly stopped without any warning whatsoever, but nobody was seriously injured so Dean supposed he could let this one slide. Maybe.

“Close your eyes.”

“What? Why?”

“C’mon, Dean, I promise I won’t do anything terrible. Just close them.” Dean studied Sam for a second, deciding whether or not it was worth the risk. Probably. He sighed and closed his eyes, eyebrows raised at Sam anyways.

“I swear, if you do something, I’m kicking your ass.” Dean peeked open an eye, made sure Sam was still there and watching him, then closed it again. “And not the good kind of ass-kicking either.”

There was a few seconds of silence, then Sam opened his big mouth and was speaking with that sassy tone of his.

“You suck at keeping your eyes shut.”

“Well you’re not doing anything!”

“Do you want me to do something?”

“Not something as in something something, just. Ugh. Hurry up whatever you’re doing.”

“Right now, I’m just watching you. And noticing you’re really impatient.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“You do not.”

“Come over here and test out that theory, then.” Dean replied snarkily. He was expecting another comeback or maybe for Sam to ignore him, but suddenly there was the side of a finger tilting his chin up and Sam kissed him, lips pressing over Dean’s and feeling exaggeratedly warm in the chill of the air. Dean brought his hands up to Sam’s sides, kissed him back. There on the side of some little hill, kissing each other and feeling so comfortable. Like they were wrapped together with a silk ribbon, kisses as smooth as glassy water.

When Sam’s lips left, their taste and feel still tingling over Dean’s mouth, Dean lifted tentative fingers to his lips. He kept his eyes closed like he was supposed to, but if he couldn’t see Sam he at least wanted to touch that tingling, the energy and taste on his mouth. His fingertips brushed over his lips, just once, before he let his hand drop back to his side. He could feel Sam’s warmth, at his side, could reach out and touch Sam, entirely sure where on Sam's body his hands would land. It didn't matter that Dean's eyes were closed, he still had every inch if Sam mapped out in his head, knew the shape of the warmth beside him.

Big fingers covered his closed eyes, Sam’s hand curving to the shape of Dean’s face as he gave him a makeshift mask. Apparently Dean wasn’t to be trusted with keeping his eyes closed on his own. Fair enough, Dean wouldn’t trust himself to not peek either. Sam’s other hand pushed gently between Dean’s shoulders. If Dean didn’t have a a lot of muscle in his back, Sam would be pressing into a handprint shaped bruise from the other night, when he’d held Dean down with his hand in that exact same position. Although now, this touch was a gentle as the other had been rough.

Sam guided him forward with a hand over his eyes and the other pushing him, slow and careful and hopefully looking for holes Dean could potentially step in because again, didn’t sound like fun.

“What’s the surprise? Did you get me a puppy? I do love dogs.” Dean spoke into the darkness of his closed eyes. The air in front of his mouth was a tad warmer when he spoke, the cold air playing over his tongue.

“Don’t you think it’s a little soon for dog jokes? I mean, it was only a little while ago that you were one yourself, collar and all.” Well then. Sam sounded a little wicked as he spoke and Dean could picture his face, picture the childish smirk and the reminiscent look in his eyes. Yeah, Dean remembered that too.

“Well no, it wasn’t too soon until you brought it up. Now it’s awkward, thank you.”

“Any time,” Sam replied simply, slowing a bit as the incline under Dean’s boots felt like it leveled out. So the top of the next hill, then?

The hand between his shoulders slid across his back - which felt really good, a three second long back rub that had Dean rolling his shoulder muscles - and over Dean’s bicep, tracing all the way around to the front of Dean’s chest. Sam hooked his arm at the elbow, pulling Dean’s spine back against Sam's tight chest. Dean let Sam tug him in and bring their bodies close, arm a tight L over his chest like the safety in a roller coaster seat. But it was kinda nice, actually. The slight chill of the air around him was overpowered by the shared body heat of being pressed together.

Sammy kept his arm wrapped over Dean’s chest, the sort of hold that could be a damaging one if it was about a foot higher up on Dean’s body. Sam’s arm was a heavy bar across the top of Dean’s pecs, nowhere near the intention of choking him, even if it was the same arm position. Dean supposed this was probably a pretty normal coupley position, and he kind of got why. It was nice, having Sam covering his back with such a secure hold over his chest. Dean lifted a hand up, gently taking ahold of the arm barred over his chest. He just kept his hand there, fingers wrapped over shirt, touching Sam back.

Finally, the hand that was covering his eyes slipped off, quiet words whispered in his ear as soon as the hand was gone.

“Open up.”

Dean opened his eyes, pupils dilating as they adjusted to the lack of light. Everything was dark, shadows and nondescript and colorless over the ground. The darkness made the contrast of the sky just that much brighter. Sam hadn’t told him what he was supposed to be looking for, what he was looking at, but it was obvious the moment Dean’s eyes were open. The sky, the sky was lit up like Christmas in a little kid’s dreams.

Stars were everywhere, bright pinpricks of light that shone down on the earth like a billion promises, offering their bright fuse for Dean and Sam’s eyes to share. Kansas was one of those places that the skies were open and stretched across as far as the eye could see. A huge expansion of black, blinking lights looking down from above, a scattering of constellations and suns across the sky. There was everything from tiny stars to bright dots that were probably planets. All swooped together in a wave that felt intentional, everything perfectly spaced to be aesthetically perfect to the eyes. It was like someone had thrown a dark blanket over the earth and splattered the underside of it with droplets of the brightest paint in the world.

If Dean could paint, he’d paint this. If he owned a camera, these are the thing he’d want to photograph. He’d never seen this many stars in one places before, the sky entirely cloudless tonight. It was like one of those movie moments that Dean always huffed at, thinking that at least half of the stars on the screen were photoshopped on there because there was no way the visibility could ever be that great. But it was, there were thousands of them up there, twinkling and bright.

As if the sky itself wasn’t beautiful enough, the hill they were standing on gave them the best view around. The other side of it was steeper, slopped down into an immense valley, shadows of dark rolling hills for as far as the eye could see. They were atop the highest one, by far, and everything else stretched out around them like they were standing on a cliff instead of a hill. Some of the valley below them gave way to corn fields, grays and blacks swaying in the wind and looking like the whole Earth was moving as corn danced in the night. The wind wasn’t too strong, but it made the air around them a little cooler, ruffled at the spikes in Dean’s hair and was probably fluffing up Sam’s.

With Sam’s arm wrapped around him, Dean was safe and warm. Sam’s head rested on the side of Dean’s, looking at the same view Dean was. The hand Dean had on Sam’s barred arm tightened a little, squeezed plaid fabric beneath his fingers. He was speechless, didn’t know what to say in this moment. The blacks and grays and those bright, bright stars. Sam behind him, holding them tight together as he watched Dean take the whole landscape in.

The arm that wasn’t wrapped over Dean’s chest reached out in front of Dean, extended all the way out with his index finger pointing, the rest of his fingers curled in a fist. Dean followed the pointing arm with his eyes, angled up to a piece of the sky. Dean looked just beyond Sam’s finger, eyes lighting on the constellation he was pointing out. One of the stars at the end was super bright, and Dean traced imaginary lines in his head, connecting the bright ones that lined up the right way.

“Mulier Catenata,” Sam whispered in Dean’s ear. The Chained Woman, in Latin. Dean remembered that story. Greek Myth, about somebody claiming somebody else was prettier or whatever the Greeks were always upset about. But he remembered the common name for the constellation.

“Andromeda?” Dean clarified, his voice sounding low and too loud in the wind. Sam nodded, his pointing arm falling back down. Once it’d dropped to his side, Sam’s hand ran back and forth over Dean’s forearm, just a little friction to keep him warm. With Sam’s body a solid wall for him to lean back into, Dean was plenty warm.

There were a few more moments of silence, Dean’s eyes tracing Andromeda again. Constellations were such an interesting thing. To be immortalized like that, forever in the skies in a pattern of stars. And stars were so beautiful, Dean had always thought they were. They came with this sense of peace that he never really got anywhere else. This was absolutely not the first time he and Sam had been star gazing, although it was the first time they weren’t sitting on the hood of the Impala for it. But again, it had been years. Years since they’d done something this simple.

“We should make a constellation,” Dean whispered, leaning back into Sam’s touch a little more. Sam pressed his lips to the side of Dean’s head, the type of kiss that was basically just a longer peck. Let’s see, there were some lines and bright stars over there…Dean lifted his arm up like Sam had, pointing at the place in the sky he’d just seen. “Something over there?”

“That part of the sky’s only visible in the winter.” Sam said thoughtfully. Dean shrugged. That worked for him. There were another few moments of silence as they both looked at the place Dean was pointing to. Sam brought his arm up next to Dean’s, thumb running over the back of Dean’s outstretched hand and fingers slotting next to Dean's pointing one. “And what are we making a constellation of?”

“You.” Maybe it was cheesy and overdone, but Dean figured that the boy who saved the world deserved at least to have a monument in the skies. They weren’t going to end up in history books, the two of them weren’t going to be bedtime stories or an idiom for a beautiful couple. No one might ever know about the man who sacrificed his own world for his brother, so that his brother could sacrifice his life for the rest of the world. They weren’t getting any love songs written for them, no power ballad to tell the story of Sam and Dean. The least the world could give Sam was a place eternally in the lights of the heavens.

“What about you?" Dean would've shorted, but the sincerity in Sam's voice stopped him. Dean sure as he'll didn't deserve to be monument end the way Sam did. "Don’t you think the best hunter in the world deserves to be immortalized? The righteous man that God brought back from Hell, from the selfless act that had you down there?"

Well, it was more selfish than selfless. Dean couldn't live without Sam, he loved him too much. But you went to hell because you loved Dean, not because you sinned.. Yeah, maybe that time. But Dean let Sam continue. He could at least blush at the best hunter in the world comment without too much protesting.

"The man who saved the planet from Leviathans, hacked his way out of Purgatory and saved my life thousands of times?" Okay, Dean supposed he did stop Dick Roman. And he made a hobby out of saving Sam's ass. "Don’t you think the man who raised someone to have the strength to overcome an archangel’s possession should be remembered?” Sam’s final words were quiet, thoughtful.

Dean closed his eyes against the wind on his face, feeling the cooling air washing over his soul. He didn’t quite know what to say to that last part of Sam’s speech. It was true, Dean knew that. The man who raised the world’s savior to be strong enough to save. It’s the only thing Dean did that he’d never downplay or deny. The man Sam had become, the fact that Dean had been a part of that made his insides flutter. It was the greatest honor of all.

“There,” he whispered, hand wrapping over Sam’s to point at a collection of bright stars. He'd seen it the moment he opened his eyes back up. Dean traced a finger between them slowly, connecting the dots for Sam to see too. It was a symbol Sam knew well. Well enough to have traced it on Dean’s hand a few nights ago.

“Ihwaz,” Sam acknowledged, following the simple design with his eyes. Just three lines, etched into the skies. It stood for both of them, as a single connected bond. The heavens, their bond as soulmates. Ihwaz always meant two people, and who better for the symbol of Heaven-Earth-Hell than the two who had frequented all three? If Purgatory was an option, they’d both been there too. It was like the rune was made for them. Like when the Runic Alphabet had been invented, a prophet somewhere along the line saw into the future and knew their story, decided to throw it into the ancient symbols.

Sam’s hand curled and brought in both of their extended arms, holding their hands against Dean’s chest. Now fully wrapped in an embrace from behind, Dean was safe and protected and blanketed by Sam and a blanket of stars. He turned his head to the side, looking at Sam. Sam looked serene, smile-less but content. He felt Dean's eyes on him and turned his head to face Dean's, noses brushing from the proximity. They kissed under the stars, under their new constellation. No one else might ever look at the skies and see it, but Dean and Sam knew it was there. Even if the constellation was only for them, they still had one and that’s what counted.

They kissed for a while, the two bright objects in the world of gray and black beneath the stars. Dean slipped under the cloud of bliss, everything surreal and magic around him. He was going down, his insides sinking into the earth and his heart pounding hard, slow, steady. Sam was so sweet under his mouth, washed away all of Dean’s sins with his purified oxygen. When he was with Sam, his head was clarified, his body was cleaned of Hell and Purgatory and the evil that tugged at his soul. The rays of sun in Sam’s mouth scorched Dean and dragged him up from below a sheet of dirty glass. He could rest in Sam’s arms, rest knowing that the crashes of waves couldn't crush them anymore. The weight of the worlds were so heavy alone, but when Sam held him Dean had a place to rest his head, let it all go.

Devotion replaced the sins pumping through his veins, Dean was washed free under the light of the stars and the soft slide of the world savior’s mouth. Never let me go, never let me go.

Sam lowered Dean down to the ground, arms unwrapping from his shoulders and making him cold as they sat on the top of their grassy hill. The kiss ended somewhere and Dean was forced to breathe in oxygen that wasn’t from Sam’s mouth. But the air up here was the closest to Sam’s he’d tasted. The cool breeze of the wind, the emptying pinpricks of stars made the air taste fresh, sharp, clean.

Dean laid down in the grass, staring up at the sky above him. He could still see Ihwaz, surrounded by a million other stars and stories. A heavy weight compressed down his shoulder and Dean lifted his head, letting Sam’s shoulder slip beneath his head. They lay like that, bodies lined up from head to toe, their feet furthest from each other as Sam’s head rested upside down on Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s head rested upside down on Sam’s. If Dean lifted his head and scooted up, he could spiderman kiss Sammy, but he liked this position. He had grass under him and stars over him, Sam laying on the grass above his head. Dean didn’t need anything else.

He slid his arms up on the grass, bent at the elbow. Sam followed suit and they wrapped their fingers around each other’s forearms, locking them in place. Their arms were heavy on the grass, extended out like L’s and connected to make a box. The sky was bigger and darker like this, without the swaying corn and gray hills to contrast against it. Just an endless sea of black, little holes punctured in the veil, shining the light on the other side through like holes in the lid of a box. Dean always looked at stars like this, with all these different explanations in his head. He knew they were giant balls of gas billions of years away and surrounded by the emptiness of space, and sometimes he saw them like that, too. But there was a thousand other things they could be too, in a metaphorical sense.

They had a habit of perfect silence while they were stargazing, usually did it specifically for the serenity and silence. Tugging on their beers, propped up on the hood. Long before they were together, back when they were just brothers in need of something bigger than their world. Sometimes they’d just prop up on opposite sides of the hood, perfectly content just to be in the presence of each other. Other times they laid back against the windshield, shoulders to ankles touching as they looked up. Always on the car, always quiet and sipping a beer.

But this time was different anyways, they weren’t on the car and that deep-seated need for quiet serenity was filled already. The peace and silence they both craved was something they integrated into their lives now, holding each other in the dark beneath cool sheets. Late nights and early mornings, peace and quiet serenity and bliss blanketing them like how the stars used to. So this time the stargazing didn’t feel so desperately like it needed to be silent. They had quiet times now, weren’t hungry for them anymore. So that’s why Dean didn’t feel like he was shattering anything when he spoke up, voice still quiet enough to fit under the blanket of peace.

“It’s been too long since we did this.” He traced his thumb over the inside flesh of Sam’s arm. It was ridiculously soft, and a little ticklish if the twitch from Sam signified anything.

“It has,” Sam agreed. December skies were one of Dean’s favorite. The incoming winter was sharp enough to bring clarity to the outlines of the stars, let the little far away twinkling ones be visible. Just a few days ago, Dean was thinking he’d reached that point of maximum happiness. But here was just another thing to add on top of it all. “We used to live for this stuff."

“Mmhm. This whole week has been a trip down memory lane,” Dean said thoughtfully, shifting his head a little to press his temple to Sam’s jaw. “Everything we’ve done over the past couple of days is stuff we’ve done like, years ago. Stargazing, pool, cards, that chocolate thing…”

“Not the couch sex,” Sam pointed out. Dean laughed and Sam did too, his shoulder moving with the rumble of it and shifting Dean’s head.

“Not the couch sex,” Dean agreed when the laughter died back down. They fell quiet and turned their attention back to the stars above. Anatomically, Dean wondered how Heaven related to those stars. Was it above space? In a different dimension but still somehow above them? Maybe amongst the stars, just invisible from the distance. Or maybe it was way closer, in the clouds that hovered in the stratosphere, technically still part of Earth. Or maybe, if the sky was a veil of black, Heaven was resting above it, poking needle holes through the veil to give Earth a glimpse at the bright white light of Heaven beyond.

They never did stuff like this in the middle of cases, were normally too busy and stressed out. But Dean was glad Sam decided they were doing it anyways. He probably had anterior motives for this whole thing, knowing Sam. Remembering stuff like this and acting on it didn’t really come out of nowhere.

If Dean were to bet on anything, he’d guess it had something to do with Cas. Sam was wickedly intuitive when it came to Dean’s emotions, could see past any façade Dean put up. Dean was doing better now, he’d shoved the pain far enough down that he would be okay. It was the only way he could escape. But even if he was fine now, he hadn’t been quite as much a few hours ago. That was probably when Sam decided they needed a break, a distraction. Something beautiful and memorable, something to bring Dean good memories he could hold onto when the bad ones came back to haunt him.

“Speaking of sex…” Sam started, his voice trailing off as he waited for acknowledgement from Dean. Dean tilted his head a bit to the side, rolling it on Sam’s shoulder and scooting it further away so he could look at the side of Sam’s face.

“Yeah?” Dean asked. It was kind of nice how Sam could just bring that up so casually, like it was just a natural part of their lives and not this crazy, unspoken thing. That whole serious-relationship thing was kind of cool. Normal dating or hookups were definitely not the occasion that you could just casually bring up sex. Especially using that word, for some reason.

“Could I run something by you?” Sam’s voice didn’t sound shy, per say. Just a little curious. Which made Dean extremely curious.

“Yeah, sure. 'Course.” Dean rolled his head back to looking at the stars instead of Sam, scooting his head back to rest against the side of Sam’s. There were a few moments of silence that fell on them, the stars still bright and beautiful. But Dean’s attention was focused mostly on Sam right now.

It wasn’t often that Sam wanted to run something by him. When it came to kinks and things, it was normally discussed in the heat of the moment. Somebody would push someone else up against something, growling about tying up their hands in someone’s ear and then if there weren’t any objections, they just did it. Even the whole collar thing, which had been ridiculously kinky, Sam had just gone and bought one and put it on Dean. If Dean had told him no, Sam would have absolutely listened, not pushed any boundaries. Sex was only fun when both people were enjoying it anyways.

Sometimes they asked wordless questions, with eyes and hands, asking for things with the way they could communicate so closely. They’d get nods or arched backs, whispers of yes or please sometimes. Occasionally there’d be a question when they were already in bed, a breathless could I kiss you all over or a growled let me make you bleed. But they never took time apart to sit and discuss things, ask each other about those things when it was just calm and peaceful and just talking. Dean hadn’t even been thinking about sex, he’d just been enjoying the quiet.

So of course he was quite curious on what it was that was such a big deal Sam wanted to bring it up now, with nothing but the night air on their mouths. They weren’t even touching that intimately. It had to be a pretty big question. And one that was apparently taking forever for Sam to decide how to word. Dean waited though, as patient as he could through the quiet. When Sam finally did speak, his voice wasn’t any more worried or nervous than before, still that same calm and casual tone that still felt like an awesome thing for them to have.

“What’s your opinion on Tantra?” Sam’s head turned a little, glancing at Dean before looking back up at the stars. Dean’s eyebrows were up, more surprised than anything else. Well, he hadn’t really thought about Tantra much to be honest. He knew a bit about it - he was a Led Zeppelin fan after all - but he’d never even considered doing it.

“Isn’t it like…calling Satan during sex or whatever?” Well, it was more complicated than that, but Dean was pretty sure that was definitely a factor in it.

“Not really. It’s more like…tapping into the veil, I guess. You kind of have to, because Tantra lasts anywhere from three to eight hours.” Yeah, Dean had heard that. Most people thought Tantra just meant holding off on an orgasm for a long time, but it was way more complex than that. "Jimmy Page is like, famous for it.” Sam added. Right, like Dean wouldn’t know that. It was weird, type Jimmy Page into google and that was basically the first thing that popped up.

“Yeah, I know. The rumors say that’s why Zep is so good, because they bring something from the other side into their music. That like, raw power. Said it changes a person, gives them this sort of connection to the other side. And it comes out through the music, if you listen right. That’s why you can’t listen to too much of their deeper stuff at once, you can actually, like, feel the power of it soaking into your veins.” Dean chewed on the inside of his lip, thinking. This was a really strange conversation. Dean wasn’t sure how Sam even found out what Tantra was, let alone what in the world made him feel like he wanted to experiment with it.

“That’s kind of why I want to do it. I mean…it just seems powerful, important, you know? The basic idea is that you can reach that state of the highest high, one most people never get to have in their lifetime. And you have to be really intimate and close to the person you’re doing it with, and I just figured…I mean, of all people, we should be able to achieve that, you know?” Sam sounded kind of hopeful. Dean understood the draw of it, he did. The kind of feeling you could get just from listening to the right Zep songs in the right atmosphere was inciting enough, and that was just an affect of aftermath of Tantra caught on tape. It was a lot of power, and to share that with Sam…he got why Sam wanted to do it, he did.

“But isn’t it kind of dangerous?” Dean pointed out. "Kind of” was an understatement, Dean had read enough about it to know that so much could go wrong. It was a lot more like really dangerous.

“Well, yeah, but so is everything else in our lives. I mean, we’ve both been to Hell and back, Dean. We hunt down monsters for a living, in case you forgot that.” Sam said it all light hearted, a smile on his face in the dark. Dean’s eyebrows were still furrowed as he looked at the sky. Sam had a point about the danger thing, but the whole Hell and back thing had an even bigger point. It was that piece of ‘duh’ Sam was missing.

Yeah, they were probably one of the very few couples who could actually accomplish Tantra successfully. Yeah, they were close enough to do it, crazy enough to do it. Skilled in bed enough, in love enough, knew each other well enough. They both had an extensive knowledge of everything supernatural in addition, had both cast plenty of spells and tapped into plenty of dark forces. They’d both been to hell, met Satan on more than one occasion. Dean had the King of Hell’s phone number in his cell. But wasn’t that kind of the whole point? It was like Tantra fit them too well.

Because when Jimmy did it, he went a little crazy after. He got a little inspired, a little hooked on drugs and sex and the occult. Kind of. Jimmy Page had this obsession with a poet, one that Dean knew pretty well. He’d read one of his poetry books out of curiosity, and well. It was more than a little weird. It had been called White Stains, and it was basically a collection of poems that followed the poet’s life, starting out with the poems he wrote when he was fairly normal. Then he started getting into devil stuff, and his poems started getting a little more twisted. By the end of the book he’d completely lost his mind. There were poems about necrophilia and the devil and all sorts of really fucked up shit that had actually freaked Dean out just a little. It was a pretty famous poetry book, just because it was basically the tracked story of a man who’d lost his mind to Satan, all through his own poems just arranged in chronological order.

The amusing thing though - and the entire reason Dean had read the book in the first place - was the poet’s name. He was called Alistair Crowley. No joke. So, obviously, he’d been super into demons. Maybe possessed, even. Could be that he named himself after the Head Hancho Torturer of Hell and the King of Hell because he somehow stumbled over those names, or it could be that he was possessed by a demon and the demon picked to name him that in amusement. Or hell, maybe Alistair and Crowley were both just connected to the poet, had taken the names from him. Or it was all one big ball of coincidence.

Could be that the guy went nuts because his name was Alistair Crowley. Whatever the reason, Dean had laughed his ass off when he’d first found the connection. Sam had been pretty amused, too. Dean had actually stumbled upon the poet accidentally, he’d been looking up something about the famed Led Zeppelin guitarist, had stumbled across an article about how Jimmy Page had bought Alistair Crowley’s old house he was so obsessed with him.

The point, though, was that Tantra basically fell into that fucked up shit category. Not that half the things they did weren’t, but. Well, it was a lot less weird than like beastiality and everything, but there was still always that risk that you could fall off the wagon, go too far and end up like Jimmy or the poet Alistair. And Dean did not want to lose Sam to the devil again.

“Sam, the thing is, you and me, we’ve already got a connection to the devil. You’re his vessel, and he may be stuck in his cage right now, but what if it goes wrong? What if we go too far in this Tantra thing and somehow he latches onto you again? He could get into your head again, fuck you up like during that year we were chasing Leviathans. Hell, he could jump your bones again, break out of his cage. Anything could happen, Sam. You know that. I just don’t think it’s worth the risk.” Dean hated to rain on Sam’s parade, but seriously they were the last people on the planet who should be tapping into anything on the other side of the veil. They had caused enough damage on that side of the veil he was pretty sure that veil would love to bite back.

“Dean, Satan’s gone. A bit of spiritual sex isn’t going to free the devil from his cage. It took sixty six seals and demon blood and killing Lilith to break him free the first time, you think five hours of sex and a bit of tugging at the veil is going to spring him free? Besides, it’s not fair that we decide not to do this just because of me,” Sam argued. His logic made sense, yeah, and Dean hated to admit that.

“Okay, not just you then. I know we don’t ever…talk about it, but. I, uh. I was apprentice to the head torturer in Hell for ten years, Sam. If something went wrong and I hurt you…” Dean shut his eyes, swallowing tight. He couldn’t even imagine. He didn’t want to think about it, about any of it. There was a darkness inside of Dean that he’d never escaped since Cas yanked him out of the pit, and there was always the chance that that darkness could overpower him one day. If they messed with it, that chance just got greater. And Dean couldn’t live with that. If he somehow ever hurt his Sammy, Dean would be gone so fucking fast.

“Dean,” Sam soothed, his voice soft and sympathetic. His fingers ran back and forth over Dean’s arms, turned his head and pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple. Dean kept his eyes squeezed shut, trying to block it all back out. Maybe in all reality, Dean was just scared. He was terrified of the idea of it, as wonderful as the outcome might be. He was terrified of something happening to Sam, and he couldn’t take that risk. He couldn’t. And the way Sam had softened, was comforting him with his soft touch, he understood.

“I’m sorry, I just -“

“Dean, don’t apologize. It was just an idea. Nothing lost between us, okay? It’s not some big dream of mine, there’s a thousand other things to do with you that I’m sure I’d love more. So don’t apologize for a thing. It’s okay.” Sam kissed his temple again, and Dean opened his eyes back up. The stars were shining down on him, calm and steady and peaceful little pieces of light. His heart rate slowed back down as he let go of the fear that had been rising up in his stomach. Sammy was okay, they were okay. Dean still had that darkness, and Sam did too, but they had each other. And Sam was his sunshine, his Sowilo, and that blocked out any bit of dark in his soul with a shiny golden smile. We keep each other human.

The peace settled back down on them, Sam’s fingers still running over the length of Dean’s forearms, circling over his wrists like kisses. The wind ruffled Sam’s hair, brushing it over Dean’s cheek and chin. It tickled, soft and cold and silky. He scrunched up his nose, shivers running down his spine.

“What is it?” Sam asked, shooting a side glance at Dean. He’d felt the shiver then.

“Your hair tickles.” Dean complained, shifting his head away from Sam’s. Sam laughed, sliding his shoulder out from under Dean’s head and letting go of his arms. Dean got colder and he whined. It was midnight in December for goodness sakes, of course it was cold out here.

Then Sam’s hair was in his face, soft tips of it brushing over Dean’s cheeks and chin. Dean closed his eyes, scrunching up his nose again and opening his mouth to complain, tell Sam to keep his girly hair to himself. Sam’s lips tugged at Dean’s before Dean could get a single word out, and then he wasn’t particularly in the mood for complaining anymore. He just really wanted to kiss Sam.

It was a spiderman kiss, Sam’s lips were upside down on his, which made everything feel squishier and wetter than normal. Sam’s elbows were propped up on either side of Dean’s head, the rest of his body still lying down as he hovered his head over Dean’s to kiss him. Dean opened his mouth wider, following Sam’s lips with his own. Sam kissed him thorough and deep, twisting his mouth down on Dean’s and pressing him harder into the soft ground.

Dean reached his hands up and brushed his palms over the sides of Sam’s face, pinning back his hair to the sides of his face. Sam moved his mouth sensually over Dean’s, pushing their lips together and sliding them open, pulling closed again to draw off and start over again. It was terribly infuriating yet kind of satisfying, having Sam kiss him so intensely. He could kiss Sam for forever. At least Dean wasn’t afraid to do that.

After a few minutes, Dean found himself reaching for more, hands tightening in Sam’s hair. If Sam was laying on top of him right now, Dean would be grinding up against him, feeling that sweet friction…ugh, no. They were not going to have sex outside. It would be a mess, and they’d end up covered in grass and dirt and come and then have to go walking back through the bunker to the showers, which was definitely a no. Plus it would take forever, by the time Sam convinced him into it and they stripped and then the added time of the shower, all when Dean would probably too worn out to walk back inside - especially hiking these hills and taking all the stairs in the bunker - and Sam’s body would want to shut down into sleeping mode the way Zeke had him healing. So no, sex outside was not an option. But if Sam kept kissing him like that, Dean wasn’t going to be putting up much a fight once Sam finally came down here.

So he turned his head to the side, breaking off the kiss with panting breath and an annoyed moan at himself. He had to, though. Or else he’d be pulling Sam on top of him and they’d have this romantic adorable round of sex under the stars that…nope. Sam had started kissing his jaw, making Dean groan and his jeans feel a few sizes to small.

“Ssaaamm,” Dean groaned, trying to come off more as annoyed than turned on. Mostly he was just both. More the latter. “I’m not having sex out here, asshat.”

“Mmm, who said anything about sex?” Sam teased, kissing down Dean’s neck and latching onto a piece of skin, worrying his teeth over it and sucking a bruise. Dean’s eyelids fluttered and his hands overlapped, wrapping around the back of Sam’s neck. He really need Sam off of him right now, or else they were going to end up naked and screwing on the top of this damn hill.

“Sammy - fuck - c’mon,” Dean’s hands reached back, sliding over Sam’s shoulders and getting underneath his chest, pushing up. The angle was nearly impossible from where Dean was laying, but Sam relented anyways, letting himself get pushed off. He pressed a final quick kiss to Dean’s lovely new hickie, rolling up on his side and away from Dean. Dean sighed, looking back up at the stars. It was getting late and they still had a case to work tomorrow. But now he was hard, and the light of the stars made Sam just that much more beautiful. But they didn’t have a lot of options, so.

Sam rolled back onto his back again, a foot away from Dean now, his body still lying the opposite direction of Dean’s. They should probably go in soon, but they could both use a few more minutes under the stars. They were actually quiet now, like old times, letting the last few moments of starshine wash over them. Every star over their heads felt like a reminder, of immortality and beauty and something so much bigger than them. It was easy to get caught up in the cases, in Sam’s sickness and the trials and the whole Zeke mess. Easy to get caught up in the job and the nightmares and the enemies, easy to feel like the entire world was against you.

But when you were looking up at the sky, peppered in stars, it made it all seem small. The world was huge, and while both of them had been through a lot, they were still just two people. Two people who fell in love against all odds, who learned to love in a place that was so dark and evil. Destiny and fate and society and Heaven and Hell and Purgatory and Earth were all against them, and they’d found love in that hopeless space, found each other and held on tight to that. And they’d made it though, made it through all the tough stuff.

Somehow, enough things had gone right down the crazy, twisted line of their lives for them to be here in this moment, sharing a silence under the stars. Everything that had happened to them so far and it led to this. The only weight Dean still had on his shoulder would be gone soon, and he’d have a promise of forever with Sam. As soon as Zeke was gone, everything would be right again. And maybe they could bring a blanket out here next time, maybe a couple of blankets and pillows too. Make love and fall asleep under the stars.

As soon as Zeke leaves, Dean promised himself. They could tell Kevin he should spent the night indoors, which he always did anyways, but just in case. And just come make a night of it, under their constellation. Dean smiled up at the stars. That would be amazing.

He traced Ihwaz a final time with his eyes, making the shape in the sky. Every december, they’d be able to see it. A reminder of tonight, a reminder of forever.

Then Dean turned his head towards where Sam was laying. He was upside down in Dean’s vision but Dean watched him anyways. Sam stared up at the sky, his head tilted slightly backwards so Ihwaz would be in his vision too. From Dean’s angle, the stars reflected brightly in Sam’s eyes, little glowing white dots shining off the rich hazel. He didn’t have picture perfect memory, but Dean could save moments, save certain things in perfect clarity in his head if they meant enough. And he took a mental snapshot of Sam now, laying on top of their grassy hill, starlight reflected in his eyes and a soft smile on his mouth as he tilted his head back against the grass, looking at their constellation. Their promise, their bond.

Now was another moment passing by that Dean should say I love you.

Instead he swallowed down the words, reaching his hand out to scoot back a strand of Sam’s hair from his face. Sam turned to him, none of the worry crinkles on his face. There wasn’t a single sign of stress, a single clue that either of them were anything more than happy, ordinary people who’s biggest hardship in life was what to make for dinner. Sam looked liked he’d never worried a day in his life, in this moment. The level of peace on his face was amazing, and it made Dean choke up just a bit. Sammy deserved this all the time, deserve to always be as happy as he looked in this moment. Dean wished he could give that to him.

“You ready to go to bed?” he said instead. Sam blinked at him, his eyes landing on Dean’s.

Suddenly Dean felt like he was a million miles away, like Sam had left him in the dust and gone running all the way to the moon. He looked at Dean with the most unique expression Dean had ever seen, and Dean had no idea what it meant. Sam’s eyes looked like they were endless, like Dean could see through his soul and beyond, just by looking at him. Like there was suddenly a thousand hidden layers to Sam that Dean hadn’t even scratched the surface of. That no one, even Sam, hadn’t scratched the surface of. Sam was thinking something right now that had never crossed his mind before, had never been a realization til now, and it hit him like a freight train.

And Dean watched it happen, lay frozen with eyes wide as he looked at Sam, tried to run what in the world was possibly going through Sam’s head right now. Dean was witness to whatever this monumental thing was inside Sam right now, and he just wanted to reach out and absorb it all up. Surely if he got his fingertips on Sam’s heart than Dean could know all those layers he was missing, he could get his completed Sammy back. It was like Dean was teetering on the edge of getting sucked into the sun, everything too hot and bright around him. He was standing in the middle of the star and Sam was suddenly too bright to look at without getting burned.

The moment probably only lasted a second or two, but it felt like a hundred. Then Sam’s face melted back into the soft serenity, the depth of his eyes fading back into just crinkle-eyed happy. Dean felt like he was left gasping for air, reaching blindly into the darkness for Sam to grab his hand again. But really he was still just frozen, lying here, feeling like somehow everything had changed from three seconds ago. Something just happened, something inside of Sam, but now it was gone. And Dean had no idea what in the world it could have been. Nothing to do with Zeke, Dean would have known. It was a shift, words or images or something suddenly shot into Sam’s mind and Dean was clueless, lost. Didn’t even know where to begin asking.

“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice sounding so normal to Dean’s ears it felt foreign. The word didn’t fit in with the last couple of seconds, didn’t fit in with Dean’s reeling head. He was lost and blinded from the sudden flash of sun, staring at Sam like if he looked hard enough, he could find the words that had just been in Sam’s head.

Then Sam’s palm stroked Dean’s cheek and the touch was so normal, so them, that Dean blinked and the sinking feeling in his stomach was gone. Whatever it was that he’d missed, whatever it was that was for Sam and Sam’s head alone, it released its grip on Dean’s heart. And Dean could breathe again. He looked at Sam curiously, but Sam just sat up, tugging at his own shirt to get the grass off the back. Then he stood up, offering a hand to Dean. Dean took it.

 

They brushed their teeth and changed into pajamas, kicking out of their boots and leaving them at the foot of Dean’s bed. It was strangely domestic, changing out of their clothes together and grabbing a glass of water for the bedside table, Padding around in sweats and a tshirt as they moved through their entwined bedtime routines. Dean had let go of the strange moment from earlier entirely, shooting a grin at Sam as he gurgled a cup of water. Sam had just shaken his head, straightening Dean’s toothbrush out on the sink.

Just like at the car, they automatically gravitated to opposite sides of the bed, each of them taking a corner of the bed sheet and pulling it back together in one swift motion. Then Dean slipped out of his slippers and climbed up onto bed, underneath the covers. Sam flipped off the light, pulling the sheets over himself too. The room fell into darkness and the two of them lay in the dark for a minute or two, feeling ordinary as hell.

Most nights, they fell into bed already kissing and half naked, hungry for each other and just desperate to be touching. Tonight it wasn’t rushed, just two people climbing into bed like apple-pie-families did, like Dean had during his time with Lisa. Except it was Sam lying on the pillow next to his.

Dean rolled over to face Sam, running a hand across the stomach of Sam’s tshirt. Sam turned his head to face Dean, lifting it a little to meet Dean’s lips. They kissed, then Sam was gentle rolling Dean over onto his back. They did end up having sex, the most normal, vanilla every day kind of sex imaginable. They kissed and Sam rocked in and out of Dean with the sheets draped over them. Once they’d both climaxed, they kissed a few more times and they both shrugged back into clothes, Sam rolling back onto his side next to Dean on the bed. Sam tucked the covers up higher, one arm draped over Dean’s waist as they fell asleep, soft sounds of sleeping filling the room.

The next morning was regular too, although a little more of a hunter’s life thrown in. Dean woke up first, kissed Sam on the head and made coffee, bringing it back to his bedroom just as Sam was getting up. A brief morning kiss and getting dressed later, Dean made eggs for breakfast and Sam set up his laptop in the computer room. They ate breakfast together - with orange juice - and Dean thought about the stars.

After breakfast they parted, Sam to go do research and Dean to clean up, make sure the car was in shape, do a little research of his own. Eventually he came jogging back into the computer room, where Sam was sitting at the map table, laptop open in front of him.

"Any word from Cas?” Sam asked. The name didn’t sting, Dean was doing better. Besides, he wasn’t exactly expecting a call. He’d just dumped Cas on his ass again, left him in the middle of nowhere when Cas had wanted so badly just to help them. So Cas wasn’t going to call, probably. Odds are he hated Dean again. Everything vaguely good between them, any pieces that Dean had picked up and fixed from the last terrible break off You Can’t Stay were all just shattered again with his newest round of evil words. We just can’t work together.

"Nothing yet,” Dean said instead. The yet was for Sam’s sake, Dean wasn’t expecting a call. He’d seen the look on Cas’s face, he knew where things stood between them right now.

"And we're not worried about him, that he just took off like that again?” Dean grabbed the back of the chair next to Sam’s, pulled it out to sit. He hadn’t missed the use of Sam’s interesting pronoun - we’re not worried instead of you or I - but he didn’t want to think about it. He’d never figured out what the strange behavior in the bar had been, why Sam hadn’t been worried at all, was shoving Dean at Cas. And now, the fact that he wasn’t pinning any of this on Dean. That he was so worried. The whole thing felt weird and Dean didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything Cas.

He’d had a bit of a reprieve, had pushed aside and forgot all the pain for the night. He’d been fine, ever since that streetlight, but Sammy had a dangerous habit of wanting to talk to Dean about his feelings, so of course everything was bubbling and threatening to resurface. And Sam just kept going, digging the wound deeper and trying to pry Dean out of his shell.

"I mean, it's not like he does this kind of stuff alone.” Maybe Sam was trying to evoke emotion out of Dean or maybe he was just worried about Cas, but Dean didn’t want to talk about it either way. He’d really just appreciate ignoring the whole thing until they could get this mess sorted out. Apparently, Dean only got one night of reprieve before he had his heart tugged at again.

"It's the way he wanted it, honestly,” Dean lied. Nobody wanted it this way but Zeke, and Dean was starting to dislike Zeke’s opinions more and more. Sam had Dean pinned down like a butterfly under a pin with his eyes, his entire face reading unconvinced. The word “honestly” had gotten Dean no validation in his argument, so he threw something else out there, to satisfy the worrying, curious bit of Sam’s head. "Hey, look, man, he's been all over the map since he got his wings clipped.”

Casual, true, efficient. But to layer the cake with icing and make sure the subject was dropped, Dean pulled a bit of an unfair card. He pushed his swivel chair up close to Sam, brushing their arms together as he shot him a side glance, unnecessary proximity on top of everything to get Sam’s mind off Cas, on something else. His body said interested and his words said case, which was exactly the kind of combo that Sam wasn’t going to deny for a pointless argument about Cas.

"What do you got?” Dean asked, leaning a little closer to Sam to check out the laptop screen. "Obituaries. That one of the bikers?"

 

Mission accomplished. Words diverted off of Cas, case talk taking over. They figured out what they could, determined they needed Kevin’s help. Dean volunteered to run upstairs and grab him, although Sam stopped him on his way up with a fist in Dean’s shirt. Sam pulled Dean down to him, kissing him with a soft mouth and a solid hand holding him in place. It was kind of a random time for a kiss, but Dean cupped his hands on Sam’s cheeks anyways, cradling his turned up face as he bent over to let Sam kiss him. Their lips mushed together a few more times before Sam let go of Dean’s shirt, letting him straighten back up.

“What was that for?” Dean asked, fingertips touching his lips tentatively, capturing the feeling of Sam’s mouth on him.

“Just so you don’t forget,” Sam said simply, swiveling his chair back in to the table, looking at his laptop. Dean cocked his head, bringing his hand back down to his side.

“Forget what?”

Sam looked back up, a smile tugging at one side of his face.

“That I love you.”

Dean play-punched Sam’s bicep, fighting a grin as he stalked away from Sam, starting for the stairs to Kevin’s room as Sam laughed at his reaction.

“You’re a total sap, you know!” Dean shouted over his shoulder, already halfway through the library. Sam didn’t respond, was probably too busy rubbing his arm where Dean had hit him. Sam had that coming, the girl. But Dean knew there was a smile on Sam’s face at the words, could picture the way Sam’s face’d light up.

He shook his head as he took the first couple of stairs to Kevin’s room, skipping every other and thinking about Sam. He said those words so easily to Dean, so honest and simple. Like it was the most axiomatic thing in the world. Maybe it was.

~*~*~*~

It was afternoon now, Dean had cleaned up lunch and brushed his teeth, then headed to the library to find Sam. Who wasn’t in the library. Or in the computer room. Or in Dean’s room. Hell, he even checked Sam’s room. Sam was nowhere to be found. That was more than a little weird.

The last place Dean walked into was the kitchen, where he almost bumped into Kev, who was walking out with a sandwich in tow.

"Hey. You seen Sam?” Dean asked, trying not to sound like the clingy boyfriend and probably failing miserably.

"He went out,” Kevin shrugged.

“Where?” Dean asked, sounding even creepier. Seriously, you’d think that Dean would have some personal space by now when it came to Sam, but this was kind of special circumstances. Sam wasn’t alone, Zeke was in him and that was dangerous. Dean didn’t like the idea of that angel being alone with his brother. At all. Although honestly, Dean probably would have been trying just as hard to find Sam even if Sam wasn’t possessed. He just…liked knowing where Sam was. It was kind of their thing. Too much bad shit happened in their lives for them not to keep each other updated. The first time Sam hadn’t checked in with him he’d ended up in a fucking cage and Dean had gotten branded by some psycho human killers while trying to save Sam’s ass. So yeah, they kind of kept tabs on each other.

"I don't know,” Kevin said helpfully. Great. Then he got a funny look on his face, actually looking kind of worried. "You notice he's doing that a lot?”

Well, now that Kevin mentioned it. Dean supposed it had happened yesterday too. And at the bar. And that night, after they’d ditched Cas and before they’d driven back to the bunker. He’d just…be gone for an hour or two. It was all really weird. And honestly, it made Dean worry about Zeke even more.

“Yeah,” Dean said thoughtfully. That couldn’t be good. A shrill buzzing interrupted his worrying, making Dean dig in his pocket for his phone. Kevin continued back up to his room, taking his sandwich along. Dean was pretty sure the kid only came downstairs for food. And their card game. They still had that rematch…maybe tomorrow night. If nothing was going on, Dean could plan it for tomorrow. Although technically, they weren’t doing anything tonight. Yet. So maybe he’d set it up, call the boys in and watch Sam hand their asses to them again as Kevin stumbled over things he could say without being laughed at.

“Yeah?” Dean asked into the phone, not recognizing the number and not feeling like going through the regular formalities. It was just as well, because Dean definitely recognized the voice on the other end. Nobody else in the world said his name like that.

"Dean, I don't have a lot of time, so listen. The leader of the opposition is an angel named Malachi.” Cas sounded busy, panicked, and that was more than a little worrisome. Not counting the fact that this was actually a big piece of information and it totally came out of nowhere. There weren’t any hellos, and the command so listen sounded pretty rough and demanding. It was understandable, Cas shot down any protest Dean had about them not talking with his stern voice and demanding words. Dean was listening and he was not going to be a drama queen. He wasn’t thinking about how his heart skipped a beat at the sound of Cas’s voice, and he wasn’t thinking about how he thought he might never hear that voice again. Well, that thought was probably a little melodramatic, but this was Cas and Dean couldn’t exactly help it. Everything felt like it was on an apocalyptic scale with him.

"How do you know that?” Dean prompted, keeping his voice business serious. This was a business call after all, and Dean was actually a professional, even if he didn’t show it very often. When Cas said he didn’t have a lot of time, Dean wasn’t throwing in any fluff. Hunting was dangerous and emotions had to be set aside.

"He had me. I, uh, I was tortured. But I got away.” Well, emotions had to be set aside until suddenly Cas was tortured. Then fuck Hunter Laws, because Cas being okay was a hell of a lot more important than some stupid rule about being emotionless on the job. Although Cas was talking, which meant he had to be okay enough to at least get to a pay phone and speak. And he didn’t sound bad, didn’t sound too hurt. And he wasn’t currently being tortured, so the flames licking through Dean’s veins calmed down just a little. Cas was safe now, or at least he had better be.

"How?" Dean pressed. In his experience, escaping from torture was not exactly an easy thing to do. And torture from ? Dean should have been there. That was Dean's job, it look out for his friends. But they'd ditched Cas, thinking he'd be fine, and what happened? He was captured and tortured.

"I... I did what I had to," Cas said gravely, moving the Himalayas with his voice alone. That phrase was never good, always meant trouble. Dean practically held his breath waiting for Cas to elaborate. "I became what they've become. A barbarian."

"What are you –" saying, talking about? No, fuck it. They were short on time and Dean couldn't go for that, he had to know what and why and how the hell Castiel had somehow turned barbaric when he was anything but. And he wasn't going to get it all over some pay phone phone call. Screw Zeke, screw the rules, Dean would go by himself if he had to. Cas had tortured, kinda made top of the priority list. And Dean wasn't leaving him alone in the cold one minute more. "Cas, where are you?"

There were a few seconds of silence, where Dean held his breath again, worrying it may be too late. Then the husky voice came back again, sounding a little surprised initially. Apparently Cas had thought Dean was such a dick he wouldn't come help Cas through this. Dean could leave Sam here with Kev, set them on research as he drove alone to go see Cas. When it came to something that big...

"It's better I stay away. They're gonna want me even more now." Cas said, his words finally matching the stories Dean had told Sam. But those were just supposed to be stories, not the truth. How was Dean going to sleep again ever? He'd be spending the next year staring at the ceiling with an itch in his fingers to call Cas, make sure he was okay and safe and not bring tortured. Dean was going to fight him on this, was going to come see Cas whether he liked it or not, until he spoke again, a little quickly and maybe attempting at reassuring. "But I'm gonna be all right. I... I got my Grace back. Well, not mine per se, but it'll do."

Got his...what??

"Wait, you're – you're back? You got your mojo?" We'll that changed everything. If Cas wasn't human anymore...Cas wasn't human anymore. Cas was back to regular, back to a celestial wave of intent occupying a holy tax account's body. Cas had been Hunan and Dean had missed out on a thousand opportunities in that time. But if Cas was all powerful again, if he was back to full strength, it'd be worth every second Dean missed.

"I'm not sure. But I am an angel." Cas was an angel, which meant he could smite things, defend himself, flap to different corners of the globe. And Dean might be able to sleep at night because everything was righting itself in the world. Dean's angel was back, his guardian angel was back, and that tugged on Dean's heart strings with an unexpected chord. Dean didn't know he even wanted this back until he had it, until that profound bond was back in tact and his best friend held his own weight again, didn't need to depend on anything.

But just because Dean was mostly elated at Cas's species change didn't mean Cas was. He didn't sound particularly thrilled, but more so all Dean could think about was the weight of responsibility that was going to fall on Cas's shoulders now. The angels were a desperate, dying race, and Cas has just given up his peace and the simplicity of being human to be throw right back into the middle of the muck.

"And you're okay with that?" Dean asked, because fuck whatever was smartest, Cas deserved to be happy at some freaking point in his life. Angelic meant a lot of burdens, and someone somewhere along the line had to ask Cas how he was feeling. Because Dean was not going to let Cas just throw away the one bit of good he'd had if it was just for some battle cry.

"If we're going to war, I need to be ready," Cas finally spoke. That was exactly what Dean was hoping not to hear. Cas was sacrificing himself for the cause again. He was too noble, too selfless, and one day it was going to kill him. Whatever happened to It's nit your problem anymore? Cas banged himself back into soldier shape, cut out the same play dough that had lead to his demise before. All for what, because some angels were being dicks and fighting for the top tier boss job? Dean sucked in a breath, a few seconds passing of silence as he let it all soak in, as he determined what had to be said.

"Cas," Dean finally said. He threw everything he had just thought into that one word, his entire paragraph of internal dialogue into just that syllable, and there was no way Cas didn't hear it for what it was worth.

"Dean," he responded, the word might as well being stop by the way he said it. It was a /don't worry about me/ and a /you have to let me do this/ at the same time as being /hold on, I'm not finished yet/. And he wasn't, he spoke up again, making Dean's heart sink in his chest. "There's more."

"What?" Dean grated. What in the world could possibly be more important than talking about Cas and his damn grace? This was Cas, Dean's Cas, his angel and savior and friend. But apparently there was more news, news that was somehow big enough to follow hey! I'm not human anymore.

"Didn't you say Sam was healed by an angel named Ezekiel?" Random question. Worrisome question.

"Uh... Yeah, why?" It wouldn't kill him to say at least that much, Cas was using past tense and Dean could talk past tense, especially with the worry and urgency in Cas's voice.

"Ezekiel is dead," Cas dropped. Dean could feel the world shift under his feet as the earth stopped spinning on its axis.

"What?" Dean managed. He couldn't have heard that right.

"He died when the angels fell."

When the angels fell. Before Dean had ever so much as laid eyes on Zeke. Well, Not-Zeke. He had never been Ezekiel. It had been months. Dean had trusted Sammy's life to him. For months. And the whole thing had been a lie.

Sam was being possessed by a stranger. A liar. Someone was inside his brother right now that could be the most evil creature of all time and Dean had just let it in.

Dean might as well have told the doctors to pull the plug.

 

~*~

 

He was hyperventilating. Sam wasn't even here, he was missing. And Dean was leaning against the dresser in his bedroom, hands braced on the wood and head ducked down, trying to breathe. He and Kevin had painted a sigil in a storeroom. Dean was angry, livid, had snapped at Kevin and cursed himself. He had no idea how he could be so stupid.

Hadn't Dean learned by now that he could trust no one? Hadn't Dean learned? Hadn't he learned?

His breath was coming to fast, his heart felt like it might collapse in his chest. There was water in his lungs and sand in the rest of him and he felt so heavy, like his body was just going to sink into the ground. Sammy. God, how could Dean be so stupid?

Dean didn't have panic attacks very often. Every one he'd had - not counting while Sam was at Stanford - there were big arms and hazel eyes to calm him through it, holding him and rocking him and telling him to breathe. Most times that Dean got this way was after some really terrible nightmare about Hell or Sam dying or something. Sometimes they'd be so vivid, Dean was sure they were real. The worst ones were when the nightmares combined, when Dean was torturing souls and Sam died on one of his excursions with Ruby, got sent straight to Hell from drinking demon blood. And Dean, broken and terrible as he was, sliced into Sam's skin, tortured the good thing in his life until he became addicted to the sounds of Sam's screams.

Those were some of the worst ones. Dean almost always woke up shouting from those. Sam would curl around him instantly, soothing him. Sometimes he couldn't be held, sometimes that made it worse. So Sam would just hold onto Dean's arms with his hands, grounding him and talking him down until Dean was okay again.

There was no one to save Dean this time. And this time, his nightmare wasn't in his head. Through some crazy, half-gone part of his brain, he lifted a hand and pinched himself in the arm. He didn't wake up. Dean wasn't expecting to, but there was always a chance. No, this nightmare was his life.

And it was coming down to Dean to save Sam again. The word save was like a trigger word for him. It was Dean's job. He was a soldier and his trigger word was save. His head snapped up, eyes fixating on the weapons on the wall in front of him. Save.

When Sam was lying in a hospital bed, on white sheets and in a coma and dying, no hope according to the doctors, Dean was a wreck. He couldn't do it, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. He just wanted to cry and cry and cry and hold Sam so tightly no one could ever take Sam away from him. He went a little insane for a bit, suddenly couldn't be in the room, was out pacing the hallways. Then he needed to be back at Sam's side, holding his hand. Then he couldn't touch Sam, touch how cold he was, and he had to pace at the window. Then he needed out again, couldn't look at his brother like that.

He'd been a total mess, and it was no different this time. Except that Dean didn't have the option to see Sam, to chose whether or not to hold his hand. He was stuck waiting again, like last time, and he had nowhere to take out the pain and rage but on himself, which would be why he was in his room, contemplating his life while holding himself up with two hands propped on his dresser. Funny, he was waiting on the same angel now as he had been last time.

But even though Dean had been in shambles while Sam was comatose, he'd snapped out of it. He'd been by the window if he remembers correctly. He'd been looking at Sam, looking at those features, and the trigger word came back to him. Save. He had to save Sam, it was his job.

His brain kicked into gear then, his tears dried on his cheeks and he steeled himself into a sheet of unfeeling metal. Duty, mission, Sam. He had to be strong, ruthless, deadly. It would be the only way to get Sam back. So he shredded all his urges of insanity, shoved them inside him deep, encased them in a ball of steel and hardened his eyes. Save Sammy, it was the only thing that mattered, and Dean freaking out wasn't going to do that.

Soldier mode was the only thing that ever got him through the terrible shit that happened to Sam. Dean Winchester was daddy's little toy soldier and he would march into battle for only one thing anymore. And the next battle in his war was happening now, Dean couldn't lose just because he couldn't get a grip on himself.

The first thing he switched over was his eyes. It was the easiest way to start. He'd been in shock when he'd first found out, then in a rage, yelling at Kevin to help him. Now the panic had set in, and it was time for that phase to be over too. The tears lining his eyes were blinked rapidly into drying, his soft gaze hardened until his jaw clicked in anger and he could see red lining the edges of his vision. The weapons on the wall seemed sharper, more vivid. Dean could feel the weight of each of them in his hands, felt his body analyze them all out and tug towards them. He wouldn't be needed one, this was going down in a very different way.

Next were his hands. Dean turned his Clark Kent eyes down on his fingers, gripping the wood of his dresser like it was going to save him. He lifted his hands off the wood, every grain and stroke of his dresser oversaturated and sharp and clear. Dean looked at his hands, held them out in front of him. He curled and uncurled his fingers, letting them clench into fists, hard. Until his fingers were almost digging into his palms enough to make them bleed. He cased them in steel, and let the steel snake its way up the rest of his body. He shut off his emotions, shut down the panic.

His quick breathing and water lungs expanded, the water evaporating quickly as Dean took control of his body again, forced himself down off that ledge. Coming down from a panic attack was not easy to do on your own, but Dean wasn't Dean anymore. He was just a Soldier, tasked only with Saving Sam. Soldiers knew how to breathe. And so years and years of torturistic hunting-training kicked in. If John Winchester only did two good things for Dean in his lifetime, it was to give Dean his Sam and give Dean the power to protect him at all costs.

His heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm and Dean straightened completely, eyes locking on the doorway. He'd heard a sound. He probably would have heard it even if he wasn't intensified, but since he was it was loud and clear. The sound of a door opening and closing, all the way at the front of the bunker. He knew that if he passed a mirror right now, he wouldn't recognize himself. There was a deadly look in his eyes, something inhuman about the way the pupils dilated against the sharp green. But Dean wasn't aiming for a mirror, someone had just arrived and Dean was ready to have a conversation with them.

Being a soldier like this kept Dean protected and highly dangerous to anything that got between him and Sam. But it would be obvious, if he walked in to the room Sam and Not-Ezekiel were like this, all fired up and ready to destroy. So he tucked his fierceness behind a mask of ordinary, painted on any face he needed to make this work. That was the thing about being emotionless like this, it not only made Dean a sharper, clearer hunter, it also made all of his tricks that much better. If Sam thought something was wrong, he might not be able to get to Zeke.

So he buried it behind a mask of normal, just strolled into the room where Sam was. Sam came into sight, his back to Dean as he casually shelved beers. The bubble of rage and panic bounced on Dean's steel insides. It was like he could see them and recognize they were there, but he didn't feel them. Couldn't feel a thing.

"Hey, where you been?" Dean asked casually, walking around the doorways towards Sam. And the Not-Ezekiel angel.

"Hey," Sam replied, tossing a glance over his shoulder before turning back to his shelving. "Beer run."

"Long beer run," Dean commented, taking the few steps down into the room. He'd gotten to the point he was acting so normal he'd nearly convinced himself of it. Sam huffed air out, an acknowledgement but not an answer. Which was fine, Dean wasn't here about Sam's random disappearance anyways. Instead he was looking nonchalantly around the room, words barely annunciated they were so casual. "Can we talk?"

"Yeah. Uh, sure," Sam replied, hands placing the whole bag in the fridge and shutting it. Dean nodded and turned back around, entering the hallways again as Sam followed him. It wasn't very often Dean asked Sam to talk, so Sam knew at least something had to be up. And Dean was keeping his distance too, which didn't fit under the regular bubble Dean had stuffed himself inside of. But he couldn't touch Sam right now, couldn't tug Sam along by the wrist into the storeroom. Not when the normal was all a façade. Sam would figure him out if he touched Dean.

In the hallway to the storeroom, Sam stepped up closer to Dean and Dean walked faster. Sam nearly had to jog to keep up, then Dean was opening up the door, holding it open for Sam. Sam walked in slowly, hands in his pocket as he looked around.

"This sounds serious," Sam commented, strolling further in the room. Well it was. Extremely serious. Dean shut the door behind them, green sigil on the back of it. He pulled out his knife quickly, slicing the sharp blade into his palm. It stung like a bitch, hands were definitely one of the most sensitive places to cut but he was in too much of a hurry to slice up somewhere else. The blood rose past the surface instantly, a red stripe across his palm. Dean smacked the wound against the center of the sigil, making a pained sound at the cut.

The second the blood hit the door, the sigil lit up in a flare of light, crumbling to ash against the wood. Okay, flashes usually were good when it came to angels. Not-Ezekiel had to be gone now. Dean trusted Kevin's research, and it wasn't like he had hope for much else.

Sam spun around, startled at the flash of light. His eyes went from the burning-to-nothing symbol on the door to the slash of blood on Dean's palm to the look on Dean's face, taking it all in looking quite worried. Dean's mask of normal faded a bit, there wasn't a point in keeping it up. Wasn't a point when not the angel was gone and Dean didn't have much time, had to get Sam out now. Save.

"What's going on?" Sam murmured, looking more than a little worried. Dean started towards him, sheathing the knife, and Sam backpedaled, hands in the air. That should have been his first clue. Sam wouldn't have backed away, he'd have run towards Dean. Sam wouldn't be scared of Dean, wouldn't be worried about what Dean was about to do. But Dean didn't see it, he was blinded by rage and worry and Soldier mode, had a lot bigger things on his mind right now than how Sam was acting a little off, questioning him. "What are you doing?"

Dean just walked closer, closing the distance between them, his voice intense and serious as hell. He said it as straight out and flat as possible, giving Sam his reaction before he even spoke. "I got to tell you some stuff fast. It's gonna piss you off."

"Okay," Sam said, dipping his head. Worried, cautious. Curious to hell.

Dean blinked and looked down. Save, he whispered to himself in his head. But Sammy was looking at him so worriedly and Dean didn't even know where to begin. He was already starting to lose it, emotions bleeding through the steel walls. His breathing picked up just a tad, his eyes were all over the place. Anywhere but looking at Sam. Okay, he could do this. He had to do this, save, soldier.

"Those trials really messed you up," he finally managed, looking up at Sam. His words cracked a little on the end, the tears in his throat threatening his vocal chords. Sam didn't hear it or didn't care, just stuck his tongue in his cheek and looked away, exasperated.

"Yes, I know that, Dea—" Sam started, looking 100% done. Like they'd had this conversation a million times. They hadn't though, not this one. This is the conversation they should have had from the start but didn't and Dean had to say this. So he interrupted.

"No, you don't." Dean's eyes were watering but he was keeping it together as much as he could. Even if Sam was looking at him like he was crazy. "I mean messed you up like almost dead."

Sam's eyes narrowed, like he wasn't sure what Dean was talking about. Sam had no idea what Dean was talking about, because Dean had told Zeke to zap the memories. He didn't know how to put it, though, to make Sam really get it. To get how bad it had been. In case the fact that Dean was almost crying, about to entirely lose his shit, was not enough of a clue.

"No more birthdays, dust to dust. Well, that messed me up, so I made a move, okay-" It was the best way Dean could think to put it. Sam was messed up and that messed Dean up, it was the easiest and fastest way to say his whole speech about how he couldn't lose Sam, how he couldn't live a day without Sam by his side. Dean couldn't physically do it. The last time he had been alone topside, when he was with Lisa and Ben, he'd been a fucking wreck. And that was way before he and Sam were in a relationship. So much shit had happened since then, Dean couldn't pull that again. The only thing haunting him then had been his brother dead - which was definitely a huge fucking haunt - and a single night together between the sheets. Now there were memories and promises and so much had changed between them, developed richer, closer. Hell, just Dean's speech in that church. He couldn't do this alone. Not anymore.

"-a tough move about you without talking it over because you were in a coma." Dean put as much emphasis on the last word as possible, hands up to exaggerate the point. Sam did a double take, looking at Dean like he was crazy, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Wait, what? When?" Sam didn't have the timeline because it'd been wiped, but the important thing was that it happened and Sam knew now, had to know, and Dean needed to get this through to him. Sam never knew he'd been in a coma and that was some pretty intense news to take, but Dean had a lot worse to throw at him right now.

"You were in the hospital, okay, and they said you were gonna die." Dean's voice broke again. He remembered it like it was yesterday, the there's nothing we can do, it's in God's hands now. Sammy was gonna die and Dean knew it was all over his face, all of that pain. When it came to this, Dean's Soldier mode couldn't keep him solid. It kept him from collapsing on the ground right now, from not being able to breathe. But it couldn't keep out the memories and the sheer pain of it. And Sam could see it, he could see the pain on Dean's face and he knew what that meant.

"What did you do?" Sam asked, quiet, deadly. It was that moment that Sam realized yet again that Dean had fucked up, had gone and done something idiotic to save Sam. Dean could still remember that first time What did you do? Dean, tell me the truth...how long did you get? It was the same question again, and Dean wished it was something as simple as selling his soul.

He looked down, words in his mouth but his choked up throat not letting him say a word of it. Where did he even begin? His breath was cutting short again, his lungs closing up a little. No, no, no. Dean had to take care of Sam. He had to take care of Sam, get this over with now. Finally he looked back up, meeting Sam's eyes and saying the words as brave as he could muster. Which right now, wasn't very brave. "I let an angel in."

Sam's eyes were tearing up now too. He didn't even know the details yet and he was already about to cry. He was speechless for a moment too, then he finally leveled with Dean, his words terrified as he finally asked. "In what?"

"In you." Dean deadpanned, nodding, looking straight at Sam. The words hit Sam and he nearly staggered back, head whipping to the side as he took it all in. Dean had to explain, had to clarify. He moved a little closer, needing Sam's warmth right now to do this. Dean's head followed the path of Sam's, catching his eyes again as he brought Sam back to looking at him. "He said he could heal you and he is."

"He's still in me?" Sam raged. Oxygen froze in Dean's throat, not sure how to even answer that but with his eyes. He blinked, yes, nodding. Dean had known Sam would be pissed, but he hadn't been prepared with Sam being this hurt too. He wasn't just mad at Dean, Dean was ripping him up with these words.

"Wait," Sam huffed a disbelieving laugh. There was hope in his eyes and Dean knew what was coming but that hope was just about to be squandered too. "That's impossible, Dean. That couldn't happen. I never invited him in."

"I tricked you into saying yes," Dean said roughly, looking at the ground. His eyes lit on Sam's again, voice stern and big-brother and trying to show Sam just how fucking important this had been. "It seemed like the only way."

Sam stared at him, taking a step towards Dean, then two steps back. He deflated, oxygen slipping out of his body like Dean had broken something inside him. His face was twisted in pain, in disbelief and hurt and broken trust. Then Sam couldn't take it anymore, apparently couldn't take looking at Dean. At the face that had betrayed Sam only hours after he promised it was the two of them, come whatever, forever. He turned around, back to Dean, looking at the ground and speaking so angry, letting all of his hurt channel in to good old fashioned Winchester rage.

"So... Again." Yes, again. Dean couldn't hold his head up, the shame pulled his eyes down to the floor, even as Sam turned back to him, tears in his eyes and his voice raised, yelling, hating Dean. "You thought I couldn't handle something, so you took over!"

"No, I did what I had to do!" Dean shouted, lifting his head back up. His tears weren't exactly on the verge anymore, they'd broken past the steel and were pooling in Dean's vision, making it so he couldn't see. Sam was the only thing that somehow wasn't blurred. No, Dean could still see Sam's tears and his accusing finger and his broken heart. "You would've never agreed to it, and you would've died."

It wasn't even a choice. Dean hadn't noticed, but he'd actually just quoted Cas. I did what I had to do. It was what Cas had told Dean on the phone a few hours ago. And now what Dean told Sam. And Dean didn't know, but it was also about to be told back to him, in a few minutes.

"Well, maybe I would've liked the choice, at least." Sam shouted back, arms outstretched the way he did when he was so pissed at Dean. He walked closer, menacing and nothing at all like the way Sam normally strode towards him. But they couldn't do this right now, they didn't have time for this fight. They didn't have time and Sam's proximity cleared up the watery parts of Dean's brain, he held back his tears and his shaky breathing and pulled himself out of the fight, pulled himself out of the distraction of Sam from Save Sam.

"We can do this, later." Dean had dropped his head in submission against Sam's jump forward, had backed down from the fight. They could do this some other time, but Dean didn't know how long that sigil lasted until Not-Ezekiel was back and he couldn't risk losing Sam again. "You can – you can kick my ass all you want. Right now, we got bigger problems."

"Bigger?" Sam shouted, disbelieving. Dean wished more than anything they weren't having this conversation right now but they could work past it, could figure it out once the angel had ditched. Sam had to expel him or they were going to be in hell of a lot worse trouble than they were right now. So yes, much much bigger.

"The angel lied to me." Sam was breathing heavy, his anger drained away and his chest heaving up and down, tears still in his eyes as he stared at Dean. "Okay? He – he's not who he said he was. He said his name was Ezekiel. Cool guy, according to Cas, but it's not Ezekiel."

"Who is he?" Sam asked, sounding scared and desperate. This was what Dean was supposed to protect Sam from, this was why Dean had saved him. It was Dean's only job and he fucked it up so bad this time, beyond measure. And he didn't even have any real answers for Sam.

"I don't know," Dean said desperately. Both of their emotions were still all over the place, but Dean was trying to make this as real and serious as he could without fucking bawling all over the place. "Apparently, Ezekiel is dead. Whoever this guy is can end you in a heartbeat if he wants to, so you have got to dump him."

It was overwhelming Sam, Dean could see that now. His eyes were darting back and forth, his chest heaving up and down. But he wasn't doing anything, he was just standing there and Dean had to have Sammy fixed, he couldn't do it without Sam's help but Sam looked like he was frozen, was stuck. This was not the time to freak out, this was the time for Sam to set that shit aside and solider up and figure this out and fucking expel Not-Ezekiel before he came back. Sam was never as good at getting into that mode as Dean was, though, he just stood there. Dean stepped closer, hand reaching out for Sam. Not quite touching, hovering, but needing Sam to focus.

"Are you hearing what I'm saying? I think you're well enough now, but you got to expel him." Dean was using every tone of serious-shit big-brother he had and Sam was still just staring, just freaking out. Dean wasn't getting through and Sam wasn't focusing. Dean stepped another foot closer. If Sam was going to stay frozen at Dean's words, Dean could at least get through to him with touch. Skin on skin would snap Sam out of it, Dean just needed to get his hand on Sam's wrist, on his neck, anything to get Sam to work with him, focus, force the angel out of him.

"Sam?" Dean asked, about to step forward. When suddenly Sam did, stepped forward and around Dean. He walked past him, pissed and looking at the ground and how could he fucking do that right now.

"Sam—" Dean said again, exasperated, as Sam passed him, turning to follow Sam with his eyes. This was so much bigger than trust issues right now, this was life and death and Dean was not going to let Sam just walk out on him right now. "Hey!" Dean shouted, pissed, following behind Sam.

Sam turned around, face contorted, then Sam's fist was in his sight and everything went black.

 

Dean had no idea how much time had passed between when Sam slugged him and the time he was blinking awake, but it didn't matter. Either way, Sam had punched him and who knows if the spell had worn off or was about to or whatever, Dean had to get to Sam now. He rounded the corner from the hall to their bedrooms, nearly sliding into the computer room.

He heard the scream barely seconds before he saw it. He rushed forward, his eyes lighting on the sight just before everything flashed white and too bright to look at. Sam was standing, with his hand on Kevin's forehead, and white light was flooding out of the prophet through his eyes and mouth. Burning out his insides.

"No!" Dean shouted, rushing forward. It was like the moments was in quicksand, prolonged and sucking him down. Kevin was burning out and Sam was still standing with his hand on Kevin's forehead, destroying him. And Dean wasn't getting there fast enough.

"No! No! No! Kevin?!" Kevin's body hit the floor and Dean could see his eyes smoking from where he was running towards him. No, he couldn't be dead. He wasn't dead. Not Kevin. Not on Dean's watch. Not ever, but especially not like this.

"You're gonna have to trust me, okay, trust that I told you everything that I can for now. Can you do that?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows pleadingly at the little prophet. Kevin sighed, tilting his head at Dean.

"I always trust you." Kevin said, sounding a little faithful. Dean nodded, grateful, and then Kevin - the little shit - added in his teenager flare, that piece that was axiomatic in the argument. He always made a point to retaliate back against Dean. He always won, somehow. It was all

"Oh, come on," Dean had joked, rolling his eyes at Kevin's exaggeration. "Always? Not always."

Apparently, always.

Dean full on sprinted towards Kevin's body, already crouching down to land on his knees, scoop the kid up, when a force slammed into his chest, threw him up against the wall and pinned him there. It wasn't like a wall though, that was just crushing him in place. It was like there was a hand reaching inside Dean's thoracic cavity, twisting all of his internal organs and pinning him to the column that way. He was being crushed and twisted and it hurt like hell, held up against the wall like this.

Helpless, unable to get to Kevin. Being crushed into a column with the invisible weight the angel in Sam was throwing at him. The angel that had just...Kevin. Dean was stuck, he couldn't do anything. His brother stood, hand outstretched in his direction, holding him tight. And not in the way Sam usually did.

Sam. He'd overcome possession from an archangel, the bringer of the sun. Sam had fought off Lucifer, surely he could beat out this scumbag. Only problem was, Sam was pissed and he didn't have anything to anchor too. Besides Dean. Although Dean had been enough last time...

Dean fought against the pressure on his lungs and diaphragm, forcing his vocal chords to squeeze out a word.

"Sam?" Dean gasped, barely able to breathe. If he thought he was having lack of oxygen problems before...Dean turned his eyes on his brother, begging, pleading. Sam could do this, he could overpower this deuschbag and take control and they could fix this, fix Kevin somehow. Everything was going to be okay, if only Sam would just take over now --

"There is no more Sam." The angel turned his eyes on Dean, words cutting like machetes into Dean's heart. His eyes flew up to the ceiling and he gasped in pain and his already pounding heart threatened to explode. His body was twisted and contorted and throbbing, and he couldn't help the pained gasps that left his mouth. But Sam. There was...no. Dean wasn't even going to replay those words in his head. He focused in on the pain, the physical trauma to his body was nothing compared to the damage those echoes might do to Dean's head.

"But I...played him convincingly, I thought." Not-Ezekiel said in his terrifying monotone. The way he could shape Sam's mouth to sound like that was sickening. That's what Dean was going to think about. He was going to think about how that sick bastard was making his little brother's vocal cords sound funny. Because he couldn't face the reality of what the angel was saying.

Dean couldn't do that. He couldn't think about what those words meant. How long the angel had been playing Sam. Just for that past scene? Since the hospital? Dean couldn't physically bring himself to analyze how long Sam had been gone. Or what the hell no more Sam meant. Instead he focused on the present, on how the sigil had failed. If it had failed.

"How did you..." Dean choked out. He couldn't hear the rest of that, that stuff about Sam.

"I heard you talk with Kevin Tran tonight." The angel said, his back to Dean as he moved his hands over something on the table. Dean could only see the angel in his peripherals. Sam's body spun back around, holding his fingers up. His hand looked like it had a dust of green powder on it. "Alter a sigil... even the slightest... Alter the spell."

Dean couldn't breathe. That entire time. The entire time Dean had been talking to Sam about the possession, it hadn't been Sam. Dean had fucking bared his soul to this bastard, had been on the verge of crying and it hadn't even had been his brother. Tiny breaths were puffing out of Dean's mouth, his panic attack being held out only by the suffocating pressure on and in his chest that was keeping him upright and breathing shallow.

"Sorry about Kevin," The angel said, facing Dean. His monotone made that whole phrase sound so fucked up. Dean was still staring at the ceiling, refusing to meet eyes with this bastard, but he could see the angel take Sam's body closer to Kevin's, looking down at the crumpled prophet on the floor. "But ultimately ... it's for the best."

Dean just tried to get oxygen in his lungs as Sam's body lowered out of sight. He was actually leaning over Kevin, leaning over his fried body. Then the words came, apparently the choice words of the day. "I did what I had to."

He was choking on his own spit, the twisting, squeezing hand in his chest ripping apart his insides. At least the pain was a distraction, at least Dean couldn't breathe to speak. His lungs gasping for air meant he didn't have to listen to the sound of his own sobs. Sam's eyes looked at him and Dean kept looking up, the line of tears back at the corners of his vision, hovering and threatening to fall. Dean didn't know if the tears were about Sam or the bastard angel or about Kevin or the pain in his chest, but it didn't matter.

Sam's shoulder blew past him, the angel walking out in the direction of the door. He was gone for a few seconds, out of Dean's sight with nothing but bootprints on the ground to go off of. Then suddenly the hand released him and Dean's mouth was gasping for oxygen.

His body doubled over in half, the pain disappearing the second that the hand did. He was left sucking in air and curling into himself as he fell to the ground, trying to get a grip on reality and not lose his shit.

Only problem was, reality was the reason he was so fucked up right now.

The door to the bunker slammed shut, the sound echoing off the walls like a gunshot, even though it wasn't very loud at all. Sam's body was gone. Dean wasn't even going to think about whether or not Sam actually was. If he had been this whole time. If Sam was dead. Or worse. Because Dean couldn't take that on top of everything right now. He couldn't think about Sam, just numbed that whole piece of it.

Although wait, that piece of Dean that was Sam? That was all of him. Dean was half sprawled on the ground, back up against a book shelf with a hand clutching at his chest - at his heart - in pain. The grip the angel had had on him was a whole new level to the meaning of broken heart. Dean's head was reeling and ducked, he couldn't breathe, couldn't seem to calm down his insides. The pain wasn't helping, but honestly most of it was the situation. His head. His head wasn't letting oxygen in anymore, couldn't see any reason for it.

That is, until Dean finally looked up. Kevin was lying on the wooden floor, facing him. Twists and furls of white smoke was still drifting out of the burnt out husks where his curious eyes used to be. His body was slack and his lips were just parted, collapsed on the ground and staring straight at Dean with the emptiness that used to hold all the answers in the world. Smoke.

The kid who'd laughed and smiled and researched his ass off. Kevin Tran, advanced placement. Smoke. The unofficial adopted Winchester kid, who Sam and Dean had tried and failed miserably to parent. The kid who had sat around a dim lit table with them to play cards, smiling as he wiped them all off the board. The kid who had dropped his entire future, his entire life for them. The one who'd wanted out most of all, the one who had saved their asses so many times, all for what?

All for what.

"Kevin?" Dean asked quietly, his bottom lip trembling. His throat was closed up and he was shaking all over. No smart-ass teenage remark came back, no smelly hug to leap in Dean's arm. No tired "hey, Dean," no rolled eyes and light shoves. Just smoke. Smoke was the only moving part left of what had once been one of the brightest parts of Dean's life. Kevin had been family. He'd trusted them, he'd saved them. He moved in with them. Sam had joked once about how they might as well adopt the kid. Dean had laughed, responding with haven't we already?

Kevin didn't ask anything anymore. Kevin just stared, blank. Smoke.

"Kevin?" Dean managed out again, the word more of a choke than a name. The trembling and the shaking was getting worse but Dean didn't even notice it, didn't even feel his body. Besides his heart. He felt that, he felt it so much he thought maybe it'd explode and he'd just die, collapse down here next to his prophet and die with him. Dead. Kevin was dead. Smoke.

The entire room was hot, like the place was on fire. The insides of Dean were burning, like he could feel the angelic fire bursting through him too. Smoking out his insides. His eyes couldn't leave the blank, red smoking holes that used to be Kevin. It was the only thing left. Smoke.

And it was the heat of the room that made Dean finally notice his own body again. In all that hot, swirling unbelievable smoke, a cold drop slid down his cheek. Dean looked away, dropped his eyes from Kevin and felt the rain slide down his nose, down his cheeks. It didn't feel like it should have, didn't feel refreshing like rain did. It was cold but it still burned, cutting through the layers of heat and pain just to make the heat and pain that much more obvious, more contrasted and real.

Kevin was dead.

Smoke.

And all Dean had wanted to think about was the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Saba:
> 
> "WOOWWWWW!!!! This was the most beautiful chapter EVERRR!!! all those fluffy stuff btwn Sam and dean and all those feeling that was just pure beauty! Awesome job! <3 <3"
> 
> FlyByNightGirl:  
>  "Oh my gosh I love you this made my while night thank you so much so much you are a positive sweetheart :* xx"
> 
> Saba:
> 
> "I'm just being honest! And you definitely should do some short fics coz the feelings you put in words was fantastic!:**"


	22. Hermetic (Road Trip 09x10)

There are stages.

There are stages of grief and Dean knows this but he has no idea what they are.

With Dad, it was different. Dean was calmer back then, less broken. He'd lost his father but he still had his anchor.

Sam had known all the right things to say, and Baby had been more than happy to let Dean take it out on her with a crowbar.

Not this time.

With Bobby, it had been different. Dean had monster problems then, a distraction.

He'd lost his surrogate father but he still had his anchor.

Sam had known all the right ways to hold him.

Not this time.

There are stages and Dean blew through them all like they were the ten phases of a card game they never got to rematch. Would never get to rematch. Not with Kevin.

Not this time.

Phase 1: 2 sets of 3

Sit numb on the ground where he's crumpled after Not-Ezekiel left and stare at smoke, crying out "Kevin" until the tears take over and Dean just curls in on himself and cries, ugly big nasty sobs that shake his body until Kevin's shirt sleeve is damp, even though he's still lying a foot away from Dean and Dean hasn't moved an inch. He cries until his body cannot physically produce any more tears and every ounce of him feels dried out and burnt just as much as Kevin.

Phase 2: Set of 3 Run of 4

Finally pull Kevin's dead body into his arms, carding his fingers through the soft hair and murmuring how sorry he is, how Kevin can just come back now. How Dean can wake up now, from this terrible terrible nightmare.

Phase 3: Set of 4 Run of 4, always one of the hardest phases

Frantic research. Running around the bunker, looking up Men of Letters' spells, google searching, any lore whatsoever on angels. Dial Cas's number for help and hang up before Cas could pick up. Dean can't speak right now anyways. Hope fades more and more with every book Dean opens. Hope shatters with every book Dean closes. Carefully. Everything carefully, so as to not wake up Kevin. Because Kevin isn't home right now, he's sleeping, just in shock, Dean can save him he can draw Kevin back from this. Denial research denial.

Phase 4: Run of 7

Realization he hasn't eaten in a few days, had water in even longer. That is, once the dizziness takes over and Dean collapses to the ground. He manages to get back up, steady himself, curse himself for trying to run with this thing without proper hydration. Gets a glass of water, which takes nearly an hour to swallow down. At least his body is wet enough on the inside to cry some more now.

Phase 5: Run of 8

Dean stares down at Kevin's DEAD body and realized how 100% dead he is. There isn't anything Dean can do because Dean is a worthless sack of nothing at all, had let down the one kid he still had to protect anymore. Sam wasn't a kid. Dean didn't think about Sam. His brain couldn't do that right now. It's pointless it's all pointless and Dean leaving him here to let him rot is just making it worse, disrespecting all the amazing things that Kevin Tran Advanced Placement was in his lifetime.

Phase 6: Run of 9

Build the pire and finally pick up Kevin. Proper hunter's funeral, like he deserves. No, Kevin deserves better than this. Kevin deserved better than all of them, Dean thinks as he stares at the fire. The heat of the flames doesn't dry the tears off his cheeks like he wishes it would. More fire. More smoke.

Phase 7: 2 sets of 4

Numb. Numb, trying to breathe, numb. Staring at the spot Kevin had died in. The empty spot. The bunker, the empty bunker. What had once been his home, home to the two of the most incredible people Dean had every known, was empty. Dean felt as empty as the walls, as the miles of concrete and red and gold and metal fixtures and old books. Empty empty nothing.

Phase 8: 7 of one colour. For Sam, green.

The calmness, the wave of silence as Dean picks up Kevin's phone. There is a photo on the home screen, hidden behind the SLIDE TO UNLOCK screen. Dean clicks the lock button on the top instead, illuminates the photo. His hand is scarily steady as he tilts the phone sideways. Half the other phases so far he'd been shaking. The photo opens up big on the screen, Kevin and his mom. Mrs. Tran, who had just lost his world. Family. Kevin's family had just lost the most precious thing in the world to them. Dean knew that, knew better than anyone else. Phase 9 came too fast after that to even realized he'd switched over.

Phase 9: Set of 5 Set of 2

Rage. Red cellophane over his vision. This was Dean's strongest phase, he'd always been able to do Phase #9 in record time. He felt the phone leave his hand but he didn't hear it shatter against the wall. He felt the papers under his hands as he sweeped them off the table but he didn't see them float to the ground. He felt the cold metal of the lamp as his hand knocked it to the side but he didn't hear the pop of sparks as the cord dislocated and the lamp flew and shattered. He felt the smooth wood of the chair but didn't see it collide into the others and break, everything was too red.

Phase 10: Set of 5 Set of 3. Dean wasn't sure if he had ever won this phase before. Ever.

Breathe trying to breathe, lungs threatening to close up on him for good. Breathing, hands against the table, guilt and weight of everything finally settling in his bones. He finally got it. It was all his fucking fault. All of it. Kevin was dead and Dean was the reason and somehow that clarity was finally offered to him. Here, Dean, feel it now. No more numb. Feel it all.

Sam was gone.

Sam.

That was Dean's fault too. Dean hadn't even been able to handle the thought of Sam and the Not-Ezekiel angel until the guilt of Kevin weighed heavy in his bones. Sam. Dean had to find that angel walking around in his brother's body. The angel that had helped Dean kill Kevin.

It took a few hours for Dean to calm down, breathe normal. Well, as normal as normal had been these days. He dug his fingers in his pocket, huffing out as he flipped open his phone. Dialing the last number Cas had called him from again. But now that the sky was clearer, Dean realized that number he had for Cas was a payphone anyways. Even if Dean had wanted to call Cas earlier he couldn't have.

But Cas was an angel now, and Dean needed his help to find Sam. It wasn't even save anymore. It was just find. It wasn't even Sam anymore. It was just Sam's body.

Dean crumpled on the ground, curled up, calling Cas's name out in his head. He couldn't say it out loud, his voice was just going to scream if he opened his mouth. So he thought as hard as he could at Cas.

Cas, it's Dean. I need...pause. Dean couldn't find it in himself to say you. He couldn't find anything in himself right now, except the murderer of one of the greatest, most self-less things that had happened to this planet. Need...in the bunker. P-Please. Just...just come. Cas. Dean's own thoughts even got choked up in his head. His own thoughts were crying too, somehow.

Everything was crying and nothing was putting out the smoke.

 

Cas had driven to Kansas the second he heard Dean's prayer. Which was the second Dean cast it. He considered just zapping there, but he realized, kind of desperately, that his wings were still broken. So he'd take a car like a normal person. Well, that is, until it decided to just stop working. Cas tried pushing it to go with a bit of mojo, but it was stubborn and Dean had sounded desperate. So Cas just sighed and left his find on the side of the road, walking the rest of the way to the bunker instead. He was fairly sure the only reason why he could do that was because he'd been there before. From what he could determine, by the feel of the place and the wards, was that the once-invited were considered the safe ones, kind of fit into a bubble of always-invited. So, Abaddon couldn't get in with a sledgehammer and coordinates, but Cas could just zap there if he wanted. (And well, if his wings were working.) Which, based on the fact that Dean's prayer was the first he'd gotten since he'd been an angel again, going to see him was something Cas definitely wanted.

When his feet touched down on the bunker's solid library floor, Cas walked quietly just in case he was disturbing anything. But when he stepped into the room, Dean was standing right there, packing weapons into his duffle bag, which was propped on the table. He was alone, but it was actually Dean and he'd asked Cas to be here. He'd asked Cas to be here, and that felt so monumental. Especially with the way things were between them right now, with the number of times in the past few months that Dean had told Cas to Leave that Cas Wasn't Welcome and Couldn't Stay.

"Dean," Cas greeted, more of a I am here now than a hello, but a word of concern most of all. Dean's shoulders were stiffer than they should have been, he looked a little messy around his jaw, like he hadn't shaved that morning. Even in Purgatory, with their lives being chased after on nearly an hourly basis, Dean had still found time to shave every day. It felt like a major clue, like something Cas should be paying attention to because something was wrong.

"Cas," Dean greeted back as he looked up. His greeting even less of a greeting than Cas's was. His eyes looked like Hell, except that is wasn't actual hellfire Cas saw in the green and black. No, instead his eyes were shiny. Too shiny, like there were tears in them that Dean hadn't let fall. It might not have been Hell in his head right now but it looked like it was wearing on him just as badly.

Worse, was the way Dean spoke. The fake smile that his mouth attempted at, face creasing and the smile looking more twisted and broken than like a smile at all. He spoke, sounding reminiscent like he was trying to hold on to the little things, be as happy as he didn't feel right now.

"Now, look at you, all suited up and back in the game." Dean complimented, that plastered concern and vague fake happiness on his features. It was much more disconcerting than it was soft or sweet or complimentary. The water in his eyes counteracted the smile, made it kind of sickening more than happy. Dean was acting...off. Worse than off. But Cas looked down at his clothes anyways, feeling like his new trenchcoat really shouldn't be mattering right now. It felt more than a little petty, like a distraction, and he touched it hesitantly, in confusion. Not sure why Dean would bring it up when there were clearly much bigger things on his mind right now.

"I, um..." Cas looked back up and Dean had continued his packing, shoving things in his bag with lots of clanking and a little violence. "I came as soon as you called. I wa--"

He froze. Cas was going to say a thing about wanting to drive here, but his eyes had caught on to something and his surprise ran away with the words on his tongue. He'd come as soon as Dean had called, but apparently not before the storm. There was a broken lamp on the floor. Glass lightbulbs shattered, cord disoriented and sadly limp on the wooden panels. The chairs were knocked over, a few of them cracked at the seams.

Cas's eyes took in the rest of the room, the mess of strewn books and papers on the ground on the other side of the table. It appeared as though a minor tornado had hit, like this room had been the target of some force of mass distraction. It took a few seconds before Cas got it, before he connected what the natural disaster could have been that had done this. Dean's tight shoulders, the way he was radiating violence. And a hundred other emotions, all of them twisted and dark and negative. Something was very very wrong.

"Dean, what happened? What's wrong?" Cas inquired, his worry and concern for Dean slipping through his voice and probably shouting like a neon sign. Cas wasn't going to lock it away, it looked like Dean could use somehow who cared about him right now.

Dean's hands froze from his packing and he braced them on the table like the solid wood under his palm was the only solid thing he still had to hold him up. But he had Cas too.

The green eyes turned on him, the mask melting to expose Dean's raw, flayed emotions. He looked more broken than Cas had ever seen him before, maybe save the year when Sam was in the pit. Goodness, the hits just never seemed to stop coming.

"Cas," Dean's voice grated, cracking on the word like he might cry. Cas's wings shuddered against his back, flapped once like he wanted to just fly to Dean's side, curl Dean in his arms, and wrap the burned and nearly featherless wings around them both, protecting Dean from whatever this was in a cocoon of safety.

He walked though, instead. Because he didn't have the option to fly. Dean needed something more human right now, anyways, Cas could tell that. So he took hesitant steps forward, having to consciously fold his wings down again. Once he'd reached the edge of the table, Cas hesitated, unsure what his boundaries should be. He didn't know if they were still fighting, if Dean hated him, or if whatever this new disaster was had overridden that. So he paused and curled his fingers into a fist to keep from reaching his hand out to Dean's arm. Sometimes Dean couldn't stand to be touched.

Dean let out a shaky breath and lowered himself down in a chair, propping his elbows on the table and covering his face with his hands. Cas pulled out the chair across from him, sitting down too. A few moments passed before Cas absolutely had to do something.

Tentative fingers curved over the top of Dean's forearm, sliding back and forth a bit in an attempt to soothe. Dean breathed in another painful sounding breath, then dropped his forearms and hands back to the table, looking up at Cas. Cas retreated his fingers in time to not get squished against the table.

"It's Sammy," Dean said, eyes flicking up to the sky. Cas had already figured as much. Sam was the only thing that every really broke Dean this badly. But Cas has a feeling it wasn't a relationship break up or anything. This felt much bigger than that. Besides, Dean and Sam would probably never break up for the rest of eternity. They were too interconnected.

As Dean relayed the story though, it turned out that it wasn't just Sam this time, it was Kevin Tran too. Cas knew both of the Winchester boys cared deeply for the young prophet. He was part of their misfit family, had even gone so far as to live with them. Unlike Cas. Cas who had been kicked out over and over.

Then the words finally came that told him why.

He didn't interrupt. Cas couldn't say anything right now, Dean was having trouble enough talking without Cas interrupting him. So he just sat and listened and absorbed, his heart breaking a little more with every time Dean had to stop and look down, suck in air and try to calm himself so he could talk without crying. He didn't, he didn't cry, and Cas really wished he would. It might be healthier if he did. Especially if he had someone to hold him through it.

Cas wasn't here as a love interest. He wasn't here because he loved Dean, not that kind of love anyways. He was here as Dean's best friend, and when he reached across the table to take Dean's hand in his, he meant it with every ounce of friendship and kindness he had in his body. Dean flinched away from Cas's touch at first, surprised. He lifted his hand entirely away from Cas's, wiping at his eyes with the back of a hand (a little pointless because no tears had fallen). But then he put his hand back down on the table, curled up in a fist. Cas tried again, slower this time, just gently touching two fingers to the back of Dean's hand this time. Dean breathed out shakily with his mouth in an O, tried to get his lungs to work again.

He was torn between a mix of dry-crying and pissed, body shaking with rage for parts of the story and trembling with invisible tears at other times. Cas extended his fingers out further, carefully, wrapping Dean's fist up in his hand. Dean didn't shake him off this time. He stared at their hands, stared at the comfort Cas was trying to give him, and kept talking. Numb, monotone for some parts.

When he got to the part about the angel possessing Sam killing Kevin, Dean got choked up again and took his hand back, placing it over his mouth instead. He got a grip again, but he didn't let Cas touch him after that. It was in his eyes Cas realized it. He knew why Dean took his hand back and it made Cas's insides churn uncomfortably. He almost had the urge to quote something he'd told Dean once. You don't think you deserve to be saved. Except this time, Dean didn't think he deserved to be loved. Touched. Forgiven. He was too guilty for any of that. According to him.

It was terrifying and unhealthy and Cas wished there was something he could do. If it was possible to die from an overload of guilt, Dean would be the one to test that theory and prove it right. Unfortunately it wasn't Cas's place to push Dean past that. He wished Dean would let him be that person, let him be the one to hold him and take Dean past that edge.

What Castiel would give to be Dean Winchester's savior again.

But the role wasn't open, not for anyone really. Let alone the one thing Dean was never sure about. Cas got why Dean was willing to sacrifice their friendship to save Sam, that he understood. But if Dean had told him the reason, maybe they could have stopped this mess earlier. If Dean had just trusted him...

But Cas was the wild card in a game Dean didn't want to play. Not anymore. It was too complicated, too much, so that's why Cas was here as a friend. As the best friend, if he was still allowed that title. It was the only title he needed so long as Dean was beside him. Now though, Dean had replaced Cas's hand on his with his own, long fingers Cas wasn't allowed to touch draped over the back of the other hand Cas wasn't allowed to touch. The position of his hands was so obviously a don't symbol he might as well have written the word on his palms. Cas had his own hands clasped together on the table now, available if Dean wanted to stop shouting at him to not touch. Well, not literally shouting, just body language. Dean's body language was louder than Cas had ever heard Dean scream. He looked like a positive wreck and his eyes were elsewhere, his voice sounding wrecked and his emotions even more so.

"Sammy was dying. What was I supposed to do?" The question might have been rhetorical but it was the first time Dean had actually asked a question, had a pause long enough for Cas to speak. So he asked a question of his own, clarified.

"You let an angel possess him?" Cas said, his voice quiet and sad. It was such a hopeless situation.

"He said it was the only way, and I believed him." Dean's eyes broke away, tearing up again. He looked so so lost. So much sadder than Cas could remember seeing him before. So much more guilt this time mixed in with the sadness. It was bad, and Cas hadn't even had the chance yet to ask when this all happened. Based on the timeline, Dean could've waited as long as week after Kevin's death before he prayed to Cas. Cas really really hoped it hadn't been that long. "Now Sam's gone. Kevin's..."

Dean trailed off, hand up in exasperation, extreme emotion that he couldn't even portray with words. Cas was finally an angel again and he'd never felt more useless.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Cas offered in true sincerity, not sure if there was anything else he even could say at this point.

"Yeah, well..." Dean looked off to the side, his mouth curved up in a humourless sadistic smile. Then he was standing up, hands having to lift his weight out of the chair as his eyes threatened at tears again. "Sorry don't pay the bills, does it?"

Cas watched worriedly as Dean took a few steps away from the table, his back in Cas's view. His shoulders were still too tense and his voice wasn't any better than the first time he called out Cas's name in desperation. "It sure as hell ain't gonna bring Kevin back. We got to find that son of a bitch."

Dean's voice turned to steel, which was more than concerning. He'd much rather Dean be shaky with his words, then at least he wasn't hiding anything. But the killer cold tone? This...This was horrible. Cas tried to keep his voice steady though, somebody had to the calm one in this situation.

"Dean. If the angel possessing Sam isn't Ezekiel, then who is it?" Cas's words were careful, but his eyes were on Dean's shoulderblades the whole time. He was working too hard to breathe, his body still rising and falling like each suck of oxygen was deliberate and forced. Like if he stopped focusing and trying, his lungs would give up and he'd stop breathing all together. Then he turned around, and for a moment Castiel was transported into the past.

The first time he'd seen Dean, in hell. Dean had had a sort of curved machete-knife crossbred in his palm, was carving it into some poor screaming girl who Cas wouldn't have known was even human if he couldn't see the trashed shape of her soul. Her body had been so grotesquely disfigured...but Cas had flown closer anyway, had swooped in down to the weapon-wielding creature, this once-man that had shattered the first seal of the apocalypse. Just before Cas reached him and grabbed Dean's arm, Dean had turned around, and the look on his face had been the most terrifying, steely thing Cas had seen in his entire life.

The look on Dean's face wasn't that intense now, it had just vaguely reminded Cas of it. This version of Dean was much less bloody, much less demented, and much much much more guilty and broken and sad. But his eyes were nearly the same, excluding the hellfire of course. Determined and dangerous and deadly to anything that dare get in his way.

"A dead man walking." Dean flat-toned with those eyes, with that dangerous certainty. And it was his face that made Cas realize in an instant how serious Dean was with that statement. He was going to kill that angel. Period. But wait, not just kill, Cas knew that look better than that.

"What, you're gonna destroy him?" Cas intoned. He had meant that word choice, too. Because that's exactly the kind of word choice Dean had on his face right now. He wasn't going to just kill that angel, he would destroy him until he was nothing left. Destroy, like Dean used to in hell.

"Damn right," Dean said back, just as deadly, just as serious. As much as Cas would love to shrink away from that look, he ignored his internal warning system that told him to expand his wings and bolt out of the extreme danger in front of him. Instead he kept his eyes locked on Dean's, because Dean wasn't going to hurt him. Dean wouldn't. Hopefully.

"You kill an angel, its vessel dies, too." Cas reminded him, steadily and just as serious in his tone as Dean was. Dean raised his eyebrows, slowly walked back to the table, closer to Cas.

"Think I don't know that?" He held Cas's gaze, eyes saying everything his mouth hadn't. Cas had to look away. What Dean was implying... "If I don't end Sam and that halo burns him out and I..."

He stopped. He couldn't say anything else and Cas just felt awful. He wanted to help, all he wanted to do was help, but there was nothing. If Dean had told him earlier, if Dean had trusted Cas, Cas might have been able to fix this. But it had been a risk to Sam to tell Cas and that's the one thing that Cas knew Dean would never ever ever do. Dean wouldn't risk his brother, but now he'd basically lost his brother because of it.

And if Dean was willing to kill Sam...if it had gotten to that point? Dean was just shaking his head, sadistic curved up mouth again that Cas couldn't call a smile. The tears that had been a possibility before were an imminent threat now, clinging to the edges of Dean's bottom eyelashes as he looked off in the distance. Cas's eyes weren't leaving Dean's, he wasn't going to look away, as much as it hurt him to see Dean like this. As much as it hurt Cas to see Dean so broken and torn, it was hurting Dean so much more.

"God, I was so damn stupid." Dean breathed out, looking down at the table again. No. No, Cas couldn't take that anymore, he couldn't let Dean add another layer of guilt on top of everything that was already crushing him. Another layer and Dean wouldn't be able to stand on his feet anymore, he was already so weighed down. Castiel wasn't going to let the righteous man destroy himself, too.

"You were stupid for the right reasons." His words were stern and serious. He was on his feet now, standing to prove a point, to get this in Dean's head. Dean had to get it, he had to. This was about Sam, and saving his brother, and Cas understood the idea of needing to save someone almost nearly as much as Dean did.

"Yeah, like that matters," Dean just scoffed in response, fingers curling into tighter fists on the back of the chair's smooth surface. He was blinking rapidly, trying to stop the tears, face turned away from Cas.

Dean would run forever if someone let him. He'd run from help and he'd embrace the guilt instead, lock anything good so deep inside himself that only the rotted parts were left. But not on Cas's watch, he wasn't. Screw Dean's "I need space" syndrome right now. It was time he stow the crap about not being worthy of being comforted - even if he never said it - because this wasn't all of Dean's damn fault.

"It does." Cas walked around the end of the table, Dean's eyes on him curiously for a bit before his head dropped away again in shame. Cas kept advancing, closing the physical distance between them in hopes of destroying the mental block too. "Sometimes that's all that matters."

Dean's body shuddered but he didn't look up at Cas. His hope was leaving, if not long gone, but there was never a time that something good was so far out of reach that hope was impossible. After all of the things Castiel had seen Dean do, all of the hopeless situations that the Winchesters somehow came out on top? This moment was not going to be their downfall. Not if Cas had anything to say about it. And since Dean called him, Cas finally did.

He'd like to step closer, but this distance would work for now. At least there wasn't a big wooden table between them now, just a few feet of air.

"Listen to me. Sam is strong. If he knew an angel was possessing him, he could fight. He could cast the angel out." Cas stood perfectly still out of habit, which made Dean's dipped head motion seem even more exaggerated. He looked nearly drunk, he was so out of it, so terribly lost. Like it wasn't even worth trying to keep his head up anymore, just swayed it to the side to look at Cas before turning his face away again. Then the words seemed to sink in, and Dean straightened up, slow, not getting any closer to Cas.

"Maybe. But as far as I know, he's in the dark." Okay, so they just needed to find some sort of light to get to him. "I don't know how we clue him in," Dean said, sounding hopeless again. Clue...wait, there was something there. That just might...it was something to be hopeful, in the least.

"Do you remember Alfie?" Cas asked, crossing his arms absentmindedly over his chest.

"The kid angel? Yeah. Why?"

"Before he died, he told me the demons were able to dig into his mind, access his coding. We might be able to do that here. Might be able to -- to bypass the angel and talk directly to Sam." Dean just looked skeptical.

"And you think that would work?"

"I don't know, but I think we should try."

The only problem was, Cas remembered exactly who was behind that torturing. And while he was still handy, he was the king of unreliable sources. Well, the King of Hell, technically. But the king of backstabbing lies too.

Of course, Crowley succeeds in making Dean only guiltier. With that comment about how he'd told Kevin to run, to get away from Dean because he'd die if he'd stay? No wonder Cas hated Crowley. Which is why he couldn't believe Dean considered working with him, giving Crowley what he wanted.

"You can't be considering this," Cas hissed, walking up close so that he was inside Dean's bubble of space. Where they used to talk, but was apparently reserved only for private, whispering conversations now.

"With the chains on, he can't do anything," Dean replied tiredly. They were standing close enough that Cas had to tilt his chin up to look at Dean, Dean had to lower his head down a bit. It was an intimate distance, intended to force Dean into thinking clearly without having to actually touch him. Which Cas was not above, if it came down to it.

"It's Crowley. He can always do something." Cas's logic was unbeatable, and he could see Dean admitting that to himself in his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, up close and personal and debating with their expressions like how they used to. Until Crowley, of course, decided to interrupt the one moment Cas might be getting through to Dean.

"Looks like we need a tiebreaker," the annoying British accent drawled out. "Go get moose, squirrel."

The words hit Dean's face like a tidal wave and Cas looked down, gathering all of his will not to destroy Crowley in this moment. Dean's mask of stubborn toughness slipped, his guilt shining through at Sam's nickname. At the mention of Sam. Castiel had never hated Crowley more than in that moment. And then it just got worse, the knife just twisted in deeper.

"Unless... Unless, of course, you can't. That's why you're here, isn't it?" Dean had looked back at Cas, their eyes locked on each other. Cas was sending Dean any bit of courage he could muster, sending him as many it's going to be alright's through his eyes as Cas had in him. Dean stayed, frozen, close, looking at Cas. It was a moment that if Cas's wings were in better shape, they'd be looped out and wrapped around them both, even if Dean didn't know. Because it felt that way anyways, it felt like Cas was holding Dean right now, despite the foot of space between them. Besides, Crowley could see his wings and Cas would never live that down. And Dean didn't need the added drama on top of everything else, Crowley was already doing more than enough damage. "The poor giant baby's in trouble again, isn't he?"

Dean broke at that. And Cas didn't blame him.

"Are you done?" Dean asked, turning on his heel and taking a few menacing steps towards Crowley. The bubble of safety Cas had held Dean in broke, the possibility of sanity shattering along with it. Cas was so glad he was not on the other side of Dean's glare right now, and if Crowley were the king of any other kingdom he'd be withering in terror and begging freedom. But he knew demons because he ruled Hell, so Crowley didn't even flinch at the deadly stance.

"Depends. Do we have a deal?" Crowley asked instead.

"Yeah."

Great.

~*~*~

It was eating Dean alive. The worst part was how much it didn't show...sure, he'd been all upset at first, but now he was just vaguely pissy and emotionless other than that. He snapped at them both to sit in the back - which was hell, literally - because obviously, shotgun was Sam's seat. Then he proceeded to yell at both of them every time Crowley was being annoying and terrible, which was basically the entire ride over.

The demon kept asking about Sam too, where he was, what had happened, and Dean just ignored him at first. Eventually he slammed the brakes, jolting them both forwards and nearly giving Crowley whiplash.

"Ow! Wow, you are touchy. What was that for?" The annoying British voice annoyingly asked. Cas was pretty sure Crowley was the most annoying thing he'd ever been annoyed by.

"For being a dick," Dean replied harshly, pressing on the gas pedal again. Crowley just mumbled and gave directions for the rest of the ride, thankfully.

And finally he left to go meet with his agent, leaving Dean and Cas alone on the pristine white bench. They'd had Crowley between them a few moments ago, for protection and safety, but now that he was walking away there was a big empty space between them.

A very big very empty space.

But Cas wasn't going to be the one to scoot over. He'd like to. Just the thought of having Dean's shoulder pressed up to his, outsides of knees touching, soaking up warmth and comfort from each other's bodies...and it'd probably help Dean, too. He could definitely use a friend right now, some minute sense of comfort in the terrible direction his life had taken.

But if Cas was the one who scooted over and plastered his body next to Dean's, then Dean might take it wrong. The last thing they needed right now was for Dean to think Cas was "hitting on him" or trying to get in between him and Sam. That would only cause so many more worries and troubles in Dean's life and Dean had more than his share already.

So Cas didn't move, just sat in silence, trying not to glance at Dean. And only failing every forty seconds or so.

"Hear anything?" Dean finally asked, not sounding particularly hopeful. Which was great because there was nothing to be hopeful about. Cas would've mentioned it earlier, but he was being very cautious of how much bad news Dean had to take on right now.

"No. The room Crowley's in has been warded." Cas said regretfully, glancing at Dean. Dean turned his gaze away quickly, like he'd been staring at Cas for a while. Cas had thought he felt the weight of Dean's eyes on him, but he refused to think about it. It probably didn't mean anything anyways.

Just because Dean was looking at him - might have been looking at him - didn't mean anything. He could have simply been observing Cas's features. In a very non-romantic friend-like sort of way. And the fact that he flushed red and turned away when Cas looked at him didn't mean anything either. Especially not embarrassment. Cas was just reading too much into Dean's emotions right now, when Dean was too tumultuous to really mean it anyways. That is, if the body language did signal something, which it didn't.

"Awesome. That's friggin' awesome." Dean turned his head in the opposite direction, staring at the wall like it had personally offended him.

Cas just wanted to help. If Dean didn't keep his emotions and feelings locked down so hermetically, then it wouldn't be so hard to know what to do. But Cas was lost, he had no idea what Dean wanted. He was supposed to be powerful now but he just felt useless. Cas just didn't have any idea how to help.

Well, that is, until they actually caught up with the angel possessing Sam.

Then Cas got to help a lot.

Dean went in for a lunge - against an angel? - and of course, got swept across the room and into a bookcase. His beautiful head rolled to the side, eyes closed and body rendered useless in his unconsciousness. But at least his pretty features were distraction enough for the angel to let down its guard, just for the moment it took for Cas to get behind him. Too late, Sam's head whipped around to see Cas with his fist already raised.

Sam collapsed down to the floor with the swing, instantly crumpling from the force of it and knocked unconscious. If Cas smirked just a little after drawing his fist back, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he finally had an excuse to punch Sam. Because Cas really did like Sam, Sam was his friend, but there was a tiny little part of him that had wanted to do that since the moment he'd met Dean's infatuating brother. Mostly because Dean was so infatuated with him.

Dean's pretty green eyes started to flutter open and Cas crouched down beside him, placing a gentle palm on Dean's face. Dean turned into the hand automatically, his cheek sliding and scraping across Cas's palm from his stubble. Then his eyes opened up all the way and Dean was pushing away from Cas, sliding out of Cas's reach before sitting up. He looked everywhere but at Cas, eyes darting and heart pounding so loud Cas could hear it from here.

Then his eyes lit on Sam's passed out body, stretched across the floor with a slightly purpling bruise on half of his face.

"Nice," Dean commented, and it might have been a compliment if it weren't so dry and emotionless. Cas just nodded, offering a hand for Dean to get up. Dean looked at the outstretched invitation, eyeing it like it was a threat instead. Finally he sighed, taking ahold of Cas's hand and hauling himself to his feet. Then he was looking down at Sam's body, frozen but unyielding.

"Can you carry him?" Dean looked up at Cas, like he didn't want his eyes to be on Sam any longer than they had to. The question wasn't a request, it was a legitimate question on whether Sam was too heavy or not. It'd be much nicer if Dean had intoned it like he was asking Cas to lift Sam instead of asking if he could - Cas was pretty sure Dean knew the answer to that - but Cas sighed and nodded anyways.

Hoisting Sam over his shoulder was actually the least grueling task of the day thus far, at least it meant they had the angel in possession now. And it also meant that he didn't have to look at Dean when he was pissed and falling apart and pretending he was fine.

And as if things couldn't have been weirder, Cas didn't know the person he had draped over his shoulder. He wasn't going to mention it to Dean unless Dean asked, which he didn't. Cas would have asked if it was his brother. Although it kinda was Cas's brother, just not one Cas had ever seen before. Which felt nearly impossible. Cas had a lot of siblings, but he also had been alive a lot of years to meet them all.

Even when Sam's eyes finally blinked open, Cas still couldn't identify the angel any better. Sometimes seeing their eyes helped, gave that last clue, but there was nothing there.

They'd driven to an abandoned warehouse, not too terribly far from the bunker. They'd stopped at the bunker on the way here, so Dean could round up some more supplies from the dungeon. The inside of this warehouse was nothing like the inside of the bunker's dungeon though. For one thing, it was huge.

They were in the basement of the building, accessible by two sets of metal stairs. The one they'd came down wrapped around to a dimmly lit cove, like a mini room that was masked over with shadows. Flickering old green lights lit the next few feet of the basement, where the cove opened up into a hallway, an ornate brick arch separating the path to the stairs from the clearing part of the room. There were grates on the floor and metal cabinets and a few tools lying around, metal chairs stacked at one end. Dean had grabbed two, sliding them with a terribly highpitched grating sound to the center of the cleared space, just below the dirty, fogged window that barely let in any light. The windows were a ground level, shapes and silhouettes of trees viewable outside.

The mystery angel was sitting in one chair now, blinking open his eyes and looking around with what little movement he had in the head restraint. Cas didn't know Sam as well as Dean did, but that face definitely looked very upset. Even though it wasn't Sam. He struggled against his bonds once, grunting as he realized he was quite stuck.

Dean circled around him, his emotionlessness making him look even scarier than if he had been trying to be intimidating.

"Welcome to the party, pal." Dean kept walking, right up to Cas's side. Cas wasn't going to read too much into it. He was just glad Dean wasn't avoiding him like the plague.

His gaze was still fixed on the angel, looking at him like he was a fascinating artifact instead of the murderer of Kevin and the thief of Dean's lover's body. Cas found himself thinking for the second time that day how glad he was not to be on the other end of that gaze. "Cas, how we lookin'?"

"Most of Sam's internal burns have healed. I should be able to fix the rest." Maybe, if Dean had let him know earlier, they could have avoided this whole mess. But everyone in their group of friends had trust issues with each other. Understandable, everybody had betrayed each other at one point. Now, this strange, unrecognizable angel was to join the list of untrustables. Which reminded Cas something he definitely wanted to say to this creature. "What's your name? I thought I knew every angel in heaven, but I've never seen you."

"Why would I tell you anything?" The angel glared, hardly looking like it was Sam's body at all. Dean took a step towards Sam's chair, then another, his head dipped down and his voice low and scary and this was just a difficult situation to be in because Cas didn't really know how to help him out.

"Well, I don't give a damn who you are." There was a pause while they stared at each other. Cas wondered if it was strange for Dean, to look at something he hated so much inside the thing he loved so much. It had to be mentally scaring, to say the least. But it didn't stop him from using his general voice, barking words at the angel that couldn't be anything but an order. "You need to get out -- now."

"And if I don't?" The angel challenged steely, tilting his head up to Dean's. Sudden the proximity put a strange tension in the air between them. The distance and the angle from their faces was charged, electricity and anger through the air. The angel in Sam was being defiant, but it was smart too. Dean was bending down close enough to stir up memories, and surely if an angel was in Sam, then it had to know the relationship between Sam and Dean.

And it was using it. Sam's eyes flicked down to Dean's lips, just for one moment, barely perceptable, but enough to make something twist sickenly in Cas's stomach. Dean was frozen, his shoulders tense, but Cas couldn't see his face. The angel probably hated Dean, wasn't the least bit...interested in him. But it knew Dean and Sam's relationship and it was using its vessel to get inside Dean's head. Dean looked at the angel and he couldn't see it physically like Cas could, he could only see Sam. Who was dangerously close and looking at Dean with a charged enough look to confuse Dean's mind a lot. Dean was supposed to hate this thing, but when it was using Dean's automatic responsiveness to want to kiss Sam in this position, it definitely held the upper hand. Cas decided in that moment that this angel had to die.

Thankfully, before it got any worse from Dean or the angel somehow managed to get Dean to actually kiss him or something, Crowley interrupted with his snarky British accent. Cas wasn't sure if Crowley had seen the subtle glance and the way Dean had tensed up like someone about to shoot off a bottle rocket, but his words cut in fast enough to make Cas think maybe he had.

"Then you and I will have a lovely little playdate," Crowley smirked. The words seem to get to some part of Dean's brain and he looked back at Crowley, taking a step further away from Sam's body. Thankfully. If Crowley had noticed the sudden tension after all, why was he protecting Dean? Why was he helping him off that path? There had to be some sort of ulterior motive there, because Crowley was no where near a good enough person to want to save Dean the pain.

"Even bound, I can rip this body apart. Tell them, Castiel." The angel looked up at him, ignoring Dean now that Dean was out of his body. Cas wasn't going to say anything, let alone the fact that Sam's body could be mutilated and destroyed in seconds. Or worse, slowly tortured and flayed. Not exactly the kind of helping Cas wanted to do.

"You do, you die." Dean glared instead. The angel surveyed him for a moment, eyes scanning over Dean's face again. Would it be acceptable for Cas to punch and knockout out the angel a second time?

"You want this to end?" Silence had fallen again but this one felt more dangerous than tense. Like they were all waiting for words no one wanted to hear. Cas was just waiting for Dean to snap, waiting for him to loose that terrifying composure. Because the moment he did, Cas would be there and Cas would haul him off, kicking and screaming if he had to. Finally the low words came, eyes locked tight on Dean's. "Go ahead. Put a blade through your brother's heart."

The physical response from Dean was subtle, just a twitch of his shoulders. That was not good. That was really really not good. Dean had this all locked down so tight, it was going to explode. There had to be some way for him to bleed out the tension before that, Cas had to think of something that might help Dean ease out the frustration and hurt and anger before it all blew up. Dean needed a distraction, and some way to heal. Cas kept his eyes on Dean, worriedly preparing for the moment he would have to step in. There was no way Dean wasn't soaking this all up like a blood-splattered sponge. Just waiting for the burst. Worriedly, anxiously, waiting.

"If it makes you feel better, I have Sam locked away in a dream." Dean straightened up a little, moving like a robot. No, not like a robot. Like a military operative. "As far as he knows, the two of you are working a case right now -- something with ghouls and cheerleaders."

The last bit hit Dean hard, harder than it should have. Maybe because it was sensitive? Maybe because it was something Dean couldn't be mad about. Maybe because it made this angel a little less evil, because it was taking care of Sam. Maybe the idea of it taking care of Sam destroyed Dean even more than it possessing Sam. From the way he turned away, eyes not even seeing Cas, just looking through him and at the walls and at the ground and anything besides the bodies in here, he was clearly shaken up.

"Why are you doing this, huh?" The words were shaky, like Dean was on the verge of breaking. Then he turned back, and the sight of Sam changed the tone again, changed it to offended and angry and safer for Dean's wall of internal protection than the shaky ones were. "We fought together. And I trusted you. I thought you were one of the good guys!"

"I am doing what I have to do," the angel replied. Cas was fairly sure he sensed regret. Maybe Dean wasn't so far off on his original guess of the angel's side, but after the way it was acting earlier, using Sam's body to get to Dean and muddle his head even more? After killing Kevin and making Dean cry? It didn't get a chance to redeem itself after that.

Dean did a double take at the words. He leaned back and looked at the angel, eyes flicking down Sam's body. Evaluation, maybe, out of habit. That's what Cas hoped it was. Because if the angel in Sam's head got through to Dean on a romantic or a sexual level, they weren't going to be able to do this. The plans they had for extracting the information wasn't going to work if Dean couldn't go through with this. There was a moment's hesitation where everything was quiet and Cas feared Dean was about to back out.

Their eyes were locked in perfect stillness on each other. Cas had seen Dean look at Sam a thousand times, had seen the same affection and passion returned in Sam's eyes. Now it was so one-sided, mixed in with rage and guilt and a hundred other emotions. Then the words finally came, quiet and deadly and emotionless other than that.

"Well, so am I." Dean kept the stare and the angel squinted up at him, unsure. Dean had to look away then, his face pained like he couldn't take even the idea of what they were about to do. Even though this angel was evil, a murderer, this was still a difficult decision for Dean. He cared about Sam that deeply that he couldn't even stand the idea of just his body getting hurt. Sam would never even feel the pain, if the angel wasn't lying about having Sam tucked away inside his own mind.

Dean turned away from Sam, nodding slightly to Crowley. Crowley stood from his chair, his chains rattling as he reached for a needle that was larger than any needle Cas had seen before. Dean was standing a ways back now, near Castiel but not close enough for Cas to reach out and wrap his hand around Dean's arm, steady him like Dean needed him to. No, Dean was toughing this out on his own.

Crowley leaned in, needle lining up at Sam's temple. "So am I."

He slid the needle into Sam's skin, shoving it into his brain. A scream ripped out of Sam's throat, guttural and nearly not human. Just human enough to still sound like Sam, though. Crowley wiggled the end of the needle, moving it around inside Sam's head. The screams wrenched louder, more pained, gurgling when he tried to breathe.

Dean's face was hardened but he still looked like he was in extreme pain. Cas kept observing his every move, watching Dean lift his arm and look at his watch. It was just something to distract Dean, Dean probably hadn't even registered the time on the screen. But he did it anyway, and Cas wasn't going to stop him. Wasn't going to reach out and touch him, because he didn't have permission and there really wasn't a need for complications right now.

The torture went on for a long time. Dean paced. He paced back and forth from the window to the opposite wall, looking at his watch. Cas stood and watched Dean pace for a while. Then he paced from Crowley's chair to the arch, finger worrying at his bottom lip. Cas sat on the edge of some random metal structure then, because watching Dean's graceful hands rub over his pretty mouth was a little much, even for him. The screaming didn't stop. And it all sounded like Sam. There was blood too, dripping from where the needles were shoved inside Sam's skull.

Crowley didn't seem to mind the task at all. He wasn't overly enthusiastic, and he wasn't stone cold emotionless either. Just seemed to put needles in Sam's brain just as easily as Dean would wash his car. Which Dean did a lot, actually.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Dean did stop pacing. He leaned against one of the cabinets, arms crossed over his chest and eyes cast down at the ground. He was closer to Sam's body now than he had been pacing, so maybe that's why he finally looked up at one of the screams. Cas had been watching the ground, but the movement of Dean's head had made him look up too. He watched Dean as Dean watched Sam, eyes only on the angel for a few seconds before he was looking up to the sky. Cas wasn't sure, but it looked like the reflections of the light shone extra bright in Dean's eyes, like they were reflecting off water. Or tears.

Then Dean was moving, brushing past Cas quickly. He was walking fast, with a purpose, almost near jogging as he headed away from the room. Cas glanced over at Crowley and Sam, turning his head to look at Dean, who was still retreating, shoulders hunched up high and head down as he stalked away. They probably shouldn't leave Crowley alone with this angel, he'd strike a damn deal knowing him, but Cas would rather trust Crowley with Sam's body than he would trust Dean alone right now.

Dean should not be alone. It was an understatement to say he was having a hard time dealing with this. Cas wasn't going to let Dean be alone.

He followed after Dean's hurried footsteps, the darkness of the hallway setting in over him. It was extremely shadowed back here, the corridor basically pitch black around them. Dean was standing at the end of it, right in front of the one source of light: a window with a slow-moving fan spinning in front of the light and cutting it into dancing fractions. It was an interesting contrast, walking briskly down the black corridor to the lit up man at the end of the shadows. Dean was hunched over, and his face might be in his hands, Cas couldn't tell from this far.

"Hey," Cas greeted, not cheerily as much as concerned. Dean lifted his head and turned a little at the word, his hands coming down from his face and clasping together. The mental image of Dean facing a wall, face buried in his hands, was just a little too much. Heartbreaking in a way that felt maybe more painful than being told Cas Couldn't Stay.

"I can't watch that anymore." Dean confessed, his voice sounding like smoke on gravel as his hands dropped down to his sides. He looked so apologetic, so ashamed of the fact that he had to leave. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but Cas didn't think Dean would listen to him if he said that. Dean sucked in a breath, fighting desperately to not break down in tears. His body heaved with the effort of it, eyes cast away from Cas as if that would make Cas not notice how much pain he was in. Clearly, he was trying so hard not to let that wall fall down. So Cas said the closest thing he could to don't be ashamed that wouldn't make it all worse.

"I understand. It's not Sam, but... It's still Sam." Dean shifted his weight, body ending up just a little closer to Cas's. They weren't standing as close as they had in the dungeon, but they weren't as far apart as Dean had been keeping them lately. Cas had to clench his hands in fists to keep from reaching out and touching Dean.

"Pretty much, yeah," Dean's voice broke, cracking over the words like his body was going to cry anyways, permission from him or not. He pursed his lips at the break, his head turning to check on Crowley and Sam in the distance. Cas followed his gaze for just a moment, then he was looking back at Dean, trying to gauge his reactions so he could respond right. He wasn't exactly prepared for the next question, though. "How are you doing?"

"You want to talk about me now?" He didn't even bother trying to hide his surprise. Sam was in there, and this was the moment Dean wanted to focus on Cas? But then Dean's face cracked and this was that moment Cas had been trying to prevent, he could see Dean break right before the words slipped out of his mouth.

"I want to talk about anything that's not a demon-" Dean's finger pointed overexaggeratedly, then his voice lost it, tears soaking through and words shaky and upset and just a tiny glimpse at how broken up Dean really was right now. "- sticking needles into my brother's b-brain."

He turned away to the window, stepping up to it like the outside world could swallow him up and take him away from here. There was silence, long enough for Cas to almost cave and step up behind Dean, wrap his arms around Dean's middle and kiss his shoulder and murmur to him that it was all going to be okay. He'd let Dean hang his head, gasping in a breath, before finally turning around in the circle of Cas's arms, returning the embrace and finally letting it all out, releasing all the pent up tears onto Cas's shoulder, his face tucked safe in the crook of Cas's neck.

Cas almost did it, too. It would be so healthy for Dean, to let it all go like that. But Dean's next words interrupted him before he could gather the courage and actually be helpful for once.

"Yeah, humor me, man. How you doing?" Dean looked up to the sky again after he said it, still facing away from Cas. The way Dean was breathing too heavy suggested that maybe he was actually crying now, just a few tears slipping down his cheeks. If he wasn't, he was so close to crying he might as well be. If Dean would just let Cas hold him.

"Uh... I'm okay," Cas replied instead. Dean nodded, just a little, still looking out the window. It was like he was having such a hard time keeping his hermetic grip on this thing. But he didn't need to, Cas just wanted to scream at him to let it all go, cry it out, punch something. Punch Cas, if it made him feel better. But breaking bones in his hand probably wouldn't help anything.

It wasn't fair, Cas could fix physical injuries all he wanted. But Dean would kill Cas at even the suggestion of taking Dean's mental pain away. Cas wasn't even sure if he could, he'd never tried to before. But if he'd ever wanted to go against Dean's wishes for free will before, it was now. If he didn't love Dean so much he'd hold him down and zap his brain clean, zap him to be okay and not care so deeply and not hold it all inside. Or at least to cry

"Good. Good," Dean turned his head, his shoulders following with. Then he stepped a little closer to Cas, closing up to a little more familiar distance. "That's, uh... So, what, you just change the batteries out, power back up? It's that easy?"

Cas cast his eyes away. He didn't like this conversation, and he didn't like what he'd had to do. It had been horrible and it felt awful and the new angel grace still felt a little sickening inside him, like he'd stolen candy from a baby and now the candy was rotting in his stomach with the reminder of what a horrible person he was. True, he'd had to fight for it, it wasn't anywhere near as easy as taking candy from a baby. But maybe the fact that the angel who he'd destroyed had wanted so bad just to be good was even worse.

But Cas would talk about whatever Dean wanted to talk about if it made Dean feel even a smidgen better.

"It wasn't easy, but I didn't have a choice." He looked back at Dean, because he could brave through something as insignificant as guilt for a fallen brother he'd destroyed when Dean was going through hell currently and keeping a lid tight on the whole thing.

"Yeah. Well, that's usually how it goes." Dean walked closer again, his footsteps slow and deliberate, placing each one with his eyes before his leg. He took his last step right up to Cas, his chest only a foot away as the green eyes turned to face him. Dean was looking down and Cas tilted his chin up, eyes on Dean's bright ones, bright with tears instead of the shining joy that felt so rare nowadays. Cas's heart was pounding out of his chest but he kept his mouth shut and focused on keeping his gaze off of Dean's trembling bottom lip.

"Cas..." He ached out, sounding desperate. His eyes scanned the floor, Cas's trenchcoat, then flew up to meet his again. "I'm sorry."

It was a rough and serious sounding apology, nothing like the weak words he'd had earlier. But Cas didn't know what in the world Dean could be apologizing for.

"About what?"

"Kickin' you out of the bunker. That's, uh..." not what I wanted, Cas's head unhelpfully filled in. Dean didn't finish though, so it wasn't like Cas could erase the words he wanted for the truth. Because Dean wasn't going to elaborate on that. Which was fine. Dean was apologizing and that was more than Cas could ever ask for. "You know, not telling you about Sam."

"You thought his life was at stake," Cas pointed out, because it wasn't an excuse. It was the reason, and that was why Cas forgave Dean for it already. But hearing Dean say it still touched some part inside of Cas that Cas really wished he didn't have. That weak spot for Dean that ached so badly for the beautiful tall man standing in front of him.

"Yeah, I got played." Dean's eyebrows furrowed and he met Cas's eyes again.

"I thought I was saving Heaven." Cas tilted his head in acknowledgement, in a quick symbol of the irony of it all. They just had a history of getting played. "I got played, too."

Dean leaned in a little closer, a weak smile playing at his mouth. Cas just wanted to make that smile wider, wanted to make Dean smile forever.

"So you're sayin' we're both a couple of dumbasses?"

Cas smiled back just slightly, enough to return Dean's but not enough to break the serenity they might have just found. A light-hearted moment, in the middle of all this. It was what Dean needed, what they both did. "I prefer the word "trusting." Less dumb. Less ass."

Dean raised his eyebrows and looked down again, the corner of his mouth curling up just a bit. Then his head lifted up, lips parting to speak.

"And, uh. Thanks for...you know. Being here." Dean cleared his throat and looked down again. Okay, that was it. Dean didn't get to be sorry for Cas being here. Not about that. They were friends, goddammit, and Dean had every right to ask this of Cas, to ask a thousand things more.

Cas stepped forward, closing that last foot of distance in between them. There was only an inch between their chests now and Dean must have seen Cas's feet move forward because when he lifted his head again slightly, his eyes were wide. Before Dean could back away or protest or go back to living in that hole of desperation, Cas brought his hand up to Dean's face, palm resting on Dean's cheek again.

"Don't you ever feel like you are dragging me somewhere I don't want to be. Okay?" Cas held Dean's gaze, forcing Dean to look at him. Dean's eyes flitted back and forth between Cas's right and his left, looking desperate as hell.

He'd been deprived of even the slightest touch, there was no one there to hold him when one of his closest friends had been smited, when the body of his brother disappeared, when he had to stand by and watch as one of their greatest enemies stabbed Sam's brain with long, thick needles, when he'd had to listen to the sound of his brother's blood-curdling screams. Dean had had no one touch him or hold him for any of it and it wasn't okay. Humans had to have a hug at some point or they went crazy.

Cas had been watching Dean's every move since the second he'd landed in the bunker's library, but he didn't see this one coming. He wouldn't have seen it coming if there had been a big neon sign with flashing lights and a catchy theme song.

Dean's mouth was on his. His lips were touching Cas's, wet as he slid his bottom lip into Cas's mouth. The puffy bottom lip was still trembling just slightly, drawn in at the corners to pucker nestled in Cas's mouth. The only reason Cas's brain was even able to register the whole thing was the electric shock of tingles that shot down his spine. Dean was kissing him. Dean Winchester. Was kissing him.

There were a hundred different things that Cas could do in response to this but only a few that were probably anything resembling a good idea. One that was definitely not in that category of good ideas was the part of Cas that itched to grab Dean's waist and use his angel strength to slam Dean into the nearest wall, shoving his hands through Dean's hair as he stood on his tiptoes and kissed the hell out of that mouth that was just clinging to his - still and unmoving - right now.

Okay, good idea options: 1) Pull away and tell Dean no, like the incident after the ice cream date. After all, the love of Dean's life was going through hell right now, they should at least be considerate to that. 2) Pull away and tell Dean no because as much as Cas loved kissing Dean, all Dean needed right now was a distraction and Cas should think of himself as better than some doll to be used when Dean was sad about Sam. But Cas was so so okay with being used if it was Dean doing the using. As sad as that was. 3) Let Dean had some minor form of comfort in his miserable life and not pull away, but break off when Dean needed oxygen and don't let it happen a second time. 4) Kiss Dean until Dean had a reason not to breathe that didn't include crying. 5) Kiss Dean back until he finally lets go of his walls and cries so Cas can hold him.

Okay, some of those may not be as good as other options.

It didn't help that when Cas had first seen the cove they were currently in, the first thing his brain had thought was how great of a makeout spot that might be. It wasn't even like he'd been specifically thinking of Dean (not entirely), just the observation of the way the light hit the place, how secluded but still available it was to the rest of the basement. So yes, now that Dean's lips were the burning pressure trapping Cas's top lip, the memory vaguely crossed Cas's mind again. And it wasn't going to make the decision-making any easier.

Dean's lips were just barely salty, like he had been crying at some point and had wiped the tear-tracks away. Cas's eyes were shut, which made the sensation of Dean's mouth on his even stronger. Even though they weren't moving, just overlapping lips that felt too wet and salty and crushed together and on fire with the pressure and the sparks and the spinning sensation in Cas's head. His brain chose that moment to remember that his hand was still cupping Dean's scratchy cheek, that he had Dean's face in his hand the same time that Dean's mouth was on his.

Cas had to make a decision, now.

Dean was kissing him and that could either be so good or so bad, it could either ruin them or have a chance at saving Dean. Cas could either fuck up any chance he had at keeping Dean and Sam's friendship, or this could be his one opportunity. Right now could be the one chance he had been waiting for, looking for, all day. Cas could help. If he got Dean to open up his heart when he opened up his mouth to Cas's, if he got Dean to finally let someone hold him while he cried, he could save Dean the self-destruction that was going to come later otherwise.

It was just that Dean was so guilty about letting this happen to Sam and if he didn't vent that out now, or soon, he might never. And if they got Sam back, who knows what that guilt would do to Dean? This could be Cas's chance to help him, to save him. Cas had a chance to save Dean again.

Maybe. If it worked. It was a risk. Was it worth it? Would it be worth it?

Turns out, Cas would never got to know.

"Laverne! Shirley! Get in here!" Crowley's rough voice shouted from the other room. Dean's mouth was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. Cas blinked his eyes open in time to see Dean already rushing into the next room. It was something about Sam, obviously, so Cas tried not to let the sting get to him that much. He rushed after Dean, heart pounding in his throat with fear. He had no idea what that had just been and it wasn't like he could ask now.

Cas didn't know who Laverne and Shirley were (although when he looked it up later he found out they were just roommates, not lovers thankfully) but he kind of hated them. His eyes didn't leave Dean's shoulderblades - he couldn't read him and it was terribly nervewracking - until Crowley's voice spoke up again, a distraction from the current situation thankfully.

"Pinhead's out cold, but watch this." Crowley moved to touch one of the needles and Cas automatically shouldered his way in front of Dean. It may not be much, but it was the minute bit of protection that Cas could offer. It was a gesture, at least. Although if Dean ran forward and Cas needed to knock him over with his wing, he totally was not above that.

Crowley tugged and moved two of the needles in Sam's left temple. Sam's head was still lolled to the side and his eyes were closed, but he sucked in a breath anyways, Enochian spilling out of his mouth.

"Zir noco iad Gadreel. Zir noco iad Gadreel." Gadreel? The angel's name was Gadreel. .

"What's he saying?" Dean asked, the heat of his eyes on Cas's skin. Cas didn't look at him, he was too busy staring at the abomination before him.

"His name. Gadreel." Cas knew that name, how did he know that name? The story. It was from the story of The Beginning. Sam was possessed by that angel? He was possessed by Gadreel?

"Does that mean something to you?" Dean asked again. Dean was standing close, very close, and his eyes weren't leaving Cas's face, but Cas somehow couldn't register that. He didn't even notice, he was too busy staring. He barely even heard Dean's words, but he did and he answered them, slowly as he still tried to process the entire thing.

"Well, it's why I've never seen him. He's been imprisoned since the dawn of time." Cas finally turned his face back to Dean, so Dean got the gravity of his next words. His next, accusatory words about who this angel was. The things this angel had done. Cas didn't even want to identify it as an angel, it was too evil for that. "Gadreel was the sentry who allowed Lucifer into the garden."

"My, my. A celebrity." Crowley interjected, sounding impressed. The shock and numbness was starting to fade from Cas's body. This was Gadreel. The angel who had destroyed everything. Not just Kevin Tran and Sam and Dean, this angel had destroyed everything.

"Wait, the garden? Like eden? Adam and Eve? Fig-leaves garden?" Dean asked. Cas's jaw ticked, looking at this thing. The reason Dean was in so much pain, the reason Dean had been in so much pain since the beginning of his existence was because of this creature. This angel was the one that had destroyed Dean Winchester's life. This angel had destroyed everyone's life. This angel had destroyed God's most beautiful creations, had given them all the opportunity for evil. He'd been the reason Cas's father had disappeared. He'd been the reason for Lucifer, for everything.

"It's his fault -- all of it. The corruption of man, demons, hell. God left because of him. The archangels --" Cas had to pause, his blood was boiling in his veins. He shot a look at Dean, to make sure Dean was hearing this. This next part was about Dean, and Dean was staring at Sam's body, but he whipped his attention back to Cas at the next words. "--The apocalypse."

Cas didn't even realize he was moving forwards until Gadreel was suddenly closer in view, everything sparking red hot. The edges of Cas's vision were on fire with rage, with the realization of who this was. What he'd done. "If he hadn't been so weak, none of it would have happened."

This bastard had gotten away with it too, he'd escaped. He was out and in front of Cas right now and just lying there passed out. Cas wanted him awake, wanted to watch the terror in his eyes as Cas destroyed him. He shook the angel's shoulders, shook it like a rag doll because Cas wanted to watch that fire burn inside him. It was the least this angel deserved, this angel deserved to be destroyed beyond measure.

"You ruined the universe, you damn son of a bitch!" Cas shouted at it, shaking hard. Then involuntary tingles shot through Cas's body again and Dean spun Cas back around, hands holding onto Cas's shoulders steadily. Cas tried spinning away but Dean's hands were a firm, impossible grip on him and his face was only inches away. Dean held him tightly and forced Cas to look at him, didn't give Cas any option but to look at the perfectly sculpted features.

"Cas! Cas! Hey!" Dean's voice jogged at the fire in Cas's veins, the hand on his shoulder sinking soothing coolness from it, spreading calm through Cas's upper arm. Cas didn't want to be calm, he wanted to rip the grace from that terrible bastard. But Dean was holding him steady, forcing calmness through his body and Cas couldn't just--

"Dean, he --" Cas started. If Dean understood, surely he'd let Cas destroy him.

"I get it." Dean interrupted, face sincere and comforting. Now Dean was trying to comfort Cas. Cas's words froze after the quick interruption and he just stared at Dean, looked at the green eyes and soft mouth. They were right here, in this position again, and Dean had kissed him last time. Cas had a feeling Dean might have kissed him again if Crowley wasn't there. But Crowley was there, so Dean just rubbed his thumb comfortingly against Cas's shoulder. "But you got to chill."

It was a request as much as it was a demand. And a reminder. Gadreel may be evil, extremely terribly evil, but he was still in Sam's body. And Cas could see that written all over Dean's features. Dean was asking him to cool it, asking him to calm down for Sam's sake. Well, for Dean's sake so he didn't lose Sam. And unfortunately, there still wasn't anything Cas wouldn't do for Dean.

Especially when Dean's hands were on him.

That wasn't fucking fair. Dean couldn't use him like that. Dean couldn't just use the fact that Cas was in love with him to get Cas to do whatever Dean wanted. This was Cas's family they were talking about too. Cas's life. His entire universe. This ran so much deeper than Dean could ever understand. Gadreel wasn't just something Cas could blow off and chill about. And Dean knew that, so Dean used Cas's love to twist him. It was sickening.

Dean had probably used him earlier too, kissed Cas to use him. Cas had considered it at the time, and he hadn't cared. Now, staring at Dean, he cared. A lot. Cas was in love with him, how could Dean do that?

He snapped his shoulder out of reach of Dean's hands, angrily and violently. Dean looked shocked, both of his hands going up defensively. There was a flicker of confusion and fear in his eyes and Cas found himself almost glad it was there. Dean didn't respect him, not as a friend, not as someone who was in love with him, and never as someone who could smite Dean to dust if he wanted to. Cas had never wanted to, but just a few seconds of that respect was nice. Even if Dean was looking at Cas now like he didn't even know him. Dean looked concerned though, concerned to hell. Like he wanted to help, make Cas feel better.

Cas wasn't going to feel better, the angel of corruption was free from his prison. And Dean was waving Cas's love around like a banner and stomping all over it.

Because there was no way in hell Dean didn't know Cas was in love with him. If he honestly didn't think Cas was, maybe Cas shouldn't be so pissed. But Dean knew, right? He had to know. Cas shouldered his way past Dean, past the thrown up hands of surrender and the worried look. He propped his shoulder against the archway, facing away from Dean and this whole mess. Cas didn't want to deal with it.

"Cas--" Dean's started after him.

"Don't." Cas replied steely, still not turning his head. He heard the bootprints following behind him and Cas spun back around. He wasn't going to let Dean grab his shoulders and turn him again. Dean stopped a foot away, eyes on the ground. "What?" Cas demanded.

"Look, I just- it's Sam in there, okay? I mean, I know this is important to you too, I know that. But we can figure all that out later, okay? Let's just get Sam off the chopping block first, okay? Please?" Dean's eyes were looking at Cas so desperately. Cas had promised himself he wasn't going to let the whole more-than-friends thing get in the way today. He'd promised himself that. But then Dean had gone and kissed him and that had all gone to hell, Cas had let all of the emotions back in and...he couldn't let that happen. Dean needed a friend, even more than Cas needed to kill that son of a bitch.

Cas sighed, worrying the toe of his shoe into the ground. He hated how easily he broke when it came to Dean. But this time it was out of friendship. Not that that made the breaking feel any less weak.

"Yeah, I know. Okay," Cas sighed, lifting himself back up off the wall. Dean went to slide his shoulder up next to Cas's while the walked, but Cas took a big step forward just before Dean could touch him, walking briskly back to the room and standing off to the side. Dean followed, shoulders deflated, and leaned up against a metal cabinet. Cas could be here for Dean as a friend but he wasn't going to let Dean touch him and confuse him all over.

It was all too damn complicated right now. The kiss, Sam, Gadreel, everything. It was too much and for once, Cas was actually fine with Dean's usual methods of coping. They could ignore the kiss. Cas would happily ignore the kiss. For now. Until they figured the rest of this out and justice was served. Then Cas could ask him about it and they could figure it all out.

But until this was fixed, the kiss didn't happen. That simple.

If only everything was that simple. When it turns out the probing wasn't going to bring Sam back, there was a plan B. An impossible plan B that had Cas possessing Sam. Which Cas would happily have done, except that he didn't have permission to get inside Sam's head. So, of course, the plan C was offered.

Cas had no idea how Dean even considered it as a plan.

"Don't be daft. Demons can take what they want. I can burrow into that rat's nest of a head. I can wake Sam up. Just call me plan "C."" Crowley smirked, offering a grin. That wasn't. Dean couldn't. That was Crowley the King of Hell and the most lying, evil bastard in this room, save Gadreel.

"You can't --" Cas started.

"You got a better idea?" Dean snapped at him. No, Cas didn't, but if they thought hard enough maybe they could find one. Dean wasn't patient though, they'd been down here for hours and Sam was still trapped. Cas had known Dean was desperate, but this desperate?

Cas watched quietly as Dean worked out the details with the demon. The demon, key word there. Demon automatically meant evil. And he was trusting Crowley to go in Sam's head? In the brain of Dean's most precious and loved thing. Trusting Crowley. Finally Dean turned to Cas again, barking out an order.

"Cas, burn off Sam's tattoo."

"Dean," Cas tried to reason. The order made the whole thing so real. Dean was actually going to go through with this if Cas didn't stop him.

"Do it." Dean barked, his face tight with pain. Cas wasn't going to deny him, he knew that. Dean asked him and Cas wasn't going to say no. Dean wouldn't have asked if he wasn't entirely sure. "Do it."

Cas walked over to Gadreel, each step feeling like a death sentence and a mistake. He shouldn't be doing this.

He moved aside Sam's shirt collar, revealing the pentagram tattoo. The one that matched the tattoo inked over Dean's heart. Cas distantly wondered if it held any serious symbolism for them, besides the obvious warding. They'd gotten matching tattoos over their hearts, after all. He wondered if it meant anything more as he pressed his fingers down, scalding the ink out of Sam's skin. Was it killing Dean to watch this mark removed from his brother? Did this mark mean more than just protection? Maybe it meant possession too.

Gadreel grimaced at the pain but said nothing. Dean's eyes were cast down. Maybe he hadn't watched after all.

"If you mess with Sam, if you try anything --" Dean warned, his eyes of fire on Crowley. Cas should keep a running tally of times he was really glad Dean's glare of evil wasn't turned on him, because this was the third time today he found himself wanting to shrink back and refraining.

"I keep my bargains." Crowley promised, taking a seat back in the metal chair. "Besides, I don't want to be inside your brother any longer than I have to. I'm not one for sloppy seconds."

Cas didn't know a lot about different terminologies, but with the pointed look Crowley just gave Dean, it wasn't hard to figure out what sloppy seconds were.

See, this is why Cas hated Crowley. They were in the middle of trying to rescue Sam's life and Crowley makes a crack at Sam and Dean's relationship. And in a vaguely disgusting sexual way too, of course.

The glare Dean gave Crowley for that was even more evil than the warning one about not messing with Sam. Which was fair, in Cas's opinion.

That's that one line you don't cross, you just don't make fun of the fact that Sam and Dean Winchester are lovers.

You don't.

Not if you want to survive to see another day, anyways.

But Dean was distraught already, and getting Sam back right now was more important than everything. Including destroying Crowley for making jokes about his sexual relationship with Sam. So Dean just glared and let the comment slide, moving on to more important things. Somehow. Cas felt a tinge of pride at Dean's ability to hold it together.

"When you find him, say "Poughkeepsie." It's our go word. It means "drop everything and run."" Dean's voice cracked and he looked down again, worrying and twisting his hands together. He was a wreck but Cas wasn't going to do anything stupid like hug him. He'd tried that whole physical comfort thing. There was no point.

"Fine. While I'm gone, hands off the suit," Crowley's voice grated again. The only plus side of Crowley possessing Sam was that Cas didn't have to listen to that annoying voice for a couple of minutes. The reprieve was the only thing Cas was looking forward to.

"I will destroy you." Gadreel glared at Crowley, the challenge hanging emminent and threatening in the air. Crowley just grinned at him, evil meets evil in a battle in Sam Winchester's brain.

"Eat me."

Crowley's red smoke shot out of his vessel's mouth and rocketed into the sky, swirling down into Sam's mouth, prying it open and forcing inside. It was loud and rushing like a tornado, and then the last bit disappeared and both bodies slumped against the back of their chairs. A sudden silence fell on the room, everything too still and too quiet.

All the action was going on in Sam's head and Dean and Cas were stuck out here, oblivious to it.

Dean paced.

Cas wasn't surprised. He stood in silence and watched Dean cross the room, four times, until he finally crossed in front of Cas, tears in his eyes again and worry clouding his features.

"A demon and an angel walk into my brother. Sounds like a bad joke." Dean may have been trying to be light-hearted but it failed if he was. He kept walking, past Cas, until Cas was just watching his shoulderblades. Maybe Cas shouldn't say it, but Dean had to at least consider it. Someone had to bring it up, before it was too late to make a plan.

"Dean, if this doesn't work..." Cas started hesitantly.

"It'll work." Dean promised emptily to the air in front of him. He wasn't even going to consider the alternative. Cas sighed and looked at the scuffed tips of his shoes. He certainly wasn't going to bring it up again. Whatever Dean said.

Dean was frozen for a little bit, eyes up at the sky. Then head dipped, hand brushing absentmindedly over his bottom lip. Then he started pacing again and Cas resumed watching him. Dean paced for what felt like a really long time.

His pacing eventually brought him around to Cas's side again and Cas looked away, realizing how it was probably very obvious that he'd had his eyes on Dean this entire time.

"Cas?" Dean asked quietly, his voice still sounding wrecked. Cas stared at the wall for a few more seconds before he figured there was no use dodging it. If Dean wanted to talk to him, Cas might as well. He turned his head, looking at Dean out of the corner of his eye and tilting his head in acknowledgement of yes? so Dean could continue whatever his question was.

"About that kiss..."

"Don't worry about it." Cas interjected, eyes turning to face forward instead of Dean. The wall over there was stained with water and chemicals of some sort. Dean waited in silence for a few moments so Cas spoke again, still facing forwards so he didn't have to look at Dean. "You were just upset."

Dean nodded, Cas could tell in his peripherals. He nodded like he was accepting what Cas was saying instead of confirming it, but Cas wasn't going to think about that. So long as they were on the same page now.

The beautiful man turned his shoulders again, like he was going to walk away, when suddenly Sam's head reared back and Gadreel's essence shot out of his mouth, white angelic power leaving Sam's body in a wave of brilliant light.

They both shielded themselves to dodge it, Dean crunching over with a hand in front of his eyes. Cas's wings automatically shot out in front of Dean to make a barrier for him, but the broken and burnt frame just released a few feathers to the ground, doing basically nothing. Cas cursed inwardly and drew his wings back in. He still wasn't used to that.

Red smoke followed quickly, flying out of Sam's mouth and shooting back into Crowley's body. Gadreel's white angelic essence was long gone, having slipped out of the basement and was now probably in another state entirely, off to find some other vessel probably. But no longer in Sam. And neither was Crowley.

Sam's body gasped.

Except this time it had to be Sam.

His head automatically lolled to the side and Cas rushed forward, picking Sam's head up in his hands.

"Sam! Cas?" Dean shouted, running over too.

Cas was pretty sure that just that one shout was the best symbolism of the three of them's relationship. Sam, shouted first and desperate and hopeful, Cas, shouted next, as a question and search for reassurance.

Sam was actually okay. Cas would be shouting too but that was more Dean's reaction type than Sam's. Cas carefully pulled the long needles out of Sam's brain, removing them each gingerly. Dean had rushed over to the other side of the chair, behind Sam, and was watching him with energy thrumming out of his pores, barely able to believe or contain the way he was feeling.

A breathy moan of pain escaped Sam's mouth as Cas drew out another pin. They should have done this earlier, but no one had really thought to. Dean started in on the cuffs on Sam's wrists, unbinding his brother like he'd done it a thousand times. He probably had, in their line of work.

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Crowley said indignantly behind them. Cas didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to the demon. He'd saved Sam, but he was still evil in Cas's head. Dean could thank him if he wanted to. Besides, Sam was much more important right now.

Dean's eyes were on Sam's face now that Sam was looking up and breathing. Dean looked so hopeful it almost broke Cas's heart all over again. The hell Dean had been through with this...

"Sam, are you okay?" Cas asked, the last of the pins withdrawn. Sam looked up at him with his eyebrows crinkled between his eyes, confusion and concern on his face.

"Cas?" Sam tried to clarify. He wasn't dead at least, then. Or blind.

A bright light flashed at the window. Someone was here. Cas instantly went up to the window, checking for visitors. He could hear the sound of Sam's gasping ragged breathing and Dean's quick, rapid heartbeat as he rattled the chains and kept uncuffing Sam.

"It's Abaddon." Cas warned, spinning back around. They seriously never got a break, did they? Seconds after they fix one problem and another one is back on them.

For some reason that Cas didn't care to figure out, Crowley at least volunteered to take this one. Dean was thankfully a little reluctant at first to trust him, but Crowley had just come through with Sam and there wasn't another option here.

So Cas and Dean each took one of Sam's arms, leading him for the back door. Cas would have just put Cas over his shoulder again, but he knew Dean would want to help. And Dean would probably have insisted on carrying Sam all by himself, if it weren't for the fact that they were in a hurry and he wasn't stupid enough to take bravado over brains.

The cold air outside hit like a splash of water to the face, but they got Sam into the backseat of the Impala without too much trouble. Cas wasn't sure if Dean wanted him up front so Sam could rest or in the back again, but Cas took the back anyways, guiding Sam to lean against his shoulder as Dean started the engine, pulling out of the lot instantly.

Cas put his hand on Sam's forehead, closing his eyes as he focused in on the different places in Sam that were still broken and burnt.

The stolen grace inside him gurgled in protest but Cas ignored it, feathering out light doses of soothing cold to counteract the burns inside Sam's body and start healing him.

If he did it all at once, there was the risk of overloading Sam's body or possibly overwhelming the grace inside of Cas. He could already feel his limbs drooping and his body getting a little weaker at having to share something so unstable, but he would save Sam if it meant collapsing unconsious and entirely human again.

But if he went slow enough, he might be able to save them both.

When Cas opened his eyes back up, Dean was watching in the rear view mirror with tight worry lines on his beautiful face. He didn't bother turning his eyes away when Cas looked up, just flitted his gaze back and forth between the two of them.

He might as well just shout this is all my fault because that was exactly the look Dean had on his face right now.

A few moments passed and Sam's eyelids fluttered, blinking awake as he struggled to sit up on his own.

"Dean?" Sam asked immediately, head lifting off Cas's shoulder and turning to him, still a little disoriented.

Dean's gaze shot to them again, hope and pain scribbled all over his face.

"Sammy? I'm right here. I'm right here." Dean said, cursing quietly under his breath after the words. The Impala suddenly swung hard to the right, pulling off the road and onto a thinner, short windy one that opened into a parking lot.

Dean turned the car hard to the left, screeching to a halt and opening up his door before Cas even had time to register. Then Dean's hands were gently pulling Sam out of the backseat, tugging him to stand up on the wet concrete outside.

Cas got out his door, looking around to catalog their surroundings. Dean had pulled into the parking lot of a pier, a lake of some sort stretching glittery and mesmerizing into the horizon. The pier itself was wooden and long, actually quite beautiful. A row of golden lights lit the length of it, buoys with the same twinkling color lighting up a reflection a bit of a distance off in the water.

It was dark, and the clouds overhead were darker. The cloud cover was actually surprisingly thin for being so black, but there were still releasing down a slight drizzle. It was almost unnoticeable at first, but even standing outside for a few seconds started to get the tips of your eyelashes and hair spotted with droplets.

Cas walked swiftly to the other side of the car, where Dean had an arm around Sam's waist and was supporting him walking. Sam could walk decently fine on his own, had even started to say that, but Dean had gotten this tightened, sharp look on his face and just said "let me do this."

Sam had let him.

The three of them walked/hobbled to the pier, the beautiful wood creaking a bit underfoot of the three of them. Dean finally stopped the parade at one point, leaning Sam against the wooden banister rail on the right side of the pier.

He ran his hands roughly down the length of Sam's upper arms, taking a step back and casting his eyes towards Cas.

"There. Now you've got room to heal him." Then Dean was walking a few steps away, to the other side of the dock. Cas watched him carefully for a moment - so did Sam - as Dean gazed out over the water, his hands in tight fists against the wood of the railing.

He stated for a few frozen seconds, then Dean spun on his heel and started pacing, a little ways off. Cas sighed and moved in towards Sam, giving him a sympathetic look. Sam turned the corners of his mouth up in an unconvincing attempt at a reassuring smile.

Cas just reached forward, moving his hand over Sam's temples and forehead. He still hadn't had a chance to heal the deep picture wounds the needless had left, or clean up the blood. He'd spent the car ride over too busy trying to clean up Dam's insides enough for him to be okay.

Sam swayed unsteadily, his body threatening to topple at the dizzying sensation of getting that part of his body back. Or maybe he was still too weak to stand on his own and just hated being fussed over.

"You feel better?" Cas asked worriedly, drawing his hand back away from Sam's head.

"A little, yeah," Sam managed out with a nod and the same amount of failed reassurance as before. So he'd actually meant he didn't feel better much at all.

The rain had picked up, turning from a light drizzle to a more insistent wet pattern, leaving little points of pressure everywhere it hit Cas's body. The coolness of it felt a little soothing on his broken, burnt up wings.

He scanned over Sam's face, trying to get a judge of how okay he actually was. He was definitely going to need more help than just tonight, that was for sure.

"It'll take time to fully heal you. We'll have to do it in stages." Cas said apologetically, but Sam wasn't paying him much attention. He nodded complacently in agreement, but he only had eyes for one thing now.

Sam watched the pattern Dean's boots wore into the wood of the pier, worrying and waiting. Sam still looked too unsteady for Cas to be comfortable, but if he kept leaning against the railing he should probably stay upright. He wasn't taking his eyes off Dean anytime soon, though.

As if on cue, Dean looked over to them, meeting eyes with Sam. He must have felt the weight of Sam's eyes staring at him, following his every move. Dean hesitated for a moment, then started walking slowly back towards them, looking drawn into himself and reserved, worried to all hell.

This was not going to be a very pretty conversation. Cas backed away from the two men, the wood squishing slightly under the rain water and the weight of Cas'a shoes. But they needed some space, so Cas meshed his way through the wet ground and gave them some.

"All right. Let me hear it," Dean was a little tiredly, a little bitterly. He was already condemning himself before Sam even had the chance to.

Cas could probably try not to listen in, but that'd be difficult from this distance even if he was human. So obviously with angel hearing, a few feet and some rain was not going to be enough to block out even the slightest inflection of their conversation. He focused on the water though, the rainwater under foot and the boat with its golden search light in the glittering water surrounding the pier.

"What you do want me to say -- that I'm pissed? Okay. I am. I'm pissed." Sam's voice sounded tired too, like this was all just a lot to take, not even mentioning the physical trauma of it all. Then his voice took a turn for the sadder, sounding disappointed and decripated.

"You lied to me. Again." The again struck Dean right in the chest, like a well aimed punch. Cas could see the sharp intake of breath, the pain that flashed in Dean's eyes.

It was like Dean was being reminded exactly of what had happened the last time he lied to Sam. The rock wall of consequences that had led to. One of which included Sam quite willing to commit suicide by the means of the last trial.

"I didn't have a choice." Dean sounded pitifully desperate, but he was still doing a terrifyingly good job of keeping the lid tight on all the emotions from earlier he'd bottled up. Dean had been a wreck, this was nothing compared to that.

Those words must have hit a soft spot inside Sam because suddenly his voice was clouding up with emotion. Cas wondered how many times Dean had said those exact words to Cas in his lifetime.

"I was ready to die, Dean." Sam's voice cracked and wavered, like the enormity of it all still felt unbelievable. Cas bit his lip and had to look away. Dean's next words came as the biggest non-surprise ever.

"I know. But I wouldn't let you, because that's not in me." The wording was eloquent and could not be truer. Dean didn't have a piece inside him anymore that was willing to let Sam die. At one point, when Sam jumped in the pit, Dean had unsteadily agreed to it. Their relationship was a thousand times closer now though, and Cas knew the part of Dean that could let Sam go was destroyed the first time he'd had to. That part of Dean was long long gone.

"So, what?" Sam knew it too. He knew Dean couldn't let Sam go like that, but he also didn't see Dean's thought process of turning to literally anything to save Sam. "You decide to trick me into being possessed by some --"

Dean's face had turned away and Sam paused talking for a second, leaning in closer to Dean to grab his attention again, force Dean to look back up at him from the proximity. They were so beyond brothers that their communication level had even adapted to their relationship. "-psycho angel?" Sam finished.

"He saved your life," Dean countered, like that excused it all. For Dean, it almost did.

"So what? I was willing to die." His voice sounded nearly as desperate as Dean's, like he was trying so hard and so vehemently to convince Dean of what he kept saying and Dean apparently still wasn't getting. They stared at each other, Dean's jaw ticking in an effort to keep his emotions in. Cas couldn't imagine how hard it was for him to hear Sam say that he'd been willing to die. Cas couldn't imagine. And the thing was, Cas was pretty sure Dean got it, but wasn't willing to accept it. Which was fine, because Sam had other things to use for the logic of why Dean's plan sucked.

"And now... Kevin..." Sam's voice was shaky and full of tears and extremely guilty, almost as guilty as Cas had seen Dean at some stages of today. Cas couldn't see Sam from where he was staring out over the harbour now, but he'd bet Sam was harboring a few tears of his own right now.

"No." Dean interjected strongly. "That is not on you." It was a direct order, solid and unwavering, not giving Sam even the slightest bit of wiggle room on who to blame for Kevin's death. "Kevin's blood is on my hands, and that ain't ever getting clean. I'll burn for that. I will."

He'll burn for that...that was interesting. Did Dean actually think he was destined for Hell? Did the righteous man who saved the world believed he'd only just added another pire to the rack he'd burn on down below? Cas had the ridiculous, overwhelming urge to snort. Dean had to have meant that figuratively, because there was no way Dean thought he was drained for the underworld after all this time...unless he really did think he was going to Hell. Cas knew Dean and Cas knew Hell and Dean would have to undergo an entire transformation into something evil before he even got past the point of being laughed out of the pit at the suggestion for belonging there.

Cas tuned back into the conversation, his mind wanderings not lasting more than a few milliseconds in human time.

"But I'll find Gadreel. And I will end that son of a bitch," Dean continued. Cas was still looking out innocently over the water, hand resting on the guard rail. But Dean's next words had his head perking up, his fist clenching around the wood and splintering it beneath his palm. "But I'll do it alone."

Cas turned, slowly, forcibly releasing his hand from the dented and cracked piece of rail he'd been touching. Dean was still facing Sam, standing close to him but not as close as they usually were. Sam looked just as concerned as Cas did, except there was confusion and tiredness mixed in his expression too.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked, sounding somewhere definitely near hurt or pissed or disbelieving or maybe all three.

"Come on, man. Can't you see?" Dean said, drained and obvious in his tone. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, slowly unclenching purposely. His eyes were downcast for a few seconds before one of his hands was lifting, furthering the emphasis on his next words.

"I'm... I'm poison, Sam."

Poison.

Dean Winchester, the man who saved people - no, more importantly, saved lives - every waking day of his life thought that somehow, he was something evil and wrong.

Dean thought he was poison.

The one thing that was the antidote to everything evil and terrible and nightmarish in this world thought he was poison.

Cas almost interrupted. He almost ran over there and put two fingers to Dean's forehead, shot him back in time through the course of his cursed life to prove to him how much good he had done.

Cas wanted to show Dean all of the children he'd taught things to, the way Ben had grown up to be because of Dean's influence. Ben may not remember Dean, but he remembered the things Dean had taught him. Like how to stick up for himself, how not to lie, how to help people out of terrible situations. Cas knew because Cas kept infrequent tabs on Lisa and Ben. He'd checked up on them a few times a year since he's wiped their minds, mostly to make sure they were still okay. They were, they really were. And Ben lead an incredible life now, helped a ton of other people too. All because of Dean.

And that was just one of the thousands of lives Dean had touched.

One of the thousands. Dean had saved so many, had taught so much. And each of those people had taken away a sense of gratitude and something bigger than themselves. Maybe the beautiful green eyed man who saved me was important, they would think. Maybe it's a sign I need to he more grateful, more helpful, maybe it's time I save lives too.

Dean has inadvertently saved millions.

And that's not counting any of the apocalyptic situations Dean had saved the world from, either.

Anyone who had the opportunity to stand within even the slightest vicinity of Dean Winchester was as good as Saved.

"People get close to me, they get killed...or worse." Dean's next words broke over the chilled, rainy air. Dean was referring how he and Sam had gotten close, Cas knew that, but Dean was seriously blaming part of this on their relationship? He thought that because he was romantically and sexually invested in Sam now, he was poison? Because they'd gotten so much closer on their shared bed, suddenly Sam was in danger?

Cas wanted to fly over there and shake sense into Dean until he couldn't see anything but the truth anymore. Instead he stayed frozen, looking out over the bay. Listening to the righteous man condemn himself to the sentence he no more deserved than Sam did.

"You know, I tell myself that I-I -- I help more people than I hurt. And I tell myself that I'm -- I'm doing it all for the right reasons, and I...I believe that."

Cas mulled that over in his head. Dean had finally found faith in himself. It was significant and huge and Cas had no idea when it had happened.

Dean actually believed in himself about something. Cas had tried to teach him that a hundred times over to no avail. But somewhere along the road, someone had gotten to him. Someone had loved him enough that maybe Dean had started - just a little - to hate himself less.

Cas had wanted more than anything to be that person for Dean. But he knew who it was, who had grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him into the light.

It was the man propped in broken silence against the wooden railing, watching his brother speak with shredded eyes and a trembling bottom lip. The man who'd finally gotten inside that thick skull of Dean's, who's convinced him a least a smidgen of how worthy he was.

Cas had never been more grateful for Sam Winchester in his life than in that moment.

"But I can't -- I won't... Drag anybody through the muck with me. Not anymore." Dean looked pleadingly at his brother, his face twisted in his mixed emotions. The way Sam looked back was just as full of emotions, just as pained and twisted.

Dean meant what he said. He may believe he was doing it for the right reasons - which was more progress than Cas had ever thought he'd see in a lifetime - but he still believed he was poison. He still believed he was a burden, a danger, something vial and toxic that was not to be touched.

It made Cas's internal organs twist and his head feel a little queasy. It was sickening. That was the best way Cas could think to describe what Dean saw in the mirror. Some sick, twisted version of Dean that was so far from the truth it's be funny if Dean didn't actually believe it.

Dean meant what he said, every word of it, but he was waiting for Sam to counteract him at the same time. Dean believed his own condemning sentence, but his heart just longed for Sam to reach out for him, tell him none of it was true, that Sam couldn't physically possibly let Dean go.

Dean needed Sam to tell him he couldn't let Dean walk away. He was begging for it with every ounce of his eyes, of his body.

"Go. I'm not gonna stop you." Sam said instead.

Dean crumpled. His face and his shoulders fell in defeat and he looked down, accepting and broken and nodding quietly like he should have seen it coming. It was over. He surrendered to the pain, taking a step away from Sam with his eyes cast down.

He shot a brief glance in Cas's direction, their eyes barely meeting before Dean was turning away, turning away from Cas and from Sam and from everything he had good in this world.

Whatever Cas had just thought about being grateful for Sam Winchester he was taking back right now.

Okay, not really, Cas understood. He understood that Sam was just as hurt as Dean, hurt at even the implication that Dean wanted to leave. So of course he let Dean go, because having Dean stay and knowing he didn't want to would be a thousand times worse and more painful for everyone.

That didn't mean that watching Dean walk away hurt any less. Sam's face was turned to the ground, watching the puddles of gold tinted rain form as his feet.

"But don't go thinking that's the problem, 'cause it's not." Sam's voice came out of nowhere, loud and harsh enough to come out brutally honest and frankly, extremely intriguing.

Dean must have thought so too, because he froze in his tracks. His body was absolutely still, shoulders tense and high and feet frozen in place. Disbelieving, unsure he'd even heard Sam correctly.

Cas had no idea what Sam was talking about. And apparently, neither did Dean.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean prompted, sounding more worried and terrified than curious.

"Just go." Sam replied.

Dean left. He kept walking, slower now, like his feet didn't want to cooperate. Thunder cracked overhead. Cas stepped a little closer, his eyes trained the same place Sam's were. They watched Dean get in the car, then Sam turned his head away so he didn't have to watch the Impala disappear into the night.

The taillights eventually disappeared even from Cas's point of view.

The rain was cold and what had once just been a light mist now felt heavy and sad, like tears. Tears Sam apparently wasn't going to let himself cry.

The two of them stood on the pier for a little while more, letting the rain come down on them. No one really felt like moving. Not when the whole purpose, the inspiration for getting up every morning and fighting this fight had just walked out on them. All Cas had wanted to do was help and he felt like he'd done nothing.

There was a car in the parking lot, next to the one Dean had parked, and eventually Sam started walking towards it. Cas followed quietly as Sam broke in, holding open the driver's door for Cas. Cas drove back to the bunker in silence, Sam propped against the passenger side window. Cas shot glances over every now and then, to make sure Sam was okay.

Cas got it, he understood Dean's dire need to protect Sam. Sam looked so small and young curled into the passenger seat, his head tilted to the side and his eyes squeezed shut painfully tight. Cas bit his lip and kept driving, the windshield wipers the only sound save the engine. It rained on them all the way to the bunker and that felt like maybe the sky was crying for them too.

He wasn't going to put this car in the bunker's garage, not when it didn't belong there. That and Cas wasn't exactly sure where the entrance for it was and he didn't want to wake Sam until he had to. Sam needed sleep to heal. Not just his physical wounds, either.

Eventually, though, it was either carry Sam inside the bunker or wake him up. Cas contemplated what Dean would do, because Sam didn't have a Dean right now and while Cas was no where near a sufficient replacement, he could at least try to make this easier for Sam. Dean would probably carry Sam in if his physical injuries outweighed his mental ones, but wake him if it was reverse.

Cas shook Sam's arm, speaking softly in case that might help too.

"Sam? We're here." Sam blinked his eyes and groggily sat up, running his fingers through the long hair on his head. He looked disoriented for a moment, and Cas could actually visually see the word Dean? forming on Sam's lips. He seemed to catch himself just before he said it though, shutting his mouth awkwardly before looking around. Recognizing the bunker, Sam sighed and nodded, opening up his door. Cas got out of the car and went to Sam's side, offering to help him. Sam smiled shakily but said he was okay to walk if they went slow.

Cas walked behind Sam down the bunker steps, closing the big metal door behind them so the rain and any unwanted visitors stayed out. There weren't any lights on in here, but Sam flipped a lever at the top of the stairs they were on, lighting up the map table and the computer room. A few other lights went on, then Sam was carefully trudging down the stairs.

Cas followed at a close enough distance that he could reach out and catch Sam, were he to fall. Cas had always considered Sam his friend - well, not always, but for the past couple of years - but he'd never really concerned himself this much with Sam's health. Every time he'd ever helped Sam out had mostly been because Dean asked him to. Dean technically wasn't asking him to do this now, to look out for Sam while Dean was gone. But someone had to, and Sam deserved a good caregiver after everything he'd been through.

He was busy thinking about Dean and where he was right now, if anyone would be taking care of him, so he entirely missed Sam freezing in the middle of the hallways until he almost ran into him. Cas thankfully stopped just in time, avoiding the collision that most definitely would have knocked Sam over.

"Sam?" Cas asked cautiously. Sam didn't reply, just kept staring at whatever he was staring at. Cas crowded against the library table next to him, running his hip into the chair so he could see around Sam's wide shoulders and figure out what Sam was staring at so intensely.

Oh.

The mess was still here. The destroyed books and papers, the shattered glass, the knocked over lamp and broken, turned over chairs. Cas should have thought to clean this up but they'd been quite preoccupied with everything else.

It looked bad, Cas knew. It didn't look half as bad as Dean had, though. Sam hadn't gotten to see that, and for just a moment Cas was very grateful. Sam had enough to deal with. Worrying about Dean probably wouldn't help anything.

"What happened?" Sam finally asked, taking a hesitant step forward, over the top of a shredded journal. Cas watched Sam take in the damage, wincing the same time Sam did. Finally Sam looked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"I got here as fast as I could," Cas said quietly. That seem to hurt even worse, because Sam was looking at the tornado-worthy wreck with even wider eyes now.

His bottom lip trembled again and Sam pursed his lips together, trying to get a grip on himself. His fingers wove into his hair again, one hand still hanging limply by his side as he looked over the room. It all seemed like too much, like Sam couldn't handle this on top of everything right now. Cas wondered if Sam had ever seen Dean do something this...serious before. There was a lot of anger in this room, little remnants left behind. There was a shattered phone off to one side too, a dent in the wall where it must have hit.

"How bad was he?" Sam whispered, looking at Cas with watery eyes. Cas looked away.

He'd messed this up enough times to know that he should probably ask first.

"Do you want me to lie?" Cas offered, remembering that sometimes that was easier. Sometimes that's what people wanted. But Sam just bit his lip and shook his head no. He wanted the truth.

"Bad." Cas confessed, hands rubbing at the lapels on his trenchcoat. The material felt foreign in his hands, rougher than his old one. "I don't think he even called me until the worst of it was over. He hadn't slept, or eaten...he. He was grieving, Sam. Confused."

Sam nodded, looking down at his feet. His eyes shot to the side then, probably because the mess he was standing in was too much to look at.

Cas hadn't exactly been planning on telling Sam, but Sam had a right to know as Dean's soulmate. And if Cas was ever going to confess, now was probably the perfect time. He briefly entertained the idea of what Dean would want him to do, but he decided Dean had made his choice when he crossed that parking lot and left them both standing in the pouring rain.

"He was out of his mind. Looking for reprieve in anything he could and...h-he kissed me." Cas's voice was quiet but Sam heard him anyways, lifting his head up to look at Cas with surprised eyes. He'd expected anger or betrayal or sadness, but it was just surprise in the hazel and black. Cas took a step closer, needing to elaborate and get Sam to understand what had happened. "It didn't mean anything to him, I know that. He just needed a distraction."

Cas didn't mean to sound hurt, but Sam was fairly intuitive. It was Sam's turn to take a step closer, his eyes looking more apologetic than pissed.

"I'm sorry." Sam said, like he was trying to comfort Cas for some reason. Cas cocked his head, confused. Sam took a breath and looked at the wall, eyes cataloging the dent too. "I know how you feel about him."

There was silence for a moment. Cas briefly wondered how human beings as pure and good as Sam Winchester existed when Gadreel had let evil and corruption into man's hearts. Eventually, Cas sighed and looked over at Sam with a shared sense of camaraderie. The two of them had quite a bit in common, the most obvious connection in the man they both loved so helplessly.

"Yes, well. I also know how he feels about you." Cas reminded gently. He may love Dean but that meant he wanted the best for Dean. Which was absolutely Sam. Sam just huffed a bitter laugh though, toeing at a knocked over chair with his foot.

"I don't, sometimes." Sam stared at the chair, like he was imagining the way Dean would have wrapped his hands around it to throw it and break it so. His eyes were tearing up, and a single tear slipped past his defenses as he looked up at Cas, lips trembling again. His words were barely more than a whisper. "The whole time, it was all a lie."

"Sam," Cas scolded harshly, stepping up so that he was only a few feet away, forcing Sam's eyes back on him instead of the wreck of Dean around them. Sam looked surprised again, like he didn't know Cas could even raise his voice like that. "Dean lied about the angel possessing you, not about anything else."

Sam snorted and looked away. No, Cas wasn't going to watch this crumble apart too. He wasn't going to watch his two best friends convince themselves out of love with each other. He reached forward and grabbed Sam's forearm, snapping Sam's attention back to him. Sam's eyes were searching, curious, confused. He didn't get why Cas was doing this, which was fine, so long as he listened.

"Dean didn't lie about how much he loves you. He didn't lie about what you mean to him. He didn't lie about wanting a home with you or wanting to spend the rest of his life by your side. He wasn't lying in that church, and he wasn't lying when he carved Sowilo into your hand." Cas grabbed Sam's wrist, lifting it up for emphasis. The red latin rune seemed to glow a little brighter as Sam stared at him with wide eyes.

"How did you know about that?" Sam whispered, turning his hand over to stare at the back of it, shaking his head in misunderstanding when he didn't see anything. Cas released his grip on Sam's wrist, letting his hand fall back down to his side.

"You can't see the Enochian symbols on your ribs. You can't see my wings or my true face. And you can't see the mark Dean left on you...but that doesn't mean its not there." It was an exclusive form of sight, like the way demons and angels can see behind the mask of a vessel. They may not have tattooed their hands or carved the symbol into flesh, but it was still a powerful, powerful mark.

Invisible to Sam and Dean both, but Cas had noticed the two letters on Dean's hand immediately. The time and manner in which they had traced it onto each other had been very significant. The determined symbols of claiming each other, the sort of promise that doesn't go away. There was always a chance the marks would fade, like Cas's handprint on Dean's bicep had. But for now, the marks had been forged strong enough and deep enough to last quite some time.

"Does he...?" Sam asked quietly, still looking at the back of his hand, like if he looked hard enough he could see the mark. That wasn't exactly how that worked. But Cas nodded, drawing Sam's attention back up to him.

"Wunjo and Ihwaz. Yes, he does."

Sam sucked in a shaky breath, tracing a finger exactly over where the symbol was. Sam might not be able to see it but Cas would bet Sam could feel it if he focused enough. But he looked like he was about to start bawling, which is something Cas would really like to avoid right now.

The bunker felt like Dean, the mess was just a big shouting reminder of the pain Dean was in. They all were in. And with the kiss and the realization that they both still had their marks, it was all weighing down on Sam like a huge raincloud that threatened to crush him into nothing. Cas reached out his hand again, placing it gently on the muscles of Sam's upper arm.

"Let's get you some sleep. The rest we can handle in the morning." Cas spoke as soft and convincing as he could, already carefully guiding Sam out of the library. Sam obliged, letting Cas push him out of the mess. Then Sam gently shrugged Cas's hand off with a wavering, fake smile and a slight nod. Cas took a step back, letting Sam walk on his own if he wanted to.

But he still followed Sam from a few feet back, just in case Sam fell. He'd give him all the space he needed as soon as Sam was safe in bed.

Cas was actually paying attention this time to Sam walking, so when Sam took a few steps inside a doorway and froze again, Cas was ready. He peered past Sam, trying to figure out what the problem was this time.

It wasn't a wreck in here, nothing looked broken or out of place. It just looked like a regular bedroom to Cas. But Sam looked like he'd seen a ghost. Well, not a ghost, Sam probably wouldn't mind if he saw a ghost. He just looked suddenly shaky and pale.

Sam started to backpedal and it was a good thing Cas had quick reflexes, so he was back out in the hallway and out of the way pretty quickly. He didn't get what was wrong with that bedroom, it was the first one Sam automatically walked to. He'd strolled inside like he had a thousand times, like it was the most familiar and comfortable room Sam had ever been into. If it was Sam's automatic first choice, then why didn't he sleep there? He clearly had before, if it was the first place he walked.

Unless...oh.

That was Dean's bedroom. Of course. Sam had accidentally walked into Dean's bedroom because he always slept with Dean anyways, and...oh. Oh poor Sam. Cas made a sound of pity as Sam started back down the hallway, walking slow and carefully. Like he was trying so hard not to think about Dean. Cas just wanted to tell Sam it was all going to be okay, Dean was going to come back.

But Cas couldn't be sure of that, so he just followed Sam solemnly to his room. It was empty and cold in here, but it felt oddly fitting. Sam didn't seem to notice the temperature or the lack of home-ness on the walls, just headed straight for the bed. Cas stood in the doorway as Sam toed off his boots, shedding his jacket and jeans too. Then he crawled under the covers, shivering, and Cas shut off the lightswitch. He moved to close the door, but a rustling off the sheets made him pause. Sam sat up, looking at Cas in the darkness. Cas waited in the silence for Sam to say whatever was on his mind. Finally he sighed, clenching fists in the scratchy looking sheets in front of him.

"Thank you, Cas." Sam said quietly. Cas just nodded.

Sam didn't have to thank him. Sam was his friend and it was the least Cas could do.

"Goodnight, Sam."

And he closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Dragonfli:
> 
> "I knew this was going to hurt. Great job on a gut wrenching chapter!"


	23. Chauvinistic (First Born 09x11)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: random thoughts about suicide, but not actually contemplating it. Just the curious thinking type, like wondering what would happen in the event of your own death.

Walking away had tasted bitter like acid in his mouth. The rain had been heavy and wet and mocking of the tears he refused to cry. It had been fair punishment, and when Dean gasped awake in the middle of the night, he had a few seconds of displacement where he was in that parking lot again, walking away from Sam.

Tentative fingers came up to brush over his cheeks, the pads dampening with what Dean had originally taken to be rain. But there was a roof over his head - albeit, a shitty spiderweb cracked one - and the only rain on Dean's face had leaked out of his own eyes.

He wasn't in that parking lot anymore, he wasn't anywhere near the state of Kansas. Or Sam. The motel he was shacked up in was a place Sam would have complained about. Dean wouldn't even have pulled in to the dismal parking spaces if Sam had been in the car with him. It was cheap though, and that was just one of the many benefits of not having to tow around a huge, finicky morally correct man that always insisted they stay somewhere decent. Dean was more of a clean freak than Sam was but he had decided not to care about the damp walls and stained sink.

Poison didn't deserve better than this anyways.

A gasp caught in his throat, turning ragged and sharp into something he could choke on. Dean wasn't going to think about Sam. He wasn't. His eyes shut tight in the darkness, all black and red spots against the back of his own eyelids. If he closed his eyes long enough maybe it'd all go away. Maybe if he closed his eyes long enough he'd sink into the scratchy bedspread and dissipate into nothing.

But with his eyes closed, everything else just felt harsher. Dean wished he could shut off all his senses and just go numb because when he tried shutting off one, the rest got louder and clearer and more obnoxious and it was terrible. With his eyes closed, Dean had no choice but to listen to the pounding in his ears, the loud sound of his heart beating too wildly in his chest. It was supposed to be pumping blood but it felt like the atrioventricular valve had just closed for good, getting everything backed up in his system until all his blood would be unoxygenated and useless like the way his lungs felt. If Dean could ever be so lucky.

It wasn't the only thing that was screaming at him in his body. His jawline itched vaguely, the two day scruff starting to shadow his face a bit. In a few more days he'd be unrecognizable in the mirror. It was just as well, then at least Dean would have a face to blame for all this. A face that had never been kissed and stroked and memorized by the Thing Dean Wasn't Thinking About. Those hazel eyed would deem the new face as unfamiliar too, and that felt even more important than Dean having someone fresh to hate when he looked in the mirror.

There was a dull ache in his muscles and the threat of weak limbs hanging over his head. His body was tired, like it'd given up even before Dean's mind did. Crying wouldn't make his sad state of strength any better, either. He felt sore and worn down and older than he was, even though he hadn't cried that much yet, just the tears he'd woken up to tonight and the single tear that had rolled down his face as he rolled out of the parking lot. But he hadn't let it all go, hadn't really cried.

Not since he'd finally categorized the sickening, thin liquid pumping through his veins. It was vile and as disgustingly green as the red-rimmed eyes that looked back at him in the mirror.

The red flush on his face was more from fatigue and exhaustion than tears. Dean didn't cry as he drove, he just listened detachedly as the radio hummed out The Unforgiven and Whiskey in the Jar. He wasn't even in it for James Hetfield's voice like he usually was, just for the pounding kicks of the guitar and drums that were loud enough to feel like the punches to the gut he deserved.

It probably should have been some beautiful metaphor that Dean could see the world around him clearer with closed eyes but it just felt sickening. There was so much to categorize, so much to catalog in his shriveled brain in the darkness. The smell of the thick air, the sharp kick of something strong and unpleasantly potent wafting over the damp smell of the motel room. Dean recognized the smell faintly and some part of his brain kicked in gear. He finally moved after lying like a corpse this whole time.

He reached out a blind hand, eyes still closed, fumbling for something cold and circular on the nightstand. His fingers closed around the target, then he was hauling the bottle closer to him. He'd spill it all if he tried to drink lying down, not to mention choke and die. Which he wasn't that opposed to, except that his dad would kick his ass on the other side for leaving the car in this ghetto ass motel's parking lot for so long.

Well, there were other reasons too, but Dean wasn't going to think about them. Not any of them pertaining to a real sense of depth and motivation to live.

Instead he gripped the bottle tight, not sitting up quite yet, and let the backs of his eyelids play out all the worthless, petty reasons to not off himself by choking on whiskey in a too hard, scratchy motel bed in the middle of bumfuck wherever he was. He wasn't actually contemplating suicide, there wasn't a reason to. It was a low, cowardly way out and Dean was a lot of things but he wasn't that.

But if he were to die here, in this bed, how long until somebody found him? They wouldn't be able to properly ID the body, Dean had been dead to the government a hundred times before, it seemed. They'd scratch their heads but no one would try too hard to figure out who he was or what the truth might be because he was just another dead drunk who'd finally let the poison get to him.

How long would it take for Sam to find him? Would Sam even look? When would he decide they'd been apart too long and try to call Dean? Maybe never. If he died tonight Sam might never know. But even on the chance that Sam did call, in say, a month, and he only got Dean's voicemail, would he try to track Dean down?

A stop at the ATM that first night and Dean had used cash since, wiping his trail so Sam couldn't find him with just the click of a button to search one of Dean's credit cards. The cash would throw Sam for a loop but he might be able to track Dean anyways, just by knowing where Dean would stay, what he would do. He could ask for sightings of the impala, figure in how many hours Dean could drive before he needed sleep.

Sam may find him eventually, but by the time he even decided to think about looking, Dean could already have been buried in some shallow grave or burned to ashes in the local morgue.

Dean wondered if Sam would cry.

The visual image and thought of his gorgeous, graceful, dangerous little brother crinkling up his nose as tears lined his bottom lashes curdled something dark and nasty in Dean's stomach. Dean could never intentionally make Sammy cry like that.

He sat up, sudden, quick, a rush of blood soaring to his brain as his body tried to achieve homeostasis again. Dean cursed silently, his voice wasn't too be trusted. No more thinking about Sam. No no no.

With one hand still clenching the bottle tight and the other scraping fingernails haphazardly through his shirt hair, Dean blinked his eyes back open in the darkness. The room had gotten smaller since the last time Dean had had his eyes open. It had gotten colder, too.

He sucked in a shallow breath, turning the bottle in his hands to stare at the label in the dim light the flickering streetlight cast through the thin-ass blinds. His head didn't register the scratches of the label as words, just looked at the lines and curves and wondered how so many lines and curves made letters which made words which formed sentences and thoughts then ideas and concepts and mental image processing in the brain.

Then shaky fingers unscrewed the cap and let it fall, bouncing off Dean's leg and onto the bed beside him. The only thing Dean had left beside him in bed was an old whiskey cap. He snorted at how not funny it was, then let his eyes drift closed again as he closed his lips around the top of the bottle and tilted his head back.

The liquid spilled into his mouth, tasting about room temperature but deceptively unharmful and flat. Then Dean drew the bottle away from his mouth, the sound of his lips popping off echoing in the emptiness of his room. He held the whiskey on his tongue for a moment longer, briefly entertained by the idea that it tasted alcohol-less.

But it was anything but. He let his throat muscles finally work, tonging the whiskey backwards as he finally swallowed it down. The burn hit hard and fast like a freight train, shooting tingles of fire down Dean's esophagus and making his eyes water from the sudden sheer sting of it all. The whiskey was sharp and strong and Dean had probably swigged a little much. Especially since you were supposed to sip whiskey, not swig it down like beer.

He blinked and scrunched up his face against the burn, letting it wash down his insides and swirl in his mouth. That was really really potent. It didn't relieve Dean's teetering headache much from the pounding pressure though.

When his eyes finally opened back up to survey the yet again smaller room, the edges of the window and the outlines of the door were a bit blurry. Everything was still in soft focus from the drinking he'd find earlier, but that last kick had just tipped him a little past the edge.

Dean lifted the bottle to his lips and drank again.

The burn felt like fire, which was painfully ironic. Dean was burying himself in fire and hadn't the flames been chasing him his whole life? He'd carried Sam out of demonic fires twice, then spent 40 years in the fire, had two years back with Sam, then Sam was burning in the fires of Hell and Dean woke up screaming from nightmares of that image. Then Sam's hallucinations and the fire that followed them there, the fire that burnt down Bobby's house and the fires Dean had tried to build in Purgatory for some vague sense of warmth. The holy fire circles to trap the evil angels, the fire-dunked glasses for the trials, the fire inside Sam's body that burned his internal organs and put him in a coma. The angelic fire that burnt out Kevin's eyes and insides, the fire pire that Dean had built for all of his friends and family whom had died.

Fire was a recurring theme of all the shitty things in his life and now Dean was turning to it, drowning himself in it. He let the fire lick down his throat and make him numb. His head was spinning and Dean was highly considering just drinking until he passed out. Which would be a lot of alcohol, because he wasn't exactly a lightweight drunk. Although he'd already had a very unhealthy amount. Maybe if he drank enough then he wouldn't see the smoke of Kevin's dead eyes and maybe he wouldn't hear Sam telling him just go. Just go, already.

"Just go," Dean murmured to himself in the darkness, his words coming out slurred enough to sound more like gisgo. The condemnation hung in the air, thick and heavy and too much for Dean to carry.

He'd been carrying the weight of too much for too long. He'd brought them down, all of them. He might have been able to save people from the monsters under their beds but he could never save them from himself. How many people had died because of Dean directly? Dean tipped the bottle back again at that thought. There were too many to count. Even the important ones, like Jo and Ellen and Ash and Bobby and Dad and Kevin were too much to think about.

And Dean wasn't even going to bother trying to remember the number of souls he tortured in hell.

He was a terrible terrible person and he dragged down everyone around him and look, just look at him. There wasn't a single righteous thing about the half-drunk, worthless ex-soldier propped up against the dirty bedpost of an empty motel room with a neon sign permanently advertising Vacancy. Dean might as well have that neon sign tattooed on his soul because everywhere he'd been in the last few days, everywhere he'd be going for the next who-knows-how-long was all going to be in that same parade of flickering, burning out neon Vacancy's.

Maybe he was drunker than he thought but that word seemed like it was a part of him now, had plastered itself as the headline for Dean's treck of loneliness down the empty road he drove that mocked him with every dash of yellow line. He'd visited one too many Vacancy's to not start believing the word was just a calling to him, a nickname floating over the tiny parking lots. Dean was Vacancy, just as much as this motel was and just as much as this room was. Empty empty empty.

When Dean tipped the bottle back again, only a few drops rolled onto his tongue. Dean tipped it back further, straight vertical, but no more whiskey came. He'd drunken the entire bottle. Glasses of whiskey tasted a hell of a lot better than straight from the bottle but Dean didn't care. He lifted it slowly away from his lips again, thumb rubbing once over the label. Maybe he should get it in a jar next time. It'd be ironic, at least.

The arm holding the bottle fell to the mattress, his hand dangling over the side of the bed, bottle suspended above the abyss before the floor. Dean's other hand was over his eyes, fingertips pressed too roughly to the corner of his eyebrow bone. The extra darkness his hand provided didn't do a thing to block out the loud, overwhelming sound of silence in the room. It was just Dean, it might forever be just Dean. Sam had wanted him to go, hadn't bucked or put up even the slightest fight. He hadn't even kissed Dean goodbye.

Dean rolled his wrist, the empty bottle feeling heavier in his hand than the full one had. Dean could remember very vividly the last time Sam had kissed him. Sam had dragged Dean's mouth down to his from where he had been sitting in a chair, kissing Dean thoroughly and thoughtfully, making Dean's head spin with the intensity of it. When Sam pulled away he'd felt lazily content and so fully kissed that he was sure he'd feel Sam's mouth on him for the next couple of days. Dean had blinked and looked down at Sam, asking him what in the world that kiss was about because it'd shaken Dean, it had twisted him up to the core.

"Just so you don't forget...that I love you."

The shattering of glass shot Dean's eyes open, lifting his hand into view and recognizing his fingers as empty. He'd dropped the bottle off the side of the bed, and it was broken into a thousand pieces. Just like Dean.

His open, empty hand clenched into a painfully tight fist and Dean threw his head backwards, dully hitting the headboard. His head tilted back, closed eyes facing up but so far past hope it didn't even symbolize that anymore. His empty hand flexed again, opening and closing his fist. The hand that felt coldest in between his fingers, where Sam's fingers had entwined a countless number of times. The hand that had two Latin runes traced imaginary on the back of it. Wunjo: joy, perfection, completeness. Ihwaz: eternal bond spanding all heaven and earth and hell.

The tracks of rain on his face that he'd woken up to had dried to his cheeks, but that little rainstorm was going to be pale and irrelevant in comparison. Tears started streaming out of Dean's eyes too fast to even think about stopping them.

Sometimes when Dean cried, his face would only waver a little, his mouth pursing up and nose and lips trembling. This was not one of those times. A little wasn't a term you could use to describe the storm that hit so sudden and crippling.

Dean cried and cried, tears streaming and soft, broken sounds spilling from his lips. He bawled against the wooden headboard, face tilted to the sky as his body shook and trembled with the effort of his sobs.

The sounds spewing from his mouth were unrecognizable as his own, they sounded so twisted and despairing.

He cried until looking up felt exposed and needy, then his chin dropped to his chest and he covered his face with both hands in shame, sobbing into rough palms.

The darkness behind his hands didn't save anything. His insides started to burn as he shook.

His hands got as wet as his face and his shoulders shook hard enough to slightly rattle the headboard. His stomach was clenched up in pain and his shirt was sticking to his chest from where it soaked to his skin.

Dean cried until he was gasping for breath, his hands lifting away from his face as he tried to suck in panicked, quick rushes of oxygen. He gasped through the tears and his tongue and lips were salty but his lungs were too caught up in the crying to want to function right. It wasn't the panic-attack type of not being able to breathe, it was the physically-cannot-breathe due to crying so goddamn much.

Dean gasped for air and clutched his sides, the pain and lack of oxygen ripping a new burn through his muscles.

Suddenly being propped against the headboard was too much and Dean collapsed forward onto the bed, landing on his side and still clutching his sides trying to breathe. His tears streamed down his face sideways now and flooded the eye closer to the bedspread, forcing Dean to close them shut to keep from going blind with salty water.

The oxygen was still getting trapped in his windpipe and Dean choked on it, choked on tears and air and salt and smoke, choked on fire and vacancy and so so alone and just go.

His body took control away from his brain, because it didn't trust his conscious to get him out of this alive. Dean was shaking and choking and gasping and spitting and crying on the bed, collapsed on his side and curled up in a loose fetal position, his hands fisted in the sheets.

He ran out of tears pretty quickly, he'd been crying for a while now, but his body still shook and clenched at the dry sobs. His mouth finally managed to suck a bit of oxygen in and let Dean's vocal box cry out painfully into the darkness.

Once the one sound came out, his body couldn't seem to stop, an array of pitiful whimpers and full-out screams that choked into wracking sobs had him curling tighter and writhing on the scratchy sheets.

His mind was so far gone that any shame and humiliation he felt for crying at first had been carefully subdued, just enough so that when this was over it could rise up to the surface and drag him under with it next time.

Dean had no idea how to stop crying, which didn't really matter because his body had taken over and it wasn't like he had a choice anymore in whether he'd die of tears and shaking or if it'd eventually stopped. If Dean's brain was capable of thinking he might wonder if he could die this way. And if he did, what would the autopsy report say? What would Sam think when if he finally held that folder in his hand, scanned his pretty hazel eyes over the paper? He'd probably make that sound, that noncommittal hmm sound that said it was a strange death, but probably not anything supernatural and probably didn't give the slightest clue to a case. His long, elegant, deadly fingers would close the file back up and slide it across the table back to the mortician, giving him the fakest of Fed Smiles and saying a little sassily, "sorry, a case of crying-to-death is not exactly in the FBI's jurisdiction or interest at the current moment. Did you say you had a body with fangs, though?"

It was probably a few hours in the darkness that Dean lie that way, pitiful and loud in the darkness. No one even so much as banged on his door to quiet down. The whole motel was probably vacant, from the look of it, and somehow that made everything feel worse. Dean was making a total racket of a mess and no one even heard. No one even cared enough to tell him to quiet down.

Dean could scream bloody murder right now and not a single soul would know it.

That realization had him sobering up into silence real quick, had the shaking and the screaming and the sobbing slow and quiet to a stop until he was left curled on wet sheets, breathing ragged and still a little gasp-y, body trembling and fists still tight enough in the sheets to rip them.

The muscles in his sides ached something proper, and his entire body felt dried out and puckered up like the Marburg disease from the Hot Zone had gotten to him.

Dean just focused on breathing, trying to get his lungs to work. Shambles. He was in absolute shambles and he must look like a wreck, laying here. He'd been screaming and his throat was hoarse and sore. His entire body felt sore and he was just so, so tired.

There wasn't any point, really, in trying to calm himself down entirely from the shaking and gasping. At least he wasn't screaming anymore.

Dean just closed his eyes again, trembling on the mattress right up until the point that sleep took him.

Sleep took him and his body and his tears and dumped him in the middle of a vat of nothing, just pure blackness to surround him as unconscious tears rebuilt in his body and slipped silently over his wrecked face in his sleep.

~*~*~

The next day wasn't much better. He tried tracking down Gadreel, spent some time traveling, some time online. He was pretty sure he found Gadreel's old vessel, the one he'd used when Dean first met him. He could drive all night and maybe maybe make it there sometime around noon tomorrow, but he knew he didn't have the strength for it. Physically, or mentally. His body was worn and his mind was even more so.

He'd woken up achy with his throat feeling raw and his eyes puffy and the sheets stiff from salt and tears beneath him. He was still curled on his side in a loose fetal position when he woke, which he'd laid in for about half an hour before finding the will to roll over onto his back. He stared at the ceiling for a bit longer before rolling off the bed, careful to get off on the side that didn't have broken glass spewn over it.

The shower hadn't made him feel even an ounce better, but the Irish coffee soothed a bit of the coarse feeling in his esophagus. He'd sat in a creaky stiff wood chair and closed his eyes, having to make do with the warmth of the coffee in his hands. He closed his eyes and prayed distantly, not to anyone in general and especially not to Cas. Not even to heaven, although no one was up there and it wouldn't hear him anyways.

Dean didn't want to be heard. He just wanted his life back.

He'd lost so much, so many people, and he just prayed for them back. Sam and Cas and Kevin and Dad and his family and his friends and Sammy's girl, and Sam.

Then there was Cas. Dean sipped his coffee and noticed distantly that Cas was the last person he had kissed. Something felt terribly disturbing about that.

Dean might never kiss Sam again and the last time he'd kissed anyone, it's been to cheat on the one solid thing in his life.

Not to mention he'd used his best friend and trampled all over his feelings and his life.

And Dean had never even gotten the chance to apologize. To either of them. It didn't matter now, though. They were both better off without him. It might take time, but they'd see. They'd see how much easier it was to live without the burden of the too-green poison spilling over them all.

Dean wasn't sure he could live very long without them. But it was the sacrifice he'd chosen to make.

Dean had told Sam that Sam was his sunshine, but now in the grayed darkness that surrounded him, even outside under the dull bright sky, Dean realized how extremely true that had been. Being with Sam had been like standing in the middle of a star, heat making him comfortable and safe and happy. Light so bright that it fought even the darkest corners of hell that creeped at both of their minds.

He'd had that light and that warmth and he'd abused it and now it was gone. Dean had been holding on too tight for too long onto things that were too bright for his hands or his heart. The universe should have long ago burned up the light that was Sam Winchester- had tried to - because Sam was too goddamn perfect and full of sun for the planet to survive. It was too much, and Sam should have been gone to somewhere bigger and brighter so many years ago.

But Dean couldn't let his sowilo go. And now it was too late. Dean had hurt so many, and it was all because he couldn't give up the one thing he'd laid his eyes on and decided to love. No, it wasn't even a decision. It wasn't even a decision. But now, he couldn't hold on anymore. It was too much and he'd screwed up too much, and it had to be over. It was over.

Looks like Dean was finally letting go.

 

He holed up again that night, halfway to the bar that vessel had been in. The bar destination would be a start, but Dean wasn't going to be able to get to that start until he got some rest and didn't crash his car. Dean wasn't willing to drive for Baby's sake, or for the sake that there was no fucking way he was going down like that.

Dean wasn't going down period.

He wasn't going to die, he owed a hell of a lot more to Sam than that. He wasn't going to die, he owed a hell of a lot more to Cas than that. He wasn't going to die, he owed a hell of a lot more to Dad than that.

They'd all died for him and Dean wasn't going to put that to waste. Period.

Besides, he had some serious angel ass he had to destroy, some redemption and justice and revenge to steal. In the morning. After he slept. He wasn't really looking forward to it in an enthusiastic light, because Dean couldn't muster up so much as an ounce of positive energy right now. He just had to do it, he was going to do it, and it wasn't any more complicated than that.

Except that Dean's stupid heart and his stupid head wasn't going to let him sleep. How was he supposed to sleep in another empty motel room when his body was so used to a 6 foot 4 and half inches of bulky, octopus-limbed, clingy-koala warmth surrounding him? Dean was cold, and he needed Sam here.

He had his phone in his hand before he realized what he was doing. There was another bottle of whiskey in his other hand, but he wasn't planning on dropping this one. Or drinking the whole thing again, but there was a likely possibility that he might do both anyways.

Although this time, he had a glass with him, and was pouring the whiskey in that instead of taking long pulls straight from the bottle. It lasted longer when he had to take the time to pour it, and that was the only reason he had a glass with him tonight. It was going to be a long night and he didn't feel like running out of alcohol halfway through and having a repeat of last night. So he was going to take his time as much as he could, let himself slowly fall into the fire instead of drowning himself in it by diving in headfirst.

He had his phone in his hand and all it would take was holding down the number 2 for more than three seconds and he'd be dialing Sam. Sam may or may not pick up. Dean didn't want the humiliation that came with either. All he really wanted was to hear Sam's voice, no skepticism or judging or questions or ignoring and definitely no more just go's.

That's when the idea came to him. Sam still had a few burner phones, which were all stashed in the Impala's glove box just outside of Dean's motel room. Sam had done the voice recordings on those.

Dean made a dull note that he was far past desperate now. But he needed to hear Sam's voice, he was 100% sure he wouldn't be able to sleep without it.

So he dialed up one of the numbers, shakily lifting the phone to his ear.

"This is Agent Plant. If you have any information regarding the current case, please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." Beep.

Dean's eyes were watering up again but he bit his lip hard, sunk his teeth in until the pain took over and his tears dried up. He wasn't going to cry. His hand slowly brought his phone back away from his ear, tossing it next to him on the bed. There was a bedside table, which Dean was thankful for. He took the top off the bottle of whiskey, shaky hands tipping it over carefully into the glass perched on the wood. Then Dean sat down the whiskey bottle, still careful to hell, and wrapped his fingers around the glass.

He brought the round, stout glass to his lips, tipping it back and closing his eyes as the fire liquid slid inside his mouth, down his throat. It burned and he squinched up his face, making a sound. Then he breathed out, fluttering his eyes back open and slamming the glass back down on the bedside table.

He picked up the phone again, pressing redial and setting the phone on speaker.

"This is Agent Plant. If you have any information..." Dean listened as he poured his next shot.

Then his next, and his next.

He listened and he didn't cry, he just hit redial and slammed back another ounce of whiskey.

Repeat.

Eventually Dean fell asleep with the phone wrapped tightly in his hand, Sam's voice playing in his ears.

~*~*~

It took Sam a few seconds to figure out where the hell he was when his eyes blinked open. He was way too comfortable to be in a motel room but not quite comfortable enough to be in his regular sleeping quarters of Dean's bed. He'd recognized that the moment he slipped out of his dreamless sleep.

Before he could decide exactly where he was, Sam stretched and automatically rolled over into his side, hand reaching out to stroke Dean's surreally pretty face as he grumbled in his happy sleepy morning tone,

"G'morning beautifu--"

His hand landed flat and cold on the empty pillow beside him.

He just stared at the blank space for a moment, lips still parted in the greeting that had been cut off abruptly. The pillow and sheets weren't even rumpled, Dean had never come to bed.

No. Scratch that. Dean had never come home.

Sam was in his room, and Dean had walked out yesterday. Sam had slept alone. Sam was going to be sleeping alone for a long time.

He shot out of bed so fast his head spun as he hopped into a pair of jeans. His hands brushed his unruly hair into something smooth, then he tossed on socks and a layer of plaid and his boots.

Sam worked too quick to think. He jogged down the hallway to the bathroom, pissing then brushing his teeth and washing his face. He only slowed down a bit to shave, so he didn't have the risk of cutting his face.

It was methodical and sharp and probably the exact opposite of how Dean was handling this all but Sam was not going to think about that.

The headache didn't even register until he'd sat down for a bowl of cereal. He'd been too busy up to this point to take mental note of his body, and his head was throbbing something wicked. Which was really a shame because Sam could definitely go for a jog this morning.

If Cas was still around, maybe Sam could convince him to do their healing thing sooner rather than later, so Sam could get on with working out and researching and jogging and hell, taking up a new hobby to fill the dead time if he had to. So long as he kept go go going he'd be fine. Just no breaks, and no time to rest.

Sam didn't want to spend anymore time in that bedroom than he had to. Charlie and...other people, were right. It was cold and uncomfortable in there.

But he couldn't exactly sleep on the couch. They'd screwed on the couch literally this month.

Obviously, sleeping in Dean's room wasn't even an option.

Even if the bed still probably smelled like him. Even if the pillows were shaped to his liking. Even if it was the most comfortable place Sam had ever slept.

He wasn't stooping that low. He wasn't.

It had been hard enough finding a place to eat his damn bowl of cereal. He wasn't sitting at the kitchen table that Dean always made Sam breakfast at, too many memories.

Next stop was the computer room but Dean had laid Sam out there on the map table to screw him. Or maybe Sam had laid Dean out, he couldn't remember. Either way, Sam wasn't going to eat his sole bowl of cereal there.

When Sam walked in the library, he looked around in surprise. He'd forgotten about the mess, which was just as well, because it was gone. Cas must have cleaned it up in the night. Which was really sweet because Sam wasn't sure he could take that much raw evidence of the wreck Dean was right now.

But the table at the far end of the library was the one they'd played cards with Kevin at. Sam couldn't sit there obviously, his entire body shivered at the thought. Kevin. Nope. The next table, closer to Sam, was the one Dean had sat on with his legs spread while Sam nestled between them and read Dean the lore behind why they were married.

Was there seriously not a single place in this damn bunker that wasn't tainted with painful memories?

Maybe his reading chair - oh wait, that's right. There was that day Sam had been reading and Dean had suddenly just landed in his lap, naked and squirmy as he buried his face in Sam's neck and whispered fuck me. Sam had never gotten harder faster.

Eventually Sam found a memory-free corner. The side tables by the wall in the foyer, the ones that originally had half-finished chess games and coffee-stained mugs littered over them on the first day they'd found the bunker. Dean had long since cleaned up the mess, so it served as the perfect place to eat his cereal with a blank mind.

Cas wandered into sight about two bites of the way through his soggy bowl. He headed straight for Sam once he saw him and Sam nodded at him, mouth chewing and swallowing his bite.

"Hello," Cas said, a little awkwardly as he sat down across from Sam. Sam swallowed and ran his tongue over his teeth before replying.

"Hi." There was a beat as Cas watched Sam fish in his bowl for another spoonful of food. Then Sam looked up, spoon halfway to his mouth. "I noticed you cleaned up the library."

Cas looked off in the distance, nodding vaguely. "Angels don't sleep so I assumed it might be helpful."

Sam nodded, looking down at his bowl. Clearly, it still stung to much for either of them to mention Dean. A few seconds of silence went by, Cas staring off at nothing while Sam reluctantly ate another bite or two. He'd gotten the cereal out of habit but he really wasn't that hungry. He could practically hear Dean's voice nagging at him to eat or else he'd starve and Dean would have to spoon feed him or whatever the threat of the week was. There was nobody to threaten him now though.

Sam put down his spoon. Maybe he should eat for the sake of getting healthier, but cereal wasn't exactly the way to do that. And maybe he should eat in spite of Dean's nagging memory, but somehow that would just feel...wrong. So he sighed, moving to stand up and toss his cereal in the fridge.

"I think you should rest today," Cas said abruptly, looking up at Sam. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Like, as in, sleep?" He sat back down, setting his bowl of cereal back on the table. Cas looked from the bowl to Sam, then nodded.

"It'll help the healing process. Speaking of which..." Cas trailed off and lifted two fingers in a sort of question. Sam closed his eyes and leaned forward, answering it.

Cas's fingers touched Sam's skin, feeling cold and electrifying. Ripples of energy flew through him and Sam could feel some of the aches in his muscles fade substantially, the headache between his eyes release some of its pressure. Then Cas's touch was gone and Sam opened his eyes back up. Cas was looking at him curiously, like he'd found out all sorts of things just by touching Sam's forehead.

"Thanks."

Cas nodded again, the first to stand back up this time. Sam followed him drudgingly out of the room, then Cas watched idly as Sam put his cereal in the fridge. When he turned back around, Cas was still looking at him expectantly.

"I don't need a babysitter, Cas. It's not so bad that I'm going to like, collapse." Sam raised his eyebrows, indicating with a hand how Cas was still standing there. Cas just narrowed his eyes a little bit, in his confused/thinking face.

"You shouldn't be alone. Especially when the person who normally looks after you is..." Cas stopped, looking down and fidgeting with his trenchcoat. So that's what the weird behavior was about. Cas was trying to be a substitute Dean. It was sweet, sure, but half the time that Dean played nurse, Sam would be fine on his own. He didn't need two too-protective older brothers, the one was more than enough. But Cas's face was so hopeful, like he wanted so desperately to be useful. Sam sighed. He wasn't going to take Cas's purpose away from him.

"Okay, how about you help me find a movie to watch to help me sleep?" Sam beckoned for Cas to follow as he headed down the hallway back to his cold, uncomfortable bedroom. He was going to have to get used to that bedroom at some point, it might as well be now. Cas walked beside him eagerly, eyes scanning around Sam's room as soon as they stepped in. Sam started up the TV, glancing over amused at Cas. Cas was fidgeting with his things, curious and a bit clumsy, knocking over a pile of research Sam had on a bookshelf. He tried to straighten it back up but Sam just waved an "I'll get it later" gesture at him.

"So what types of movies do you like, Cas?" Sam pulled up Netflix on his laptop, propped up on his bed as Cas moved from one bookshelf to the next, still looking through Sam's things.

"I don't know. I've only seen a few. They were all with--" Cas froze again. Okay, the freezing and avoiding was like 800x worse than actually saying his name.

"Cas, you can say his name. It's not like I'm going to break down crying at the word 'Dean.'" Sam fixed Cas with a look, ignoring the way they both kind of flinched at the word. Sam wasn't going to let Dean become Voldemort because that would only make it worse. Cas looked worriedly at Sam, but he nodded. And went back to rifling through papers.

"Okay, have you seen the Avengers? It's like, a classic movie in today's generation. I don't think there's anyone who hasn't seen it." Sam pulled it up on the screen, turning the laptop towards Cas to show him the movie poster. Cas came over and squinted his eyes at it.

"Is that man green? I don't think I've seen this." Sam snorted.

"Yeah, he's green. That's The Hulk...okay, we're watching this and I'm going to explain superhero storylines to you." Sam casted the movie up onto the TV, tilting his head at the bed for Cas to sit down.

They sat a foot apart on the bed, lights off as the credits started up. Sam didn't think he'd be smiling this quickly after yesterday, but there was something about Cas's ignorance that was endearing and amusing enough to make the corners of his mouth curl. Sam didn't really see the sexual appeal that Dean did, but Sam was kind of glad he had the opportunity to get to know Cas without Dean in the room.

Because whenever Dean was around, Cas had a single direction and purpose and focus and it was clear who exactly that was. Cas's eyes were always on the prettiest of the three of them.

"Why is it that the Winchesters feel it is their obligation to educate me on movies?" Cas asked, turning his head towards Sam. Sam shrugged, looking back at the screen.

"Dean and I just watch a lot of movies. Down time between cases, it's always been a thing. I guess it's just a couple hours escape from the real world, you know? And if anyone needs some downtime, it'd be you." Sam tapped Cas's shoulder playfully with his fist. Cas rocked sideways, then straightened himself up and looked at Sam all offended.

"What was that for? And you're the one who needs 'down time' because you are the one with the internal burns and healing holes in your brain and post-tramatic stress and missing the love of your life and--"

"Cas, Cas. I get it. It was just an expression, yeah?" Sam snorted again, turning up the volume a bit. "Now, pay attention to the movie. Oh, and Dean thinks he's Tony Stark and I'm Bruce Banner. Which would definitely make you Steve Rodgers."

"Steve? That was my name when I worked at Gas'n'Sip." Cas says.

"Really? Well he's Captain America. I'll point him out. You two have a lot in common."

"I was born long before the creation of America. And I've never sailed a ship, so I couldn't be a Captain."

"Not that kind of Captain. Goodness, just watch the movie. You're interrupting the intro."

~*~*~

Drowning in a buzzing haze of permanent alcohol sounded like a brilliant plan, but the extensively trained side of Dean's brain was forcing him to sip his beer instead of down it. He was working a case - one of the most serious cases he'd ever worked - and he couldn't afford sloppiness now. Preferably, he wouldn't have a single drop of alcohol in his system for this.

But conveniently, Gadreel's vessel was a bartender. And even if this hadn't been in a bar, Dean wasn't sure he could open his eyes and get out of the next scratchy bed he'd barely slept in without at least a shot of whiskey. The edge was too painful to not have a least a little something dulling it.

And if he was sacrificing the safety of his life in doing so, so be it.

He smiled half-heartedly at the waitress that passed by, thinking about how once upon a time he would have fucked his emotions out on her and sucked the rest of it the hell up.

He'd been fine, he'd had walls and protection and safety for himself because he had been so internally destroyed, but over the years Sam had dug his way under those walls and tore them down from the inside, taking all of Dean's protective masks and rendering them scarily useless. So he wasn't going to be sucking anything up, he couldn't. If he had enough time, maybe. Depending on how this went, he might have more than enough time to find the protected, numb version of himself back.

"So...is that boudoir smile for me?" A voice interrupted.

Dean jumped in surprise but instantly reached for the demon knife, pulling it from his jacket as he glared darkly at the demon sitting on the barstool beside him. He did not need the complication right now.

"At least buy me a drink first," Crowley joked. Dean wasn't sure which he hated more, Crowley or Crowley's stupid sexual implications every three minutes. Not that it mattered, both of them were about to be shut up - permanently - in a few seconds. It was about damn time.

Although, that must be a bit of a death wish for him to show up here. He was either very stupid or had very important intel, because to show up here after Dean's very clear warning?

"I said the next time I see you --" Dean's voice sounded harsh and unfamiliarly dark even to his own ears. He wondered when he was going to stop being surprised at the ragged thing he'd become.

"Dead. Yes, rings a bell, but let's not dwell on the past, shall we? This bar is a bust. That waitress is trouble with a capital VD, and your prey, Gadreel, has left the building." Dean contemplated over this for a moment. He'd figured as much. It had taken him too long to get here. He wasn't used to driving solo. He'd have to up his game to keep up. But he would. Dean would catch him and Dean would slaughter him. If Crowley would stop talking so Dean could kill him. "So, it's time to move on to more pressing matters, like destroying Abaddon."

"Yeah, good luck with that. The Knights of Hell aren't exactly the dying kind." Dean said, the red hot urge to kill fading a bit as other purposes were thrown around under his nose.

"But there is something that can kill a knight. The weapon that the archangels used to execute them." Crowley paused for dramatic effect and Dean almost sliced his throat just for that. How was it that that much infuriating could be bottled inside of one creature? "...the First Blade."

"Never heard of it." Dean said, flat and uninterested. He repositioned his hand on the knife, the cool sharpness of it feeling like a freshwater spring against the pounding heat of his headache. "Can I kill you now?"

"I've been chasing that blade for decades," Crowley continued, ignoring Dean. If Dean wasn't already half-dead he might have more insistent of a fight in him. As it was he sat dully and listened to the rambling story with barely an ounce of feigned attention. "The closest I got to it was when one of my droogs -- Smitty -- got wind of a protégé demon of Abaddon's who claimed knowledge of the blade. Sadly, before Smitty could nab the guy, a hunter by the name of John Winchester nabbed the protégé. I'm here to see if there's anything in the John Winchester memorial library that might lead us to the first blade -- to killing Abaddon."

The mention of his father's name struck something cold and icy in Dean's chest. Funny how, years after the guy was dead, he still managed to cause trouble for Dean.

But even more curious was the fact that Crowley was bringing it up, Crowley wanted info. And then said us. Might lead us to the first blade and killing Abaddon. That sounded like a plan, like a future idea and it seemed ludicrous in all honesty. That Crowley was even suggesting it.

"You want to hunt?" Dean said incredulously. Well, nearly. It was the most emotion he'd evoked since the crying episodes. Then he set his jaw in a line, voice deadpanned more than disbelieving. "With me?"

"I do love a good buddy comedy," Crowley joked. Dean rolled his eyes for the sake of at least looking semi-alive. He looked torn up, even for him, he knew. But Crowley wasn't going to get to see Dean at the extent of how bad it had been, Crowley didn't have that luxury. No one had the luxury of seeing Dean so broken up he couldn't even evoke an exasperated emotion without fearing bringing up them all.

But he took John's journal out of his jacket anyways. He hadn't looked at the familiar scrawl, at the familiar pages since he was on his own. He wasn't about to stumble on one of the pages that relayed just how baby Sammy couldn't sleep without Dean in his bed. Dean opened the journal up and wondered dimly if Sam was like that now, if Sam could sleep without him.

That had turned around, hadn't it? Now it was Dean who couldn't fall asleep without the warm comfort of his brother. Now it was Dean that was the child, the petulant and weak one.

Dean Winchester couldn't let himself be weak. Not even for a moment, not even in his mind.

He shot all thoughts of memories and the past away, not letting the S name appear in his head again. He closed his mind into a blank, black void and scanned through the pages with dull, unseeing eyes. He knew where the page was Crowley was talking about, it was just a matter of flipping to it. There.

"Oh, yeah. Here it is. Yeah, he picked up a protégé who had bones with Abaddon, but that's about all it says in here." Dean shot a will you leave now look at the demon but he just leaned over, getting his grimy hands all up in Dean's space as he pointed at the journal and inquired in that terribly annoying accent of his.

"What do those numbers in the margins mean?"

"None of your business," Dean bit out, sliding the journal and his shoulders away from Crowley's reach. He didn't want to be touched and he didn't want his dad's journal touched and especially not by Crowley holy fuck.

"You're gonna play hard to get? We have time for a montage?" Crowley's tone was incredulous and offended but it was only the sharp edge to it that spoke to the distinct part of Dean's head cut out for hunting that told him he was being childish and possibly ruining the case. The case he hadn't even agreed to go on, but his hands were sliding the journal reluctantly back onto the table anyways.

"It's a code -- one of my dad's storage lockers. He may have put something about the case there." It was information he didn't want Crowley to have, but if he could kill Abaddon, that was just another evil thing crossed off the revenge list. And a case would be the safest thing for him to do right now, because if he wasn't working then he was drinking and he'd probably drive himself off a cliff one of these days because everything would be too blurry to see the road.

"And what does the "T" next to the numbers mean?" Crowley kept pushing. Dean was not someone that responded well to pushing. So he shot another despicable glare at the demon, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched tight.

"Not a clue."

"Fine. Let's go find daddy's man cave, then, shall we?" We? Dean hated this idea. He hated Crowley and he wanted to be alone right now. Crowley was the furthest thing in the world from alone, he never shut up and he was so annoying Dean was just as close to almost knifing himself as to knifing Crowley just so he didn't have to listen to him fucking talk anymore. But if he said any of that, Crowley would just start in on why Dean wanted to be alone and Dean wasn't prepared to have a conversation even pertaining to that.

"And how do I know this isn’t a trap?" Dean growled instead, because at least that gave him some sort of legitimate reason to drag his feet.

"You...don't. That's what makes it fun," Crowley lit up in a grin and practically bounced off the damn stool, headed for the door. Dean glared at him and temporarily debated just tossing the knife across the room and landing it square in between Crowley's shoulders. Then his feet took him grudgingly in Crowley's direction instead.

He fucking hated this.

And stupidly, he somehow thought it wasn't possible to hate Crowley anymore than he did when Crowley was rambling the entire car ride to the safehouse.

He found out real quick just how much he could hate Crowley.

He'd put a hood over Crowley's head because he trusted the dickbag approximately negative 10 and was absolutely not going to give up a safehouse to him in the process of finding a way to kill Abaddon. Crowley bitched about the hood and squirmed uselessly and was basically really annoying all over again.

But even worse, was when he took off the hood. Dean yanked it off with no preamble, just let Crowley's hair fuck itself up and didn't even find amusement in the disheveled look of the supposed king.

"Is all this really necessary?" Crowley whined. "I mean, I've been inside your brother. We're practically family."

There had never been two sentences that had hit Dean so hard and painfully and shocking. It was like they were physical blows instead of words, like someone had stabbed Dean and then kicked him in the stab wound, hard.

Inside your brother. It was a reminder of everything Dean had been drowning out of himself. Not just that he'd let a fucking angel and a demon inside his brother, although that was hell in itself. It was that he'd let them inside the same thing that he'd been inside and it felt so unpersonal, so unreal.

He'd let two supernatural creatures practically rape Sam. The only person that Dean had been inside that counted for anything. The only person that Dean was supposed to protect and save and frankly, the idea of anyone inside Sam besides him had him lighting up with red hot anger so far beyond the point of jealousy that it couldn't even be classified as that anymore.

The entire room went red, like someone had taped cellophane over the dim overhead lightbulb and cast everything in the eerie, infuriating glow. And then Crowley went so far as to declare them family.

The one word that meant more to Dean than any word on the planet, save Sam, and Crowley was throwing it around and abusing it and claiming it for his own.

Dean almost killed him right there.

His eyes flashed with rage so strong, his muscles clenched up painfully tight. His hands were on Crowley before he could even breathe, even think about what he was doing. He slammed the slimy business suit into the nearest shelf, making it hit hard and painful and deadpanned serious.

Crowley may have made a thousand jokes about Dean and Sam fucking in his lifetime, but he'd just crossed the line so far that he couldn't even see it behind him in the horizon. No one got to joke about being inside Sam. And fucking no one got to joke about being family.

He hated even touching something this vile, let alone being so close, but he got his face in closer anyways, spit flying from his lips and sprinkling Crowley's face due to the proximity.

"Listen to me." He demanded, voice scraping dead and serious enough that Dean could feel a shiver go up the demon's spine. Dean had effectively scared the king of hell. The terror in Crowley's eyes served for more than just an ego-boost though. His pupils were dilated and deeply black and Dean could see the reflection of himself in them, could see his scruffy, unrecognizable face and inhuman eyes staring back at him. The red started to fade, colour returning a bit to the edges of his vision. He wasn't going to let himself get this far, not in front of Crowley like this. He forced the blood in his veins to cool down, forced the venom in his voice to turn into a threat that meant more pain and offense than torturistically slow death. "We are the furthest thing from family. You got that, dickbag?"

"Uh, yeah," Crowley said weakly, turning his head to the side with darting eyes, trying to shrink away from Dean. Dean released him with a violent but small push of his hands, taking a step away from him. The space cleared up his head a little and the red faded entirely, Dean's eyes re-capturing his surroundings with their natural color. He didn't look at Crowley again as he spoke.

"Now, you want to hunt? Let's hunt." He turned away and stalked through a gate into the next part of the room. Crowley wouldn't be following him in here, there was a Devil's Trap on the ground. Dean felt a temporary release of pressure from that thought, like his body was trying to recognize an emotion, a diluted and dialed-down version of relief.

Crowley was rambling about something while Dean was looking for the folder, but Dean didn't listen to him. He didn't want to listen to a word that creature said, not after what it just said about Sam. And Dean. Dean just ignored him and worked, looked for the folder with the case.

Which led them straight to Tara.

Dean didn't know her, he'd never even heard of her or met her. The only mention she had in the journal was the singular "T" in the one margin. Not even a side note somewhere, and definitely not a contact number.

Walking into her shop, Dean didn't recognize her either.

If they'd ever met before, he must have been extremely young. And probably too focused on protecting an extremely-younger Sammy from getting into trouble to categorize her face and remember it.

"Tara?" Dean asked as the older woman looked up from the comic book she was reading. She definitely had a hunter's look about her, all rough and rugged and tight-cornered mouth and too-judgy eyes.

"That's what the sign says. Can I help you?" She wasn't crossing her arms but she might as well have been, with the attitude sparking off her. Dean took a moment to be distantly appreciative he hadn't ended up like this yet. Although if things kept going the way they had been, he'd been meaner and rougher than Tara was in just a few weeks. Hell, maybe he already was, he just didn't feel like he was as worn down as the older woman.

"Yeah. Hope so. John Winchester ring a bell?" Her eyebrows went up. Definitely rang a bell. Most people that worked with John remembered him pretty vividly, though. More often than not, the name invoked a shotgun raised at the chest. Tara just looked surprised though, not necessarily murderous. "I'm his son."

She studied him carefully for a moment. "You Sam or Dean?"

He somehow managed not to cringe at the mention of his brother's name. Felt like throwing something - he hadn't had to hear it out loud since he left - but he just grimaced and narrowed his eyes a bit instead, replying through tightly clenched teeth. "Dean."

Tara winced at some random pain, reaching down to grab what looked like might be her knee. Dean ignored it, just waiting for her to respond to his apparently already-known identity. He was always a little surprised when people he'd never met before knew exactly who he was. Angels, it was different, they had angel radio they basically gossiped about Dean on. But people?

"Well, didn't you grow up pretty," She said, open appreciation in her eyes as she scanned him up and down.

Dean's lips pursed in annoyance, shooting his gaze down. He fucking hated that. It wasn't like she was the first either. His entire adult life, he'd gotten enough comments about it to drive him crazy. Ever since he'd been like, nineteen. Which felt like an eternity ago.

He could name a thousand times someone had made some underhand comment about Dean being "pretty" and all of them drove him insane. There were a few in particular that stuck out in his head because they didn't even bother being the slightest bit polite or non-objectifying about it.

There was Gwen, one of the Campbell cousins they'd hunted with when Sam was soulless, who was annoying enough on her own honestly. But the moment she'd met him, she'd looked up with an amused, mocking glance and spoken in that rough, observant voice of hers.

"My god, you have delicate features for a hunter." That had hit Dean like a train, a very very rude, degrading train. "Excuse me?" he'd responded, offended and a little disbelieving she'd actually said that.

Delicate features? Really? Fucking really? The next time Dean had been in front of a mirror, he'd scanned over his reflection with an intense gaze, trying to figure out what the hell was so delicate. He'd brought his fingers up to his mouth, tracing over the shape of his lips. Okay, he kind of had pouty lips. Dean had pursed them in his reflection, rolling them in to disappear against his teeth. He normally made a point to forget about his mouth, but staring at it in the mirror made him all too aware of the shape of his lips. The size of his lips.

His cheekbones were kind of fragile looking too. He stroked along those next, tracing the line that defined his maxila facial structure. They almost looked fake, if Dean really analyzed it out. Even his jawline wasn't the hard sharp corners his brother had inherited. Instead he had a slightly rounded but definitely defined jaw. Which compared to Sam's, made him look like a girl. It wasn't fair. He hadn't asked for "delicate features," and he stared at them in the mirror with a combined mix of hatred and intense yearning for being given a different face. Or at least one that didn't get him called feminine.

In his high school anatomy and physiology class, Dean remembered studying DaVinci's sketch of a perfect face. Symmetrical, lines and proportions clearly set up for the ultimate beauty. The teacher had thought it'd be amusing to let the kids overlap the diagram over a photo of their own face. Dean's was the only one that came close to fitting. And that was before his face had filled out, before he had the width he did now. And width had been the only thing he'd been missing.

With a dark curse, Dean realized that his face probably fit DaVinci's sketch pretty damn well now. Sure, when he was younger, he'd flaunted his looks and scored hookups right and left. Even then, though, his "pretty" features had gotten him into a trouble more than a few times. Especially with men who couldn't keep their mouths shut and their opinions to himself. There were quite a few occasions where some jackass guy would make a comment about the kind of lips Dean had on him. The first time he'd broken a mirror was the day he finally found out what "DSL" stood for. He'd been barely 22 at the time and the acronym had terrified him.

It had been a dark time anyways, but adding the realization of what he'd been called all those years on top of it? Yeah, it'd been bad.

And there'd been a hundred bars since where the observation had been brought up again, but he'd kind of learned to take it in stride. Well, he still internally flipped out and felt like curling into a ball or fucking Joker-zing his mouth, but he stopped breaking mirrors after a while. And he'd delivered a lot of black eyes for comments like that. 

There were times, though, that Dean didn't have the option to just punch his way past the "pretty" comments. He'd just have to choke his way through the blatant insults that people disguised as compliments. It made Dean's stomach churn. Like that day Sam, Bobby and Dean had all gone out to Biggerson's to eat and the waiter had been an absolute dick, delivering Dean's food with a sassy,

"TDK slammer to Ken doll." In front of Sam. And Bobby. Dean had knitted his eyebrows together in offense and looked up at the waiter with a mix between what and excuse me? Seriously? Ken doll. That was fucking great, just another thing to add to the list of nicknames Dean had gotten that drove him fucking insane.

He didn't want to be a Barbie doll and he did not want to be "pretty." Being attractive was a bonus for the job, and honestly, in life, but he didn't want to be feminine. Sam was definitely attractive, but no one ever called him pretty. No strangers ever heckled him for his delicate features or his apparent DSL. No, only Dean got fucking comments like that.

The worst was when the jabs were in public, though. In particular, in front of Sam. Dean never knew how to react to those comments with Sam watching. He didn't want Sam to know how much it bothered Dean - hell, Sam had called him pretty more than anyone else in his life.

The moment Sam didn't know who he was, his first description of Dean was "male model type." When Sam had told him about that, Dean had just paled and laughed half-heartedly, probably making some joke about Sam always wanting to bone him. That had been in the hallucinating days, so Sam had been distracted and wasn't in tune enough with Dean to see how much it had upset him.

Male model type maybe should have been a compliment, but it felt like just another jab about how Dean was too pretty, too girly and feminine to be taken seriously. In his line of work, it sucked. In any line of work it sucked.

But lately, within the past year or so, Sam had started to react differently to some of the comments. Dean wasn't sure if Sam had ever gotten to the point that he realized that Dean had issues with his feminine features, (only just another thing to add to the pile of things he hated about the man he saw in the mirror) but he'd started getting a little protective.

There had been that time that they'd had Abaddon tied up in a chair, hands-less and stitched back up to attempt the third trial. She'd flicked her eyes from inky black to normal human, fixating her gaze on Dean with a demonic smile.

"I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes." She'd hissed, pinning Dean with the words.

Yeah, Dean knew his eyes were green. More green than most green-eyed people. But he didn't fucking see the big deal and he fucking hated all the comments he got on them. By the time he was 30, he'd had so many people tell him his eyes were pretty that it almost felt like an insult now. Was that seriously the only thing they saw about him?

Dean used to joke with it, say tell me something I don't know or laugh it off. He couldn't even bring himself to say thank you to it anymore. It just felt...fake. Like the whole planet had targeted his damn eyes and Dean couldn't stand anyone who even so much as mentioned them. Let alone called them pretty. Just another reason to hate Abaddon, right?

But strangely, Sam had jumped in and interjected before Dean could say anything bitchy back to her.

"Good luck with that," He'd bit out, posture defensive and threatening as he glared back at her. It wasn't exactly a "don't call him pretty" as much as it was a "I'll kill you if you try to touch him," but it still made Dean feel minutely better about the comment. At least Sam was defending him against something. Even if he didn't try to deny that Dean's eyes were pretty. 

(post)

After that, Sam had kind of started sticking up for Dean's feminine features more and more. Dean would tell him not to worry about it, but Sam never listened about stuff like that. He still made a point to call Dean beautiful and kiss him all over and tell him how lost he got in Dean's eyes, but when anyone else so much as mentioned anything about Dean's looks, Sam got kind of pissed.

The first really memorable time that Sam had flipped, they'd been in some bar after a case. Sam had been off playing pool and Dean had been watching the game nonchalantly from his bar stool. Then some jackass had sidled up next to Dean, moving in close and way obvious, practically breathing down Dean's neck. Enough to make Dean tear his eyes off of Sam's billiards game and turn to the guy. He'd been tall, blonde, and fit and he looked at Dean like Dean was a grand buffet of all-you-can-eat. 

"Hey baby, can I buy that pretty mouth of yours a drink?" The guy had drawled, hand reaching out to drag his thumb over Dean's bottom lip. The touch was invasive and totally unwelcome, had Dean's heartbeat stuttering too fast in a very bad sort of way. Dean had jerked away from the touch instantly, nearly falling off his stool as his eyes went wide. People were sometimes pretty obvious, but this guy was a total jackass. He'd just reached out and touched Dean like he had every right in the world.

Before Dean could even so much as stammer out a word (the worst part about these situations was how flustered he got - Dean didn't know how to handle any sort of male gender hitting on him. Even when it was polite and friendly, Dean was a total wreck about it), there had been a warm weight at his back, a possessive arm wrapping around him and a familiar hand sliding into his back pocket.

Sam's chin had hooked over his shoulder, an evil glare pinning down the blonde guy. With one arm over Dean's stomach and the other hand very obviously cupping Dean's ass, he set up quite the axiomatic picture for the guy.

"Sorry, he's taken. You can back the fuck off, mister." Sam's voice was cold and honestly a little scary, the same voice he used on the monsters they hunted. Dean was frozen against Sam, tucked in his embrace and feeling small and useless. Sam shouldn't have to come save him from these situations. But the only way Dean knew out of them was punching and breaking things. 

The blonde guy hadn't taken so well to Sam's threat though, he'd just looked between them both and evaluated the hopeless look on Dean's face and laughed. Leaned back, wide open mouthed bark like the hand Sam had in Dean's back pocket and the one he had curling into Dean's side (long research fingers digging into Dean's ribs) might as well have been on the moon for all they mattered. His blonde eyebrows had shot up, straightening up a little taller as the laughter died down.

"Face like that shouldn't just belong to one person. It's just not right to keep such serious DSL locked away, he should be puttin them to use."

Dean flinched at the words, the familiar acronym stinging sharply. (God, in front of Sam?) Then he was turning his face away and staring at his drink. He fucking hated this. 

Suddenly Sam's comforting warmth around him was gone and Dean was looking back up, just in time to see Sam's fist slam into the guy's face. Something cracked and then there was suddenly blood streaming everywhere, the guy staggering back into another bar stool and holding a hand to his nose, blood gushing through his clamped fingers. 

Sam was breathing heavy, his chest and shoulders heaving as he clenched and unclenched his fist, standing tall and powerful over the guy. He looked really pissed. Dean was still frozen propped on his stool, staring at the whole scene with wide eyes. 

"You're lucky I don't fucking kill animals," Sam spit, towering over the guy. "Maybe you should think next time before you mouth off some shit about objectifying people. If you even own a brain." 

Then Sam had turned back to Dean, chest rising and falling with the worked-up heavy breathing. Dean's eyes were still wide and he looked up at Sam in a mixture of awe and embarrassment. While it was a totally endearing move - to kick someone's ass just to defend Dean's honour- Sam shouldn't have had to do that. It was Dean's fault, in a way. If only Dean wasn't such an easy target.

Dean was about to apologize for being the cause of so much trouble when Sam took a step forward and kind of deflated, melted down to the normal, sweet Sam. He moved back in close to Dean, all the anger drained out of him as he scanned his eyes over the look on Dean's face. All hints of violence in his eyes faded in favor of a deep, caring concern.

Always that mixture between the terrifying deadly killer who's brain was just as dangerous as his fists and the sweet ball of sunshine with puppy dog eyes and floppy silky hair that invoked a dimpled grin every time Dean ran his fingers over it.

Sam's arm wrapped around Dean's waist and he pulled him gently off the stool, tugging him towards the door with one last venomous look at the blonde dude, who was cowering away from them like Sam might kill him. Sam might've, with as pissed as he was.

Normally Dean would be the one throwing punches for the comments, but he hated making a scene about it. Because once he knocked a guy across the jaw, there was retaliation and all eyes on him and it just made the whole thing seem like a bigger deal. When the whole bar was staring, it made Dean feel like the guy's words got validated, somehow. It was terrible.

But this time Sam handled it, and he wasn't afraid to glare down anyone who so much as glanced at Dean on the way to the door. Dean had let Sam tuck him tight into his side and pull him all the way out to the car, where he finally let go off his protective grip on Dean.

Dean slumped back against the cold metal of the driver's side door, looking at the ground and studying the different sized pieces of gravel scattered over the pavement he didn't know what to say. Maybe he should apologize for all the trouble he caused. But his throat felt too closed up with shame to speak.

"'M sorry," Sam spoke up finally, his hand landing gently on Dean's forearm. Dean looked up and blinked, not sure he'd heard right. Somehow, Sam managed to surprise Dean twice in the same night. First he'd been all action and defensive to protect Dean and now he was trying to take the blame for it. "I just couldn't stand him saying all that...you're mine."

The last word was possessive but kind of endearing; Sam's hand came up to cup the side of Dean's face as he said it. The big familiar palm cupping his face like that always made Dean feel like something precious, something actually worth keeping. His thumb touched the corner of Dean's mouth and Dean just stood there, hoping Sam wasn't going to make some stupid comment about how Dean was too pretty to share. But of course, this was Sam Winchester and he was too perfect to be real.

He'd brought his face in close, eyes locked on Dean's so Dean had no choice but to listen to whatever Sam had to say.

"Dean, what I love you for? You can't see that in a mirror." There was a brief pause where Dean's eyes had searched back and forth between Sam's, seeing nothing but sincerity. Sam had leaned in and kissed him after that, sealing the words on both of their lips and rubbing the sentences into Dean's mouth with his own until Dean was forced to believe it. 

Sam fucking Winchester. 

Dean's breath caught in his chest. He'd been running from all those memories about Sam and now just a single comment from the second person Dean's talked to since the whole thing blew over and he's got old memories surfacing and destroying him. Fucking great.

Sam was gone and it was over. Sam was never going to kiss him like that again. Dean had fucking blew it. He'd gotten Kevin killed and he'd gotten Sam to hate him, once and for all. He didn't deserve Sam. Sam deserved the world and Dean was just a vile green liquid the colour of his disgustingly pretty eyes.

He turned his attention dully back on Tara, letting the slight lapse of facial expression slip back into the default neutral of nothing. She was talking again and Dean forced his thoughts off the aggravating comment she'd made about how pretty he was now, forced his thoughts off the train of memories that had followed after and taken him down for the count.

Bury, deep, layers and layers of not caring, carefully placed masks and answers and calculated moves. Dean was killer, it was time he started acting like one.

"Still in the family business?" Tara asked. She was kind of glaring at Crowley but Dean ignored that, got straight back to business.

"Yeah, born and raised," he said dismissively. "Listen, bunch of years back, you worked a job with my dad. Well, me and my, uh, associate--"

Dean turned away from Crowley and back into the muzzle of a shotgun. Well then. She has decided she definitely knew John after all. Or something. He raised his eyebrows at her, falling silent at the sight of the gun. He may be half-crazy with grief but he wasn't stupid.

"Ever since '92, I get a painful little tickle in what's left of my knee whenever a demon is around." Well that would explain the shotgun. And the knee wincing moment from earlier.

"Hunters. So trusting." Crowley complained. Dean would actually be pretty okay with her shooting him right now, just for effectiveness of shutting him up. "I'll go grab a latte while you get this sorted."

Crowley turned towards the door and snapped his fingers way too loudly like the dramatic little bitch he was, but he didn't disappear. In fact, nothing happened at all. Both of their eyes went straight to the ceiling in response, looking for some sort of Devil's trap.

"Devil's trap under the knock-off Persian, jackass." Tara sassed. Oh. Well that would explain it. Dean toed back the rug with his boot. The red painted edge of a Devil's Trap was underneath. Yeah, great. Now he'd have to explain Crowley to Tara. And as much as Dean hated tat bastard, his side remark of how hunters are not the most trusting of people was pretty damn accurate. .

"Tara listen, my, uh, associate --" Dean started.

"Friends. Besties, actually." Crowley interrupted. Yeah, Dean couldn't wait until he could slaughter that bastard.

"Not helping," Dean glared, throwing up his hands at Crowley.

"Not caring." Tara joined right in. Sometimes Dean wished hunters weren't such a brutal sort because damn trying to have a conversation with one was like talking to a particularly stubborn, bitchy, and violent brick wall. She just readjusted her grip on the gun, leveling them with a gaze. Dean gawked at her. Seriously, still? She could at least let him damn explain.

"Look, I'm the King of Hell. He's a Winchester. There's a reason why we're working together." Crowley said it like the whole thing was so obvious. Dean wasn't entirely sure of the reputation the Winchesters carried in the hunting community right now, but frankly he didn't give a damn. He'd stopped caring aroundabout the same time he started sleeping with the other half of that reputation. There had been rumours of the Winchester brothers being too close Dean's entire life, but he and Sam had tried to keep their relationship on the downlow around other hunters as much as possible because that was seriously not a rumour they needed confirmed.

Clearly though, there was some piece of the reputation no one had informed Dean about it if was supposed to be usual for the King of Hell and the Winchesters to be associates. How much exactly did the hunting community know about the shit they'd gone through? It wasn't like they broadcasted any of that. Dean didn't even really have any hunting friends anymore, they'd all died. Because of Dean. Of course.

"Yeah. It's called possession." Tara retaliated, grabbing a bottle of holy water and splashing it all over Dean's face. The cold water hit him like a slap, a very wet, uncomfortable one. Not fucking cool.

Dean was so fucking done with getting holy water thrown in his face. Even if it meant that Crowley was misinformed about the Winchester's reputation, which was a good thing. But Dean wasn't a fucking demon and he was never going to be a fucking demon so would people seriously stop throwing water on his face.

He blinked annoyedly against the water droplets forming on his eyelashes. Oh yeah, his eyelashes. Another thing to add to the list of damned feminine features Dean hated. Probably even more than getting water thrown on his fucking face.

"See? I'm good." Dean smiled pissily, then his voice dropped back into just straight out annoyed as he wiped a hand over the water blocking his vision and coating his mouth and nose. "Okay? Yes, you're right. He is a jackass, but he's helping me on this."

"Helping you with what?" She said, still skeptical. And still pointing the damn gun at Dean. If he lunged, he might be able to turn the barrel aside enough to avoid any fatal wounds, but he was really hoping it wasn't going to come to that. He'd just like for her to drop the damn gun, that'd be nice. If she'd just listen to him then Dean could explain.

"You and my old man found a demon who knew something about the First Blade. We need to find that blade."

"Well, hell. You are as handsome as John." Dean narrowed his eyes again. Being compared to his dad was weird, and if she could kindly get off the subject of Dean's attractiveness that'd be fucking great. Then came the kicker that made him blink in annoyance. "And as dumb, too, if you're looking for that old relic."

Better dumb than pretty, at least.

"We're hunting a Knight of Hell." Dean deadpanned, glaring a little at her. This is why he hated other hunters. This is why he hunted solo when Sam was gone. They were all just so chauvinistic in their damn opinions.

"Why? They're all dead." The gun wavered a bit at the mention of the knights though. So she at least knew about them, which left Dean with a lot less explaining to do than he thought he had ahead of him.

"One came back -- Abaddon."

The name definitely rang some sort of bell, because she looked back and forth between them, then the gun was being lowered. Fucking finally. Dean hated being held a gun point, it happened too much in this line of work and it managed to get his nerves every time. It was part of the training, to put everything on high alert when there was the barrel of a gun in your face. Although most of that training was to think sharply and not freak out, like most civilians did at the sight of a gun on them. Dean still didn't like being held at gunpoint though. It wasn't exactly a light thing.

But it was kind of comforting to know that Dean wasn't the only one who hated Abaddon. He had a lot of reasons to hate her, everything from killing his grandfather to calling him pretty to threatening to claw off his tattoo and possess him. So any sort of lead on a location was going to be real helpful.

Even if the location seemed like nothing but an abandoned farmhouse.

Keyword seemed.

~*~

Sam had fallen asleep halfway through The Avengers, before he even got to point out some of his favorite parallels. He'd nodded off and kind of slumped onto Cas's shoulder, passed out from exhaustion and stress and his body's need to shut down while it healed.

Cas had watched the rest of the movie, then carefully lowered Sam's body to the bed while he contemplated the plot and storyline and characters. And decided it was a bit ironic how Sam and Dean's parallel counter-parts drove off to the sunset together in Tony Stark's car. Cas had once figured that that's how it all would end, the Winchester's story.

Then he got to know them.

There was no way anything would get to be that simple for them. He sighed and shook his head at that thought, tugging blankets up over Sam's large body. After his time as a human, Cas understood what was comfortable to sleep on and what wasn't, so he'd pulled up the blankets and pillows to help counter the discomfort of sleeping in denim blue jeans.

Because he may let Sam fall asleep subconsciously on his shoulder, but he wasn't going to undress him. Even if it was for his benefit. It would feel strange and rude and frankly Cas didn't want to because Sam was his friend. Just because Sam was related to someone Cas would be very comfortable stripping didn't mean Cas would be alright with helping Sam out of his clothes.

So blankets it is. Cas also remembered how to turn off a tv from his human days, managed to get the room and Sam into a comfortable silence as he slept.

Sam slept through the rest of the day, waking up somewhere around 4am the next morning feeling strangely rested and headache-free. He blinked in the darkness, the hope squandered from his chest pretty quickly as he recognized how alone he was again.

He sat up, a few muscles aching and protesting with the effort. So he wasn't entirely better, but definitely improving. He stretched his arms out, dimly noting it was too early to be awake as he padded out of bed and towards the bathroom.

He was getting better with the memories, but the shower room seemed like a lot to take on. Thankfully, there was a single-person shower in the bathroom, just a tiny one they had never bothered using because they always just showered together. And made a couple rounds of it, too.

Sam shook away that thought and stripped to let the hot water beat over his skin instead. The little pellets of warmth rained down on him like a thousand distractions. The heat of the steam and the water felt nearly as relieving as the two fingers Cas would press to his forehead.

There was something about showers that seemed to make everything a little more tolerable in life. Just like how the dark and cold lonelines of an empty bed at night had the opposite effect and tried to destroy your life, let in all the thoughts and dares you hadn't allowed yourself to entertain.

Sam had had enough sleeping-alone time to last him a lifetime in the past two days. But it wasn't going to be changing anytime soon, he'd have to get used to it.

Sam wondered how Dean was coping through all this. Was he sleeping alone? Was he sleeping at all? Would he have been drinking over the past couple of days? Was he actually trying to hunt down Gadreel? How crazy was he going to go in the process?

Did he miss Sam?

Did he think about Sam? Did he drive down the road and glance at the passenger seat and remember what Sam looked like curled up in shotgun, his head on Dean's lap as he slept? Did he put his hand on the stickshift and feel the ghost of Sam's fingers closing over his, holding hands as Dean drove despite Dean's whining about it the entire time?

Did everything he see remind him of Sam the way everything reminded Sam of Dean?

Sam spent another day slowing avoiding places less and less. He managed to sit at the table in the computer room without cringing too badly, managed to even choke down a bite or two of an apple, per Cas's insistence. You didn't eat yesterday, Sam. If you want to get your body to heal, you have to have food in your system.

The headache wasn't so bad and the muscle pains were fading through the course of the day. Sam read a bit, carefully did a few sit-ups and push-ups to test out the dexterity of his muscles. He was getting better. He should be able to go on a jog tomorrow morning if he kept it up.

He drank about 7,000 glasses of water, and spent the evening showing Cas around the bunker since he'd never gotten a proper tour. He only froze and stammered a few times, the memories of certain rooms hitting him like a brick. Dean and Sam had done this in here. Had done that in there.

It was kind of terrible, but Sam forced himself through it, forced himself to show Cas everything. He drew a line at Dean's room though, just gesturing at the door. He made sure he could still say Dean's name without hesitating, because he wasn't going to let that word suddenly become forbidden. It would make everything so much worse.

"That's Dean's room." Cas looked at him carefully, then looked at the closed door. Sam hadn't closed it, so Cas must have. They both stood in silence for a moment, then Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, moving on. This next hallway has a few storage rooms, and there's a hallway leading off it that goes to the dungeon. Have you seen the dungeon yet? I can't remember."

"Yes." There was a brief pause like Cas was searching for the strength Sam had. "Dean took me with him to talk to Crowley about saving you."

The extra emphasis on Dean's name kind of defeated the purpose of saying it - the whole point was that it was supposed to be casual and regular and okay - but at least Cas had agreed not to avoid Dean's name like the plague. They'd slowly get through this, the two of them.

Sam wasn't sure how he'd do any of this without Cas's voice of reason, without someone to talk to and distract from loneliness. It'd be so much harder if he were all alone.

Was Dean alone?

Part of him wanted Dean to have someone as company, but Sam couldn't bear the thought of it being some waitress or some replacement for Sam. Sam couldn't sleep with anyone else, wasn't planning on ever sleeping with anyone besides Dean. But when Dean got upset, he was unpredictable. He could have worked his way through four braufels by now, or maybe he'd decided to explore other options in the males-department.

The thought alone made Sam tremble with jealousy, but he couldn't do anything besides hope Dean wouldn't throw away everything that easily.

He wouldn't, would he?

The nights alone were still the hardest part and they were probably going to be cold and lonely for a while before Sam got used to it. He'd only spent a few years in his entire lifetime sleeping alone, and he'd never quite adjusted to the emptiness and the vulnerability of it. Even as a kid, just sleeping with his back pressed to Dean's or entirely not touching and on opposite sides of the bed, it was that ensured safety that he craved so much. It was a dangerous world in the dark, especially if your eyes were closed and you were dead to the world. So having a deadly, caring human being lying next to you in the lurking, treacherous dark was a safety precaution Sam always took if he could.

Even when he and Dean were fighting or needed space or whatever, they still slept in the same room. Two queens, bodies rolled to face each other, sleeping as close as possible with the space of the beds between them.

Looking back on it, Sam had always made a point to sleep as close to Dean as possible. Pans there here had been that time period in his teenage years when he'd been so rebellious and hated John, Sam would try to find any way to retaliate against him. John had ordered them to sleep in separate rooms, because two growing teenage boys needed space and he wasn't going to tolerate any coddling of Sam or any hindering of Dean's killer mentality.

It had been a direct order and it had pissed Sam off to no end that John just tried to run his life like that, tried to get in between him and his brother. He may have had a pretty valid point about them being older now and probably needed to start sleeping in separate beds, separate rooms. But fifteen year old Sam had just started to realize what a dick his father was, started to realize that he would like for his life not to be ran over and controlled by the revenge-obsessed alcoholic.

So in a fit of rebellious stubbornness, he'd slept on the floor in Dean's room. Fuck John and his rules, Sam was sleeping in here, period. Dean had told Sam he was being ridiculous.

"Just listen to Dad, c'mon Sam. You know he's got a point," Dean had reasoned, trying to get Sam to listen. Sam had just clenched his jaw, glaring at Dean's bed in the limited sight the late hour offered.

"Are you seriously going to kick me out? Screw him, Dean. I sleep where I damn well want." Sam had replied hotly in the darkness. He was at the midpoint of his sophomore year in high school and everything pissed him off, especially when Dean tried to talk him into agreeing with their dad.

"Sammy, is that what this is about? Defying Dad? That's not fair, you know it's not." Dean rolled over to the edge of his bed, looking down at where Sam was curled in a blanket on the floor. Sam readjusted himself on his pillow to look up at the peering-over Dean.

"It's not just about him." Sam said harshly before he rolled away from Dean's freckled face that still seemed so sharply clear in the night's blackness.

"Then what is it about?" Dean pushed. Sam sighed, considered not answering for about .3 seconds, then he was staring at the wall and speaking so quietly Dean could barely hear him.

"I just don't feel safe sleeping in a different room. What if something got to you while you were sleeping...with Dad's job? It's just...I don't like being that far away."

Dean was quiet at that for a few moments. Eventually Sam rolled back over, looking up at where Dean was still leaning over the edge of the bed to look at him. For a second, Sam was pretty sure Dean was going to entirely defy Dad's orders and just invite Sam back onto his bed with him. That's the face he had on, the way he was chewing his lip and his fingers were clenched in fists. He wanted to give Sam that safety because that's all he wanted to do was to protect Sammy and Sam was practically asking him to.

But it was a direct order and this was before Dean had had the courage to ever stand up to Dad, so he just sighed and forced his hand out of the tight fist it was in, stretching his fingers out as he looked at Sam.

"At least let me sleep on the floor then," Dean finally relented. Sam grinned. At least Dean hadn't kicked him out.

"You sure?" Sam would normally fight Dean more on this, but he did have a major test in history tomorrow and he could use a good night's sleep.

Dean swung his legs off the side of his bed, nudging Sam's stomach with his foot.

"Of course I'm sure, princess. Get up there and get some sleep for Galloway's class, yeah?" Dean stood by and raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Sam to get up. Sam rolled out of the blanket and stood up, an affectionate hand reaching out and ruffling his already disheveled hair. Sam ducked away from Dean's hand with a smile and slid under Dean's covers, the bed still warm from Dean's body. He wasn't sure how Dean knew the name of Sam's history teacher, let alone that he had a test tomorrow he wanted sleep for, but he was grateful for a moment of Dean's nosiness and inability to keep Sam's life out of his own.

"Thanks, Dee. 'Night." Sam mumbled into Dean's pillow, breathing in the smell of leather and tires and coffee and the shampoo Dean used. There was the slight sound of shifting as Dean got comfortable in Sam's blanket on the floor, then a soft sigh.

"Night, Sammy."

 

Yeah, Sam was probably not going to get an ounce of sleep tonight. Not with memories like that haunting him and the cold hardness of his mattress in the bunker in comparison to the soft, sweet familiarness of Dean's. And the thing was, it had gotten so much worse than just wanting to be in the same room. He'd spent the past couple years wrapped around Dean, holding that warm body to his in the dark of the night.

Now Dean was gone and Sam was alone and there was no way he'd ask Cas for company. So he was gonna have to rough it on his own, just hope that eventually the weakness of his post-possessed body would eventually drag him into the sleep he was sure to never get if his body wasn't so worn down.

He definitely had to get out of the bunker tomorrow. He was going on that jog, regardless, and hopefully in the fresh air of the outdoors Dean wouldn't be haunting him like the ghost Sam would never have the guts to salt and burn.

~*~

At first, Cas had been reasonable. Supportive, understanding, if not a little hurt himself by the whole situation. But then he started dropping subtle hints. Then not so subtle hints.

When Sam got back from his much-anticipated jog that had felt just as good as he'd been hoping it would, Cas was complainingly eating a peanut butter sandwich. They had a normal, rational conversation, then moved on to their morning ritual of healing Sam's wounds.

Except that this time, Cas twisted up his face in concern as he drew his fingers back from Sam's forehead. The expression was fleeting and gone an instant later, but Sam still saw it. Something was wrong.

"What?" Sam prodded.

"Nothing." Cas lied. Terribly. He couldn't cover up anything with that tone of voice, let alone the constipated look on his face. Sam slapped Cas's hand away, giving him a look.

"You're a terrible liar," Sam told him.

"That is not true. I once deceived and betrayed both you and your brother." Cas fought back. Wow. Okay then, way to bring up the past. That was not the Winchester Way.

"Okay, that's not the point." Sam said awkwardly. But he wasn't going to let the problem slide just because of the intruding distraction. "Cas, what's wrong?"

"I noticed something. It's, uh... It's resonating inside you." Resonating? That didn't sound good. Neither did the whole "inside you" part. That was still concerning. And a little disgusting of a thought, honestly. He'd had an angel inside him - nonconsenting - and that was not exactly a good mental image. Neither was Crowley inside him, but Sam was entirely ignoring that he'd had both an angel and demon inside him at once because the whole thing was too weird.

"What?" Sam said instead.

"Something angelic." Cas mused regretfully. Okay, so there was something angelic resonating inside him and that gave Sam basically nothing except that it was probably not a good thing.

"Okay, uh, what the hell does that mean?" Sam clarified again because Cas kind of sucked at explaining things. As in he didn't explain them at all. So if he could just give Sam a straight answer...

"Maybe we should call Dean."

That was not a straight answer. That is the opposite of a straight answer.

Sam just stared at Cas for a moment. Seriously? So yeah, Cas'd been dancing around the topic of Dean for a couple of days, but just outright saying that they should call him? Right, they should just casually dial up the number of the person who left them stranded on a fucking bridge in the rain because he hated himself too much to realize he was hurting other people too.

If Dean honestly thought he was poison, than what the hell had Sam been? Had everything Sam said, every ounce of loving he'd thrown at Dean, had it all been for nothing? Dean was basically screaming that it had all been wasted, every bit of Sam that had been sacrificed for Dean. What about them, their relationship, everything else? And Dean was going to just hide behind the "I hate myself" wall and hope that everyone bought it?

No, Sam knew why Dean was really gone, he could feel it down deep. He didn't want to think about it, wasn't going to think about it, but he knew why.

And it was why they couldn't call. Ever.

"No." Sam said flatly, moving away from Cas. He looked down at the table, willing himself not to stumble all over the words and seem totally shaken up but he probably came across as a wreck anyways. "He wanted to go, and he's gone. We'll handle this."

Cas just looked at him sadly. Sam didn't need any of that shit.

"C'mon. Let's find more about this 'something angelic.'" Sam didn't wait for Cas to follow, just headed straight to the library and expected Cas to come along. They would research and figure this out on their own and Sam would finally prove to himself for once in his miserable life that he could be something, do something without his brother.

He wasn't the codependent person he was a week ago, he couldn't be. He wouldn't be able to survive. He had to prove to himself that he could be strong and successful without Dean. Sam was still Sam without Dean.

He had to be.

Because if he wasn't, where does that leave him?

~*~*~

The couch was weirdly comfortable but it didn't distract Dean from scanning the place, making a list of possible sharp objects to grab to defend himself, the lunge length required for each. The quickest and most efficient way to get out that window. The likeliness of how quickly Cain would be able to whammy the door shut.

You know, little things that determined whether or not they actually got out of this alive. The scan down of the place was hunter-engrained habit, Dean did it basically everywhere he went, although normally more of a subconscious thing. But they were in pretty dangerous territory, so he was paying extra attention to the layout of the room and the assessment of their options and actually being useful.

Unlike Crowley, who looked like he was about to have a panic attack. And Dean definitely knew what a panic attack looked like. So yeah, Crowley was freaking out but he could just skirt out of here whenever, so it seemed pretty pointless.

"Why don't you just zap out of here?" Dean reminded him with a bit of a glare. It was still Crowley after all.

"I'd never leave my domestic partner in crime." Crowley said sweetly, his eyes still darting around the room like the walls were closing in on him. Dean just snorted at the implication that Crowley was a decent and non despicable creature.

"Yeah, like your heart grew three sizes. You can't zap out of here, can you?"

"Cain's doing something to me." Crowley said, fairly fearful sounding now. Dean supposed if you were used to hopping around wherever forever, being stuck had to be a bit disconcerting.

"Well, it's not your day for getaways, is it?" If Dean cared at all, he may say something sympathetic but he didn't care about a single fucking thing right now, especially not Crowley. He had more important things on his mind than the fragile emotions of a skeezy demon. "All right, so, tell me about this Cain."

"Well, after Cain killed Abel, he became a demon."

"What do you mean "became a demon"?" Dean was pretty sure that didn't just happen out of nowhere. Didn't it take like conditioning in hell and all that shit? Demon Sunday school and a couple hundred years on the racks being tortured? Or torturing. Your soul had to be seriously fucked up.

"I mean he became the deadliest demon to walk the face of the earth." Crowley said, answering Dean's question about the random demonic transformation approximately zero. "Killed thousands. The best at being the worst. And then he just... Disappeared. Everyone thought he was dead or, at least, hoped he was."

Okay, so that was pretty intense, but Crowley had entirely skipped over how Cain had randomly become a demon out of nowhere. For some reason that felt pretty relevant. Dean was just about to question Crowley about it, but approaching footsteps made him keep his mouth shut.

Cain walked into the room with a tray, carrying a pot of tea and some mugs. Dean was so not a tea person, that was more of a Sa-

Just not a Dean thing.

"Do either of you keep bees? It's very relaxing. They're such noble creatures." Dean was pretty sure he'd heard this speech before. He couldn't remember exactly where..."And the honey? Well, I keep it right on the comb."

Cain sat down the tea tray and Dean realized where the bee thing was from. Cas, when he'd been crazy, had had an obsession with bees. It was during his "I don't fight anymore" stage.

From the looks of this little place, Cain was going through a similar phase. Dean wondered what the bees had to do with the non-fighting thing. Maybe they really were relaxing.

If his sidekick was here, he would probably spurt off a long-winded essay on how bees were ancient Egyptian symbols of peacekeeping or some shit like that. But Dean didn't have a sidekick anymore. Just...Crowley. Who was cowering and cringing. And rattling his teacup like a bitch because his hands were shaking so bad. Dean rolled his eyes. This guy wasn't that scary.

"There you are." Cain said jovially, handing Dean a cup of tea as well. Hell if Dean was drinking it but he'd keep it in his hands for now. It was warm, a reminder of his aliveness. His hands were hot and not everything was cold and dead.

"They're dying, you know. Without bees, mankind will cease to exist." This guy should seriously get together and have a conversation with Cas.

Did the fact that Dean cared zero about bees somehow symbolize that he cared zero about peace too? Probably.

"So, what are the King of Hell and a Winchester doing at my house?" Cain finally asked straight, leaning back in his chair. Dean's eyebrows went up. He hadn't introduced either of them, but apparently Cain had recognized him as a Winchester. That was either a good or a very very bad thing.

"You know who we are?" Dean said, more than a little surprised. This was Cain, big bad boss villain and he recognized them both.

"I'm retired. I'm not dead." Well then. Maybe Dean should get back to socializing with other hunters and monsters, figure out what exactly they were all saying about him. Because seriously, the planet seemed to know who he was and considering that Dean had never met the majority of them before, it was a bit disconcerting. Clearly, he had a bit of a reputation. It might be helpful to figure out exactly what that was. "What I don't know is why you're looking for me -- more importantly, how you found me."

"Ah, that's, uh, a funny story, really." Crowley nervously started to ramble. "Bit of a misunderstanding. We really should --"

His words wee suddenly cut off with a wave of Cain's hand and a gentle "Shh." Crowley's mouth flapped open indignantly, rendered completely speechless.

Holy fuck it was the best day ever. Dean had been trying to get Crowley to shut up since the day he'd met him and then just a wave of hand and poof, half of Dean's 99 problems disappeared.

"Oh, you gotta teach me how to do that." Dean said in awe, looking from Crowley to Cain. Seriously Dean's new favorite mojo move.

"Why are you here, Dean?" Cain said instead. Fine. If he didn't want to tell Dean how to shut up Crowley he could at least give Dean the weapon to kill the other annoyingly talkative demon bitch in his life.

But Cain was apparently just as annoying as any other demon Dean had met because the guy had serious paranoia issues and just adored skirting around Dean's questions, politely ignoring him instead.

"Well, it's been a pleasure having company, but once a century is enough for me." Cain stood, already heading out of the room. "You can let yourselves out."

This guy thought he knew so much about Dean but clearly he was misinformed if he thought Dean was going to let him out of this that easy. Dean followed hot on his heels, biting words at Bitch Demon #3's back. "Hey, listen, pal. We're not leaving here without the Blade."

Cain spun back around slowly, eyeing Dean with some surprise in his gaze. "You have quite a reputation, Dean. I see the part about you being brave rings true."

Brave? That's not one of the qualities Dean would have assumed was in this so-called reputation.

"Well, what can I say? I'm an all-in kind of guy." Dean didn't consider himself brave as much as stubborn, honestly. Brave was too heavy of a word. But he shrugged off the reputation conversation because they had more important things to talk about right now. "Abaddon is the last Knight of Hell, and if you're out of the game, what the hell do you care if she dies?"

But of course he cared. Turns out he built them. This is why you don't go into battle half-cocked and misinformed. Dean really hated Crowley. And he was getting close to hating Cain that much, too.

He kicked them out. In favor of some domestic chores like errands to run in town. At least it gave them an in.

A useless in. Because they couldn't find anything. Besides, of course, a photograph of Cain's wife.

"Think I figured out why he went off the reservation so many years ago." Dean handed the picture to Crowley. They had matching rings, Cain and the woman in the photo. Married. Dean's brain struggled and kicked against itself as he fought to stay blank about that word, about what that meant. He wasn't going to think about it, wasn't going to think about him--

Off the reservation. What if it had been like that with them? What if when they'd gotten married they'd just quit, stopping hunting and started just loving each other full time?

Well for one, they'd still be married. And Sam probably wouldn't hate him. And maybe Gadreel really would have left Sam without the mess, maybe he would have been able to heal him faster when he wasn't healing wounds and damage from hunting too.

But what kind of life would that had been? If Dean and Sam had gone off the reservation when they got hitched? Just disappeared to the world, lived in the bunker for the rest of their lives and did nothing but play cards and make love and laugh over morning coffee.

They hadn't, though, and now they never would.

There was a lot of things they never would do.

Dean shook the thought away with a violent shake of his head. If he could just rattle his brain around in his head hard enough, maybe it could empty all of his thoughts of Sam. He was fighting so hard to stay numb and distant from it all but holy fuck it was difficult. So much more difficult than it had been when he was younger. Because he'd had that moment, he'd let his walls down and let Sam have all of him, completely, and it had been too much. Dean had given himself over to Sam and now he was never getting himself back.

He probably would have stood there and drowned in that thought if a clicking sound hadn't made him look up, instincts kicking in and fighting mode back on. It was a familiar clicking sound, echoing around them in enough directions to know it meant bad news. Locking doors, sounded like all of them.

"He's back. Come on." Dean hustled to the front door and attempted at the door handle. Fuck, it was locked down tight. Well they weren't getting out this way. Dean turned to Crowley, hissing at him violently. "Go!"

But then Cain was standing there and leaving wasn't an option anymore. Or at least an exceedingly more difficult one. Dean was still analyzing out his options - there was still the window after all - but talking Cain into releasing them really did seem like the best way out of this. Dean may not be simultaneously adored and terrifying with dimples, a puppy dog look, and height enough to tower over the entire planet, but he could still intimidate his way out of most situations if he kept level-headed to stay calm enough.

Biggest problem right now though was how extremely unbalanced and unlevel Dean's head was. And Cain, he was definitely a problem because he was a dick and powerful and he'd kind of just caught them breaking into his house.

"That belongs to me," Cain said cooly, a mix between deadly and offended and scary-calm all in his voice at once. Not a good combo. Dean's spine rippled with chills just being in the same room as this guy, like his body knew exactly how damaged Cain could make it. But Dean's mind couldn't bring itself to even bow his head in respect because his head didn't give a fuck how badass this guy was supposed to be. Cain had something Dean needed and Dean was going to get it, period. Screw what his bodily instincts were.

"Sorry. Gorgeous, by the way." Crowley held out the photo like an apology and Dean could see his hand shaking. If Cain wasn't a dick and Dean was in a better mood than he'd been for the past week, he'd sit Cain down and force some of his secrets out of him because getting Crowley to be that afraid of Dean would be the best thing that ever happened to Dean pertaining to the demon. He could just picture it, lowering a glare on Crowley and watching him tremble the way he did with Cain. It'd be absolutely --

A bright light flashed in the window, something like headlights based on the double beam displacement, and Dean interrupted his thoughts to go check it out. He ignored Cain and peered past the curtain, getting full sight of the storm in the driveway. Fucking great. That was a hell of a lot of demons.

"I don't suppose they're with you." Dean said, turning back to Cain. Cain seemed to temporarily forget that they'd broken into his house because all of his attention was focused on the parade of demons in his driveway.

"No."

Cain looked vaguely pissed at the intrusion of demons. Well, Dean supposed that he'd be mad too if he'd been hiding out somewhere for 150+ years and then all of a sudden half the planet found you and of course, wanted to kill you. Dean was pretty sure Cain was more upset about losing his hiding spot than his life being threatened, but a guy at Cain's caliber probably didn't exactly quake in his boots at some grade B demons come to hunt him down.

So you'd think he'd at least help when they stormed the house. Because it wasn't like Cain had anything to lose, he could kill them all way too easy. Defend his house, defend his honor, defend his life. But nope. He just got this nonchalant look on his face and wished them luck with their fight. That wasn't fucking fair and Dean wasn't even sure he'd heard right. He couldn't have heard right.

"What?" Dean asked incredulously, glaring at Cain in disbelief from across the room.

"You exposed my home. You exposed me." Cain whined. This guy was supposed to be the damn father of murder and he was over here acting like a petulant three year old. Really un-fucking-cool.

"Well, boo-hoo," Dean snapped back. He didn't give a damn how scary Cain was supposed to be if the guy just sat there and fucking whined while the rest of them tried to hack their way through demons. He could suck it the fuck up and help, seriously.

Dean's last comment made Crowley cringe like he'd been slapped. His beady annoying eyes darted between Cain and Dean, watching on and trembling in terror. Was everyone besides Dean here a total pussy or...?

"Brave, but impulsive." Cain condemned. Dean rolled his eyes internally. They were all about to die and Cain wanted to analyze out Dean's personality. Hell, Dean was surprised more people weren't trying to kill Cain, he was terribly infuriating. Cain kept his calm little voice of fascination, studying Dean like he was a science project instead of a guy more than willing to kick Cain's ass right now. Or at least go down trying. "You truly have lived up to your reputation."

Okay, seriously, what the fuck was all this about Dean's reputation?

Sure, he knew the Winchesters were a pretty common name. But the fact that Cain had heard of them, knew who Dean was on sight? And then proceeded to explain little bits and clues of this supposed reputation Dean had...

Dean would really like to fucking know what people said about him. He'd gotten brave at first and he still wasn't sure how to feel about that one, but he could totally get on board with impulsive. Except that Dean wasn't impulsive as much as everyone else just worked too damn slow. So much thought when there could just be go. That, and he really wasn't going to be afraid of some old beekeeper guy who just strolled into his house with an arm full of groceries with something green sticking out the top. Yeah, not exactly an intimidating image. Although nothing about Cain was really that intimidating, save for what people said about him.

"I can't say you've lived up to yours." Dean bit back. Because it was true, he wasn't scared of Cain and odds are he never would be. The guy didn't look even the slightest bit lethal.

Well, besides the look in his eyes. He looked haunted, half-dead, and ready to slaughter at any moment. Dean knew that look. He caught it on himself in the mirror just this morning. It was the look of a killer who had lost too much. But the difference between them was that Dean's wounds were fresh and that made him pissed instead of Cain's tired resolve that had probably come with time. He was old and tired and it was infuriating that he refused to help.

Seriously, who the fuck just sits back in a kitchen chair and shucks corn while a mini demon army tries to break into your house? Sadistic bastard. And Dean wasn't afraid to let Cain know it, too.

"So, this is your play? Corn? What am I not getting here? I mean, it's not like you're a coward." The thing about reputations was that they came from somewhere, all of them came from somewhere, so if Cain was rumoured to be the most deadly thing ever, he had to at least have been pretty damn scary at one point. His actions screamed otherwise, so something had to have happened. Time alone couldn't turn someone from Ruthless Killer to Passive Homebody. Dean was definitely missing part of the story.

"Since when does the great Dean Winchester ask for help?" Cain said instead, ignoring Dean's question entirely. Dean wanted to scoff at the word great placed in front of his name. Because it didn't fit him at all. There was nothing great about the numbed, soldier, broken shell of a man Dean was. As if Dean's curiousity about his reputation wasn't enough, Cain threw him a spike that had a dull spark of true interest burning in his gut.

"Well, that doesn't sound like the man I've read about on demon bathroom walls."

As soon as Dean was getting out of here he was high-tailing it to the next bar and finding out what the fuck people actually said about him because if his reputation had gotten as far as the demon bathroom walls, metaphorical or not, it was seriously time Dean check into that because he had no idea his name had gotten this wide-spread, no idea his reputation had gotten that exagerrated.

But it wasn't just out of curiousity that he wanted to know. If people were saying things about him, Dean would have to be damn sure he could live up to the words. Because otherwise, people assumed things. Like that he was invincible or crazy or deadlier than he actually was. And if someone had an idea of who Dean was without Dean knowing that idea, it'd be pretty tough to live up to his own name.

Unless, of course, someone throws a damn test at you.

"Maybe you've lost a step," Cain pondered. Dean had lost a lot, (mainly his fighting partner - he was used to fighting dual fights because he had for years and that was his go-to winning style) but he hadn't lost everything. That didn't mean he was even the slightest bit appreciative when Cain snapped his fingers, letting the kitchen door fly open. "Let's find out."

Two demons piled into the room, rushing in past the fridge and the open space. Dean automatically went on edge, hands curling and hair standing up because dammit he was going to have to fight. Then Cain snapped again and the door and fridge slammed back shut, locking the other demons outside.

"Oh, don't mind me," Cain said with a wave of his hand. Of course they weren't going to go after fucking Cain. But the dismissal still managed to piss Dean off. Because seriously? And then that same annoying hand motioned at Dean, his words bitter and totally freaking rude. "Enjoy yourself."

Dean was served up like Thanksgiving dinner on a tray, laid out before the two demons with no good space to fight and no 6 foot 5 hunk of pure deadly beauty at his back to protect his left side and right knee. But bonus for everyone here, Dean was pissed. Missing Sam, even having the thought cross his mind, made him more pissed. Seriously, he's about to go into a setup fight with a couple of demons and the first thing he thinks is oh no I can't fight without my boyfriend as backup?

He pulled the knife from his jacket and brandished it in his hand, because there was no fucking way Dean was that codependent.

He'd fought without Sam before and he could fucking do it now.

Then, of course, because Dean's luck was total shit and apparently two crazy demons wasn't enough for him to deal with, the window behind Dean shattered with a terrible sound and a shower of glass over his back. Dean shied away from the glass because he was pissed but he wasn't stupid, then spun around to see what else the cat dragged in. Apparently, demon number 3. Great.

He was supposed to take on 3 demons entirely by himself in this small ass kitchen, armed with nothing but a pig-sticker.

They had fought demons enough in their lifetime to make that statement seem a lot smaller than it really was. It used to be that they'd need an entire team, holy water, and devil's traps to take down a single demon. Even then, hunters had died right and left just trying to take down one. With the proper equipment.

And if things weren't bad enough, one vs three never ever ended well. If it was just two regular humans you were fighting, you might get out of it okay. Two still meant that someone could stab you in the back as you attacked the other guy, it meant that there were so many more places you were exposed and killable. Logistically, taking down two humans would be extremely dangerous and a bit suicidal, even if you were a damn good fighter.

Then add in another person, which meant at least a hundred more blind spots and opportunities to die.

Then make them all super-strong, pissed off, nearly unkillable demons.

Yeah, it might not sound like a lot but it was a freaking lot. Probably one of the most unfair, disadvantageous fights Dean had been in. And he was fighting internal battles with himself and his codependency on top of it. Oh, and in case he didn't have enough pressure, he was somehow supposed to be proving his worthiness to some dickbag shucking corn. He had to live up to a reputation he didn't know the details of, and do it all without dying.

Dean lunged for demon number 3 after barely a second's pause.

 

~*~*~*~*~

Sam decided they were going to switch Cas's name to puppy dog. He literally had that expression on his face 24/7 and the way he trailed at Sam's heels certainly didn't do anything but help reinforce the idea. He literally followed Sam around like a shadow, a constant bit of tan trench coat in Sam's peripherals at all times.

At first it was kind of endearing. He cared about Sam, he wanted to make sure he was okay. But after a couple of days Sam was feeling healthier, better all the time. He was even going on his morning jogs now. The sharp, cool air of late fall/early winter was like bathing in ice: cold and eye-opening and positively numbing to every inch of body, even the insides. As Sam would pump his legs faster, draw in shorter, icy puffed breaths, the cold formed a thin film over Sam's organs and pumped purification through his blood.

When he was out there, Dean hadn't left him. He was running fast enough to get back before Dean's beautiful sleeping body could roll over and realize Sam was gone. He was running and embracing the cold because his head still told him there was a sleep-warm, sated, freckled expanse of skin ready to hold him and stroke impenetrable warmth into him as soon as he got home.

When he was out there, Dean hadn't left him. All of the sore places and aching muscles and purpled bruises weren't from Gadreel and the trials. The pain in his hip was from where Dean had sucked and bit at him last night. The bruises on his neck were thumb-shaped Dean imprints from where he'd held onto Sam too tight as he kissed him, slow and languid but still somehow so achingly desperate. The cramps in Sam's arms were from holding Dean's body too tight to him as he fucked his body up inside Dean, hot and messy and so so safe when he was wrapped up in Sam's arms. Sam was never surer of Dean's protection than when he was pinned under Sam, breathless and arching and fluttering long black eyelashes over freckled cheeks.

When he was out there, Dean hadn't left him. If only for a little while. It was the only time Sam let himself live in the past, the only time he let himself pretend. It made the crash of walking sweaty and tired back into a Dean-less bunker so much worse and it still stung every time. And every morning he came back from his run and his wild imagination, he cursed himself and promised it was the last time, he wouldn't think about Dean at all during his run tomorrow morning. But every morning when he jogged into the bitter, refreshing air, he was out there and Dean hadn't left him.

At least he had Cas. The angel was more of a comfort and a friend to Sam than Sam could have ever imagined. So long as Sam wasn't alone, he was coping. He was surviving. And he was going to prove to himself that he could do this without Dean.

He was going to find Gadreel and prove to himself he was still his own person. There could be a Sam without Dean. Hopefully. Maybe. Probably not.

But as sweet as Cas was, he was even more persistent. And terribly annoying when it came to Dean. He'd been sympathetic with Sam at first, maybe even empathetic. But then he got the idea in his head that for some reason Sam couldn't survive without Dean around and couldn't they just call Dean back home already?

No, they couldn't. There was more to the story than Cas knew. More than Dean was willing to admit. Even if Dean totally did know, deep down inside. It was bigger than just Gadreel possessing Sam. The incident over the part couple of months was just the final big neon sign that pointed out the real problem. The problem they'd been avoiding for years .

That didn't stop Cas from pestering.

"Sam, may I ask you a question?" Puppy-Dog-Cas asked him, nearly turning around to walk down the stairs backwards he was so focused on Sam.

"You just did," Sam replied lightheartedly, focusing on not tripping as he neared the bottom. He wasn't sure what Cas was going to ask him about but any question that needed a precursor like that couldn't be very good. For normal people, anyway. With Cas you never could tell.

"Can I ask you another question?" Cas pressed further, not an ounce of patience lost between the two questions.

"Well, technically, you --" Sam landed on solid ground. Clearly, Cas wasn't equipped for playful banter. He ignored the stab of pain in his gut as his brain tried to remind him of the source of all his playful banter since Sam had been old enough to talk. Cas wasn't Deah, no one was, and Sam had to seriously drop the topic of Dean before he exploded.

"Yeah, go ahead. What's up?"

They were on their way to the medical room that branched off the computer room, but Sam paused in the doorway to the hall, facing Cas so he could properly give him his attention. Cas's eyebrows were furrowed a bit, making him look like a slightly more disgruntled version of the same puppy. Why get a dog when an angel was sufficient? Okay, too soon, Sam wasn't going to think about dogs either.

Did everything in his life remind him of Dean? Not one more thought about him, Sam promised hollowly to himself. Attention back on Cas instead.

"Sam, the trials." Oh no. Sam knew where this was going. He was not alright with where this was going. He scoffed, turning his head away from Cas. He did not want to have this conversation. Cas just looked at him more firmly, eyes somehow even more serious than his words. "You chose not to go through with them for a reason, didn't you?" Sam was just looking down. Staring down. "You chose to live rather than to sacrifice yourself."

There was a pause, a single breath that Sam couldn't find the courage to breathe in.

"You and Dean...you chose each other."

"Yeah, I did." Sam nearly interrupted, swift, painful. But the words were never going to portray just how painful it really was. Sam had chosen Dean. It had been the ultimatum moment and he'd chosen his love for his brother over saving the world. Sam had been so damn selfish and what for? Nothing.

But his head was going 8000 miles per hour and thinking about everything and Dean and what Cas had just said...you and Dean chose each other. Dean had chosen him too. It had been a joint decision and a serious commitment and more important than any other choice Sam had ever made in his life and look what had come of it?

Dean was gone.

Dean had chosen him once, but he'd left and Sam was fairly sure that hurt more now because of it. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all had never loved Dean Winchester.

"We did," Sam corrected himself. It was both of them and that made it worse somehow. It was Dean finally saying the three words he'd never been able to. Not out loud, but he'd screamed I love you with every word of the monologue engrained in Sam's head. He'd screamed I love you in the way he looked at Sa and tied that bandana around his hand, smiling when he should have been crying just because he'd talked Sam off that ledge and there was a level of devotion there that was terrifyingly beautiful and so them and then Dean had gone and lit it on fire, crumpled it into a wad, thrown it out the window, and shredded it to microscope pieces less than twenty-four hours later.

Dean did more than throw away the promise in that church. He threw away them.

He broke his damn wedding vows before Sam's eyes even opened back up, before he ever got another word in. Dean had ruined it all by not trusting Sam, by literally going back on everything he had told Sam in that church. So Sam was supposed to come before everyone, right? Except for himself, of course. Because Dean put what Dean wanted ahead of what Sam wanted, which was essentially just destroying the entire idea of Don't you dare think there's anything past or present I would put in front of you.

Save for your own ability to make decisions and your damn FREE WILL.

Wasn't the whole point of everything ever to fight for free will? Hadn't that been the battle since the beginning of time? But one second of touch-and-go in a hospital and Dean goes against everything they fought for, every ounce of improvement they had made together, every promise he had just made Sam, and reverted back to the stupidest thing he could have possibly done.

"And then... Dean made a choice for me." Sam's finger bumped his chest as he spoke with his hands, pointing sharply at himself before turning heel and ending the damn conversation. He wasn't talking about this he didn't want to talk about this. But Cas apparently didn't get the simple message of shut up because he just puppy-dogged Sam's heels as Sam stalked off to the medical room.

"What Dean did --" Cas started. Sam wasn't going to listen to a detailed description or some flowery excuse or whatever Cas was going to say. This whole mess had more layers to it than Cas could ever imagine, but he was done talking about the surface one. It wasn't the biggest part of the problem, even if it was the cause for most of it.

Sam was guilty too, that was what Cas wasn't seeing.

"It doesn't matter what Dean did. Look, I could have put a stop to all this, Cas. I could have closed the gates of hell." That was something Sam was sure he would never forgive himself for. He threw away saving the world, all because of some stupid emotional moment of attachment to his brother he couldn't let go of.

"Oh, Sam," Cas tried to protest. He still wasn't getting it.

"Dean's gone, okay?" Sam snapped. Saying it like that, all heat of the moment and straight-up, made it feel more real than the cold, empty bed beside him had. Dean was gone and it was so usual now that is was just a point in an argument, just a reminder thrown at Cas to shut him up about Dean this Dean that. Dean was gone and Sam's brain was somehow finally registering everything that meant and it wasn't something he was going to let break him. Dean was gone now and Sam wasn't sure when he'd convinced himself he was going to live with that.

"This is on me now, and if I can find Gadreel... I can fix this." Sam couldn't even begin to explain everything he had to fix to Cas; Cas wouldn't get it if Sam tried. Sam had a hell of a lot to prove and this was that first step that might save him. Sam, for once, could pull himself out of the fire. He could prove to Dean and more importantly, to himself, that he wasn't so entwined into Dean's life that he couldn't survive without him. Sam would function. And he would fix this. On his own.

He folded his plaid button-up as he stripped it off, setting it on the table next to the gurney. The medical room was just a few doors down from the hallway that lead to the room he'd given Dean his guitar. It was a cool room, but they hadn't had a use for it yet. Thankfully.

He couldn't explain the need to break out of the term codependent to Cas, but he could at least explain another part of it to him. A part that would make Cas think enough to get his mind off the thousand other reasons Sam was doing this.

"Now...being a human means settling your debts." He handed the needle's box to Cas, plopping down on the gurney. They weren't going to talk about Dean, they were going to fix this. Sam was going to fix this. "Let's start balancing the books."

 

Sam had had a lot of needles in his skin in his lifetime, but this one was thick as hell and much longer than anything else he could remember having in his body. Well, save for the bigass needles Crowley had stabbed into his brain to get at Gadreel's coding. His mouth automatically sucked in a gasp as the sharp point slid into his skin, which Sam instantly regretted (even though it hurt like hell) because Cas suddenly got that mother-hen look on his face.

And then proceeded to baby Sam and refuse to push the needle in further. Because his heart was too damn big for his own good and Sam would seriously never get anything done if Cas was going to baby him for forever. Sam didn't give him the option to back out though, he had to do this.

There was a tingle in his fingertips, too much energy trapped, and his arms were aching like he'd gone seventy rounds with a brick wall. And that was before Cas pushed the needle in deeper. Sparks went off in Sam's brain, and not the good kind. It was like getting electrocuted but without the warmth or the tingle, just the shocks running through your veins. He'd planned on trying to keep his cool and not make sounds of pain, but all control he had of his motor functions slipped as he brain took over.

He could still feel the pain, maybe getting worse, as the small bit of vitality he had in his chest felt like it was getting sucked out of him. Sam decided in some distant part of his mind that this is what a grape must feel like when it was left in the sun too long and got dehydrated into a raisin. Then his mind wasn't even connected to his body anymore, to the point that he couldn't even tell his body was lurching in pain on the table.

No, Sam's mind was somewhere very different. He was seeing things through Gadreel's eyes, jolting back down a timeline like someone was dragging him down a flight of stairs on his ass. First Kevin, then Dean with green paint on his fingers and tears in his eyes as he begged Sam to listen, told him how sorry he was, but Sam had been messed up and that had messed him up. It was one of those moments were Dean said I love you without saying it, but Sam was whisked away from the desperate gaze before he got the next line in, was jerked back in time to another moment.

Have you been listening in on.../all/ of our conversations? Dean asked Gadreel wearily from the driver's seat. Sam knew the look on his face, could read the vague rage and humiliation and deep possessive need to keep what was between Dean and Sam private. Sam's brain didn't stick around long enough to hear Gadreel's response, but Sam remembered the way Dean had been after that, all flicky-eyed and it's just the trials.

How many times had Dean said "the trials" and meant "the psycho angel inside your body you don't know about?"

Yanked back again and Dean was walking into the kitchen shirtless, grin wedged in the corner of his mouth and hair rused, bruises lining his neck that were shaped quite a bit like fingerprints and Sam's mouth. He went straight to the sink, washing his hands and whatever dish was in there while he was at it. Dean hadn't seen Gadreel, sitting upright and board-stiff at the kitchen table, because he hadn't so much as glanced that way. He was too busy walking in a daze, eyes down and a slight red tinge to his cheeks like he was anticipating something.

If it had been Sam at the table instead of Gadreel, he'd have crossed the room by now to run his hands over the mesmerizing curve of Dean's bare back, leaning in to kiss at the bruises he'd made earlier. But Sam was just watching the memory, not actually participating, because it was Gadreel instead.

"Hey Sammy," Dean started, sounding a little nervous. "I got something I decided I should finally fess up to."

He paused, turning off the water but not turning around, still shyly facing away as he dried his hands. Then his voice came again, a bit of the sly-cheeky Dean Sam knew, but with a tad of the shy-vanilla lover he'd come to know mixed in there.

"You know how we were talking kinks earlier? There's something I've been kinda into since...forever, and I figured I might as well share cau--" Dean froze mid word, facing Gadreel now and somehow recognizing him the second he saw him. Sam's eyes weren't blue, he wasn't glowing, wasn't doing anything abnormal besides sitting up straight. But Dean looked at for him for approximately .3 seconds and he automatically knew something was wrong.

"Zeke," Dean flatlined, the flush going out of his cheeks and the shy smile falling into a mild glare. "What do you want?"

And drag, Sam was flashed into another moment.

He had a few milliseconds where a single question managed to float into his head how much did I really miss during those months?

Sam had no idea what Dean had been about to tell him, because he never had. Sam remembered that day, remembered how Dean had been slightly cross and Sam had asked worriedly if last night had been too rough and Dean had instantly melted, reassuring Sam with kisses and words that of course not, he didn't break that easy.

But Dean hadn't mentioned this secret kink since, Sam was sure of it. It shouldn't matter, it really shouldn't. In the big span of things, it was the most silly, insignificant conversation to be cut short. But for some reason it was like there was just one more thing on top of the shit this had ruined between them and it fucking hurt like a knife to the chest.

Dean had always been a bit of an enigma for Sam, there was so much he kept locked up. Hell, last month alone Sam had found out that Dean won wrestling championships, stayed at a boys home, and played guitar. And then there had been Dean, willing to fess up a piece of him that he'd kept locked away. Ready to tell Sam something and Sam had never gotten the chance to know.

How many things had Sam missed? How many?

Then he was bounced back through more and more, each going further back on the timeline.

After the job with Vesta, when Dean tried to tell him about Gadreel and Gadreel jumped in and stopped him. And Dean almost cried. Sam watched it and could see it and it hurt so damn bad he actually felt relieved when he was skipped off to the next memory.

Honestly, all of those missing pieces were filling in, and it felt a lot more painful and hurtful than it should have. It should have felt good to know what happened, it should have been satisfying to get all those pieces back. Instead it felt like Sam was getting his year of being soulless crammed back into his head. Painful and dark and packed full of lies and absolutely nothing Sam could do about any of it but absorb and watch.

He watched Dean roll away from him, flinch out of his touch, look at Sam with eyes that were so tired and so hurt from it all.

The huge mess of what had gone wrong between them since the trials? This had been why. Sam had thought they were growing apart because Dean didn't want him anymore, all of those things. Really it had been this angel inside him that Dean had kept from him. This big, growing lie in the shadows that haunted their relationship until it split at the seams and spilled all their insides out bloody.

Sam watched, finally understood the mutter under Dean's breath as he leaned forward to really kiss Sam for the first time after the coma, a whispered don't hate me for this Zeke falling into the air in between them. At the time Sam had noticed but he hadn't thought anything of it.

Now, though, now it all made sense. Why Dean had pushed so much distance between them. Why he had random crazy mood swings. All the headaches and the reluctant glances. The occasional slip of the word "Zeke," that had Sam wondering - just barely, just briefly - if maybe Dean had some lover Sam didn't know about. They practically lived in each other's pockets but there was all that time he couldn't remember and what if during that time...

Sam had told himself it was nothing. He was being paranoid, didn't he trust Dean?

Didn't he trust Dean. Now, it felt laughable. Look at what trusting Dean had gotten him - he'd killed Kevin and destroyed the relationship between him and the best thing that had happened to him. All because Sam was too damn selfish to close the gates of hell and die like he was supposed to.

He was rumbled through memories all the way back to the hospital, all the way back to his coma. Dean was an absolute wreck in that hospital. He looked ready to kill a small child, while simultaneously on the edge of breaking down and crying until someone had to build an ark to get away from the flood. Sam ached just looking at him in the flashback - it was so much pain.

There ain't no me if there ain't no you. Sam wondered if Dean had told Gadreel to say that. Or if the angel had been smart enough to deduct that was how Dean felt. Based on the way Dean had been running around the hospital like a psychopath being obvious as he'll how much of a wreck he was without Sam...Sam decided that Gadreel had probably figured that one out on his own.

Sam really hated the word codependent. Was it that damn obvious? That they couldn't breathe without each other, couldn't sleep without each other?

Just look at how weak it had made them both.

Look at how many people they screwed over because of it.

They couldn't close the hell gates and Kevin was dead, all because they were too entangled in each other's lives to let go.

Once his head took him to the hospital, Sam wasn't just seeing things anymore. He could feel it, could feel the shards of glass twisting at the soft tissue of his windpipe and his organs, could feel the fire that lapped at his insides and the heavy sandpaper that flowed through his blood and rubbed raw the inside of his veins. The effects of the last trail were sharp and so painful Sam wasn't supposed to even feel them, he was supposed to be in a coma in his head so the pain wouldn't destroy him. But in the flashback, the pain was unimaginably real.

Then a blink and Sam was in the church. The fire was still licking his insides and his arms were glowing bright with the evidence of the last trial and sharp, seedy pain. Dean's hands were on him, which kept Sam from entirely collapsing, but he screamed in pain anyways, eyes squeezed shut as he started to fall to the ground. He heard the opening tone of a terrified, sharp Sam? then it was back another memory, to just before the trials.

Blood-red shower water scalding his skin, trying to scrub himself clean of the cold and the sharpening pain. He was nothing more than a skeleton at this point, broken and tired and so damn cold all the time he would cry if he had the energy for it.

Then he was coughing up blood into a napkin, a knife-like twist in his stomach and a raspy feeling in his throat. He was coughing up blood and trying to keep it from Dean, but how the hell was Sam supposed to do that when Dean's tongue was constantly in his mouth?

The next flash was an explosion, one Sam couldn't even place on a timeline it happened so quick. Then an image of his body slumped over, nearly-dead. It was all accompanied by a very unfamiliar feeling that Sam never ever wanted to feel again. It was like his body had been dead for months, like he was deteriorating into the earth and being eaten and slowly devoured by maggots and worms as his flesh rotted and his bones decomposed down into a hard, brittle skeleton that was fragile enough to break if someone blew on it.

The range of pain that flowed through him was everything from the already-dead-feeling to the knifes and glass shards and fires he had destroying his insides. It was an enormous spectrum of pain, then Sam was snapped out of it just as quickly as he fell into the void.

His body stilled from the thrashing it must have been doing that whole time, and Sam gasped in air like he'd been deprived of oxygen for the past twenty years. That's what it felt like too, like his brain would die and his body would give out if he didn't get oxygen in his lungs right now.

The medical room in the bunker slowly swimmed into focus, then it was all too much light and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. His hand flew up to his throbbing neck, holding his palm tight against the extra heartbeat there. It felt like he'd had all his internal liquids sucked out of him and now he was shriveling up like a Marburg monkey.

And that weary, cold, dying feeling he'd had during the months of the trials was weighing heavy in his bones, like he had flown back in time to see something and had accidentally brought back the pain and torture with him. His body recognized the state it was in, tried to curl in on itself and give up like he hadn't had the courage to do last time.

Sam tried to breathe, tried to focus back on right here, right now. They were doing something important, that was all he could vaguely remember through the pain. They'd been...extracting the grace from Sam's body. Wow, not a process Sam was going to recommend to anyone any time soon. There was a heavy warm hand on his forehead and Sam focused on that, focused on the warmth and the slight relief that was dizzyingly soaking out of the fingers and into his brain.

"What the hell was that?" Sam managed out, his body feeling like it was floating eight million miles away from where he was choking on his words right now. He fluttered his eyes open, forced his gaze to focus back in on the room. The immediate pain had the edge worn off now, probably from the comforting hand Cas had on him. He was still breathing like he'd been racing a Wendigo, and he didn't even want to recognize the state his internal organs felt like they were in.

"Your body is regressing to the state it was in before Gadreel," Cas said worriedly, peering down at Sam. Everything got kind of swimmy again and Sam narrowed his eyes, trying to get less light in them so maybe his splitting headache would go away. He could recognize the words still, even through all the pain ricocheting through him. He turned his head towards Cas, throat feeling raw and cut open as he spoke again.

"Do we have enough Grace for the summoning spell?" He was amazed he even had the ability to think about that right now, but it was pretty damn high on the importance scale. Even with all the new scenes with Dean that had just been thrown at him. Even with the realization of how much this had been getting between them from the start. Even as his brain started adding up all the lies Dean had told him between that coma and the bridge where he'd left Sam standing in the rainy cold.

Because now, more than ever, he had something to prove. He was good for something and this was it. After everything he had just seen, Sam wasn't walking away from this. After everything he'd just seen he had to get himself the fuck together and learn how to do something useful for once instead of just messing up everything and letting people die. Sam had to fix this.

"Sam." Cas tried to reason. Reason was the lowest rung on the ladder of priorities right now. Was he seriously going to try to talk Sam out of this? Now? After the hell Sam had just been through.

"Do we or not, Cas?" Sam turned his head to face the angel, blinking open his eyes and pinning Cas with his gaze. He was absolutely serious about this and he wasn't going to let it slide. Cas saw that too, saw the stubbornness in Sam's face. His eyes flicked to the needle, analyzing the amount and evaluating it against the spell. Sam's body was heaving but his breath caught anyways, waiting for the answer in silence.

"No." Cas nearly whispered. The word hit Sam like a brick and his eyes squeezed shut tight, body going rigid in anticipation. The pain wasn't over yet, it was nowhere near. He swallowed once, repositioning his body on the cushion and forcing his hand to let go of his throbbing neck, turning his head to the side and opening it up for more instead.

"Then keep going."

This time he didn't thrash, the pain coursed through him again and Sam's body tried to do the only logical thing left - slip back into a coma of unconsiousness. The pain was too much to try to stay awake through, but Sam wasn't stupid enough to give into the urge to just sleep. Odds are he wouldn't be waking up from that sleep.

He'd had all kinds of training in his life and pain tolerance was absolutely one of them. He knew the stages of pain, knew his own personal reactions. And it was everything he could do to hold onto that final, slippery edge and tell himself he wasn't going to let the darkness take over. He wasn't going to let go and fall off that cliff into the oblivion of warmth and relief and a blanket of black.

He held onto that edge with every ounce of him, even when it was blurry and shaking in his sight. At one point his brain registered the room, registered scared, harsh shouts in his direction. Oh, that was his name. Cas was shouting his name.

"Keep going," Sam huffed out weakly. There was a single breath of silence and then the voice was sounding annoyed and angry in his echoing ears again.

"Why?" So much disgust and disagreement in that tone. The "why" was the only thing that was keeping Sam hanging on right now, so it was the one question he could actually answer.

"We -- we -- we have to find Gadreel." Sam breathed, staring blankly at the wall. There were so many rooms in this place. What was this place called again? It didn't matter anyways, it'd all be gone soon. Another suck of sharp pain, wait, no, no, that was the pinch of a needle being removed.

"No. Why must the Winchesters run toward death?" Sam didn't think about the question or the answer, only registered the sliding out needle and what that meant. It meant they couldn't complete the why. They had to they had to Sam couldn't let it slip through his hands now.

Hands. He reached up and grabbed Cas's hand, grabbed the syringe and stopped him from removing it. This wasn't over it wasn't going to be over yet.

"No, don't. Don't. Don't stop," he protested. Then the angry tone took on a more lecture-y type and it was all Sam could do to keep his hand on Cas's, keep the message of we have to do this planted firmly between them.

"Sam, when I was human, I died, and that showed me that life is precious." Life is precious. Sam knew how precious life was and he knew how easily it was burned out. Literally, with smoking eyes and collapsed bodies afterwords. Just the thought of that alone had Sam's hand slipping and it fell to his side weakly. He didn't have the power to move it back up, not when that image was flicking in his mind. "And it must be protected at all costs, even a life as... as pig-headed as a Winchester's."

Sam knew how much Cas cared about them but that didn't matter. It didn't matter when it came down to the world and how precious life could be. They didn't get to play favourites, because if they did, certain little Asian prophets wouldn't be just ashes right now.

He didn't have the willpower to speak loudly and the words tumbled out of his mouth quietly, with as much sadness stuffed in them as Sam felt in his gut.

"My life's not worth any more than anyone else's -- not yours or Dean's...or Kevin's. Please. Please, help me do one thing right. Keep going."

One thing right.

He'd done nothing but screw up and screw up but this was his chance, this was his one opportunity. Then the needle was sliding back into his neck and lightning shot through him, hot and orange and sparking with electricity and polarity and pain. Sam couldn't even hold in the scream.

 

~*~*~

He was bruised and battered and his right knee felt like it was on fire but most of all he was pissed. This was a stupid fucking test and this was a stupid fucking demon and Dean was really really done with being shoved into walls by people right now. Because one, memories, and two, fucking no. So he got his arms around the last demon's shoulders pretty quickly, shoved him backwards and pushed him on top of the table. And absolutely did not think about the time he pushed Sam down onto a table like that, how differently that had ended than how this was about to end. Dean had his arm swinging back seconds later, drilling the knife down into the demon's neck. The stab wound was deep and kind of graphic, but the demon gurgled and blinked out its life force in a flash of red and gold.

His body was heaving as he plucked the knife out of the demon's chest, blood pumping through his veins and making him feel more alive than he had since Sam left him. Things were dead and there was blood on Dean's hands and his body was thrumming with energy and adrenaline and murder and for once, he wasn't so cold.

But he was still really fucking pissed.

His gaze shot up, eyes landing on Cain's before he even had a chance to tame back down the wild killer behind his eyes and look vaguely normal. No, he wanted Cain to see how mad he was about putting Dean's reputation to test because he was bored or whatever. Sure, Dean had just kicked three demons asses with a kitchen towel and a knife. Did he feel alive? Hell yeah. Proud? No, he'd done better before, and he hated his life too much to be proud of kicking a couple of demon's asses. It was a dumb test and honestly Dean was a little offended that Cain thought he couldn't take down three demons.

True, Dean was off his usual game. But being Sam-less either made him a weak, missing-backup loser or a pissed-as-fuck animal and Cain just happened to get the second kind today. Lucky Cain. Dean shoved the body off the table.

"What? Was that some kind of a test?" Dean spat out, vaguely disgusted at the whole thing. Cain just sipped his beer, his gaze intense on Dean's.

"I felt connected to you right from the beginning. Kindred spirits, if you will." Dean glared at him, because he did not need another person popping into his life saying they had a connection to him. Cain didn't wither under his glare, which just spiked Dean's anger a little higher. He wasn't back in his collected and numb mode yet, his body was still humming from adrenaline. "You and I are very much alike."

Dean, very much like the father of murder who was famous for brutally killing his brother? Dean was pretty sure they were opposites.

"Right. Yeah, except I didn't kill my brother." The words sliced through the air, not as pissed as before but somehow stinging even more. Cain kind of half-nodded at the words, looking scrutinizingly at Dean like he was the most curious thing Cain had ever seen.

"You saved yours. Why?"

"Because you never give up on family -- ever."

Until the day he died. No, long past the day he died, Dean had proven that. It was the one line that would never be crossed, the one thing that was actually sure in Dean's life. Dean had lost everything but you never give up on family. It was the entirety of Dean's identity. Cain just looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised.

"Where's your brother now, then?"

Dean had gotten hit and punched and scratched and thrown around today, but that was the first blow that felt like it actually came in contact with Dean's skin. The five words slammed into him with the weight of the past week, the darkness of the absence of Sam making his knees nearly buckle under him. There was a knife in his gut and the pain was the first real feeling to register in his body, save dizziness, since a few nights ago.

His brother was gone.

But that wasn't about giving up on family, that was about Dean ruining a relationship and putting Sam in danger and he was saving his family right now by leaving, by getting out. And it wasn't like Dean had just ditched his brother like Cain did, it was way deeper than that. He'd broken up with his boyfriend, he'd left behind his only real lover. What he and Sam had ran so much more than just family, they were family and connected and together and Dean had ruined it. So he was doing the only thing he could to fix it: he was the problem, so he eliminated the problem.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, and I don't really care." Dean's voice had dropped back to deadly, because no one got to talk about Sam and definitely no one got to talk about his breakup with his brother. He didn't have to stand here and listen to Cain try to get into his head and fuck him up. "Just give me the damn blade."

"Sorry, Dean. I have nothing to hand over." Cain stood up, corn in hand and back to Dean. That didn't make any sense at all.

"What?" Dean's voice sounded too scruff, even to his own ears, but he was pretty sure he had to have heard that wrong. He better have heard that wrong.

"I no longer have the blade. It's gone."

Dean would call him out, but he could see it. Cain was telling the truth, it was in the pang of regret and yearning in his voice. It really was gone. Dean had just done all of that for nothing. They'd traveled all the way here, he'd worked with Crowley for nothing.

Cain walked into the next room silently, and Dean followed, just as silent. It was gone.

"'Gone'? What do you mean, 'gone'?" Speak of the devil. Crowley was looking at them both like they were insane, like this was somehow Dean's idea. Definitely not Dean's idea. "How? The spell brought us here to you, so it has to be here."

"Your spell brought you to the source of the Blade's power. Me." Cain turned to them, pulling up his shirtsleeve. He had a funny-shaped burn mark, still bright red, burned into his forearm. It looked like some sort of symbol, but Dean had never seen it before. Crowley had, obviously, because he shrunk back like a scared mouse and made a fucking sign of a cross over his body. Yeah, the king of hell, crossing himself.

"Really? Now?" Dean asked him sarcastically. Seriously, Crowley?

"It's the bloody mark of Cain." Crowley hissed, basically crawling behind Dean like he needed a human shield. Dean rolled his eyes at Crowley, but looked over at Cain curiously. The mark of Cain, Dean was pretty sure he'd heard of that. Maybe.

Cain ran his thumb almost affectionately over the mark, like it was painful but somehow valuable to him. Weird way to feel about a burn, but whatever. Dean watched, a little fascinated.

"From Lucifer himself." There was a reverence in Cain's tone that Dean wanted to roll his eyes at again but somehow refrained. "The mark and the blade work together. Without the mark, the blade is useless. It's just an old bone."

"A bone?" Crowley asked. For a king, Crowley didn't know much about the lore of his people.

"The jawbone of an animal," Dean filled in for him. "The jawbone you used to kill Abel. Because he was God's favorite."

Dumbest fucking reason to kill your brother. It sparked something angry in Cain though, had him looking up at Dean with a glare and a sharp corrective tone.

"Abel wasn't talking to God. He was talking to Lucifer. Lucifer was gonna make my brother into his pet." Dean glanced over at Crowley. This was new information, but Crowley looked just as surprised as Dean. Dean turned his eyes back on Cain, who looked deflated now instead of pissed. "I couldn't bear to watch him be corrupted, so I offered a deal: Abel's soul in heaven for my soul in hell. Lucifer accepted... as long as I was the one who sent Abel to heaven. So, I killed him. Became a soldier of Hell -- a knight."

Well hell, that sounded like something Dean might do. Except that Sammy was too damn good, too damn pure for Lucifer's clutches and Dean knew that. He had always known that. Even when Luci had possessed his brother, some part of Dean figured that Sam had to make it out okay, because something that bright couldn't be shoved inside something that dark. It wasn't possible. And Dean had been right, his faith in his brother had been aptly placed. Sam had taken back control, and he'd saved the damn world.

So really, as much as that deal sounded tempting, Dean knew better. He knew Sam was never going to be anybody's pet, especially not Lucifer. Sam was too damn beautiful, too pure, too gorgeous to even be on this earth. Lucifer was a pale shadow in comparison of strength.

But not everybody had Sam Winchester for a brother, so in honesty, Dean understood. He got why Cain made the deal - Dean had made similar ones - and he got why Cain was willing to live this life if it meant Abel could have the opposite.

So he'd become a knight of hell --

"And Lucifer ordered you to make more," Dean finished out loud. Crowley was still shrinking away and Cain was still in that high-and-mighty place of his but Dean was somehow holding onto his patience enough to listen to the story. Even if he did interrupt occasionally to move it along because he wasn't that patient, killing-and-kicking-ass high or not.

"...They took Colette, so I picked the First Blade back up, and it felt so good to have it in my hands again, and I slaughtered the Knights of Hell." Cain's story continued. Except that really, he hadn't slaughtered the Knights of Hell or else they wouldn't be having this problem right now.

"Not all of them," Dean pointed out, a little bitterly.

"No," Cain agreed. Then came the story. The story of watching the thing in the world that he loved most get her bones snapped, watched the bright realization in her eyes as she turned human just in time to die on the end of Cain's blade. Dean listened distantly as Cain described how he held her dying, weak body in his arms and it felt like the world was collapsing around him and that he was dying too. He had nothing left to live for.

That, Dean understood completely.

Dean could relate to Cain most deeply on that level, on the level of how much power Collette had over him. On how he had died on the inside when the last bit of life drained from his wife's eyes as he held her in his arms and begged for her to stay.

Yeah, Dean definitely could relate to that part of the story. Maybe it was strange how Dean could see the deeper parallel between him and Sam with Cain's wife rather than with Cain's brother, but this was not the time to think about that. The only time to think about that was approximately never.

"So I buried her, and I walked away." Dean wasn't sure how the whole "walking away" part worked because he'd never quite gotten that part down. If the mess between him and Sam right now was an sort of representation of that.

"Well, I'm sorry -- truly," Dean couldn't afford to put empathy in his voice because letting in one emotion meant letting in them all. But he really was sorry, he really did get Cain's pain. It was a tough life but he'd made the choice, he'd walked away from Collette and that wasn't Dean's fault. It was all quite tragic, but things could be a hell of a lot more tragic if Abaddon got her nasty, red-fingernailed clutch on the world.

"--But I have to stop Abaddon. So, where is the Blade?"

Cain looked at him for a few seconds, really looked at him, which made Dean more than a little uncomfortable. Then Cain was walking away with a no tossed over his shoulder. Okay, clearly he hadn't learned anything since he met Dean because did he seriously think Dean was going to let him walk the fuck away? He chased after Cain's footsteps, all sympathy drained away and replaced with indignant anger.

"Hey! Listen, you son of a bitch." Dean slammed him into the wall, knife poised directly over Cain's heart. He'd slaughter him in a second if he had to. He'd slaughter anything right now, but having Cain's blood dripping from his fingers was sounding better and better every time he kept saying no to Dean. So Dean leaned in closer, hissing sharply. "You may be done killing, but I'm not."

Cain reached out, his tight-ass grip on Dean's arm, and for a moment Dean was surprised. Not scared like Crowley, who was trembling and cringing at the whole thing. Then Cain shoved Dean's hand forward, plunging the knife deep into his own chest and not even flinching. "You never give up on anything, do you?"

Dean leaned forward on his toes, eyes narrowing but voice level and serious. "Never."

Cain shoved Dean off of him, knife sliding out of his chest. "Well, I do."

Then the bastard vanished.

"Cain? Cain?!" Dean shouted. Fuck, he was gone. He had ran away, the pussy. Dean was seriously done with all of these soft throated demons who pussyfooted out of any situation that didn't seem to be super easy and convenient for them. Cain was supposed to be scary, a worthy match of Dean's aggressiveness and anger.

There was a definite sign that it had been there once, he held himself in a way that would make anyone else shy away in terror. But Dean knew better, he could recognize a broken shell of a man when he saw one. After all, he did own a mirror. But he got it now, he understood why Cain had fallen so far down off his rung of power.

He'd fallen in love.

It was the worst curse on the world, love. It was just like that rabbit's foot they'd gotten in the year before Dean had gone to hell. When you had love, it was fucking great and the world didn't get better than that and it was basically the ultimate high, the best happiness in the world. And then when you lost it, the universe came crashing down and everything was a dull duplicate of the way it used to be, everything sucked and bad luck trailed you until you finally lost your shit and ended it jumping off a cliff.

Honestly, Dean was surprised Cain hadn't found a way to kill himself yet. If Dean had gone that long without Sam, god knows he would have.

But now, they had another fight to fight. More demons outside the window, a full on attack headed their way. Because that was exactly what Dean did not need right now.

And because the universe wanted Dean to be confused basically 24/7, Cain randomly showed back up again.

People should make up their damn minds.

"What the hell, man? You in or out? I'm getting head spins," Dean complained. Cain stalked over to them quickly, like there was a fire on his heels. There was a hole of darkness in his eyes that Dean hadn't seen before.

"I can give you the mark, Dean, if it's what you truly want." His words were rushed and he landed close to Dean, looking up at him and looking vaguely scary for the first time since Dean had met him. Dean still had no idea what was going on though.

"What are you talking about?"

"The mark can be transferred to someone who's worthy."

Worthy? That wasn't Dean. He wasn't worthy of anything. He was a murderer though, a ruthless one, and that was probably what Cain meant.

"You mean a killer like you?" Dean corrected. He wasn't worthy. He could identify with terrifying, bloody, needy murderer though. He was a lot more comfortable with that label.

"Yes." Cain said quickly, blowing off the wording and just being so damn urgent that Dean was fairly sure he didn't have a lot of options either way.

"Can I use it to kill that bitch?"

"Yes. But you have to know with the mark comes a great burden. Some would call it a great cost." Cain got all grave but Dean didn't need the whole do you fully understand the responsibilities speech right now. He'd never read the Terms and Conditions before, wasn't planning on starting now.

Seriously, how bad could the side affect be?

"Yeah, well, spare me the warning label. You had me at "kill the bitch"." Dean started rolling up his sleeve. Crowley was wide-eyed, looked near protesting, but he kept his mouth shut. Dean wasn't going to listen to him anyways.

"Good luck, Dean. You're gonna to need it." Their hands linked, and Dean could already feel the power sluicing through Cain's touch. He wanted Cain's sympathy and advice about as much as he wanted the lecture on killing his brother and the apparent warning label speech.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," and I'm still kickin' Dean finished in his head. "Let's dance."

Let's just say Dean had a lot more pleasant dances in his life. Not that he was thinking about Sam again, because he was doing the damned best he could not to. Thankfully, the sharp rearing burning sensation that seared through his veins and stamped itself onto his forearm was plenty of distraction from the image that had flitted behind his eyes.

His head resting on Sam's chest, swaying lightly back and forth as Sam's hands rested on his lower back, soft sounds of music spilling out into the room as Sam buried his nose in the hair on top of Dean's head, pressing an affection kiss there. Dean humming contently, eyes dropping shut as they slow-danced, his body warm and safe and beautiful in Sam's protective arms.

The tugging memory was shattered to a thousand pieces like a baseball thrown at glass, pieces flying everywhere as Dean's brain filled with just red hot pain, a swarm of bats and a gush of blood rushing behind his eyes like he was personally drowning in the blood of every one of Cain's victims he'd ever killed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, body compressing in half as a strangled sound of pain escaped his mouth. As Cain drew his hand back from the clench on Dean's arm, the blood in his esophagus thinned and melted away, letting him gasp in air again. Crowley called out his name, concerned.

What the hell had Dean done in his life to get the king of hell concerned for his wellbeing?

He brushed Crowley off though, totally ignoring him. He had a fight to pick with the demon but he could do that later, when it was just the two of them. Because he had something he would really like to beat out of Crowley's ass. Like the fact that he'd withheld a shitton of information from Dean. Dean didn't handle that very well.

Although this week, he wasn't handling anything very well. Sucks to be Crowley, then. Or anyone who crossed Dean's path, really. Especially the man in the mirror.

~*~

"Was that, uh... Was that it?" Sam asked a little timidly, looking at the bowl that had the dissipated smoke of grace in it. Nothing appeared to be happening. He held his breath as Cas sighed, looked at the bowl too.

"I'm afraid there wasn't enough Grace. We'll have to find Gadreel another way." Sam sucked in a breath, looking away.

He'd needed this, had wanted so desperately to prove to himself he could do this without Dean. And he'd failed.

Sam didn't want to think about what that meant.

"I'm sorry, Sam," came Cas's quiet voice again. Sam knew that tone of voice. He had it half the time. But Cas had nothing to be guilty about, Cas had done the best he could. Better than that. Cas had said something worthwhile, he'd actually gotten inside Sam's thick head and made him think. And for a person like Sam Winchester, being made to think was next to the best thing that could happen to him. No, he was damn grateful for Cas and Cas had no reason to be sad right now.

Sure, Sam had failed. He'd proved to himself that maybe he was a mess without Dean. But this was just try one, Sam could make this work. He had to make this work without Dean. He hadn't shaken the "c" word yet but he would. Wouldn't he?

Either way, he'd learned something today. Which for a person as educated as Sam was, was a victory in itself. And it had been because of Cas.

"It's all right, Cas. You, uh... You were right." Sam forced away all his thoughts about how he had screwed up yet another thing, looked up at Cas and instead remembered how Cas had stopped him from screwing up even more. Sam had been ready to take his life for just this one spell, but he had a hell of a lot more to offer than that. And Cas had gotten through to him. "You were right about everything."

They both stood in silence for a few seconds. You know what? Screw it. Screw no chick flick moments, screw the Winchester Rules of Manliness or whatever bullshit Sam had tried living most of his life by.

Cas had just saved his life and Sam was grateful and Cas needed to really understand that.

He spun his torso, taking a step forward and wrapping his arms around Cas's back. Cas was frozen, like he was in shock, just kind of standing there with Sam's arms wrapped around him.

Sam wanted to laugh. For the first time since Dean had left, Sam felt like he really wanted to laugh. Here he was, stepping out of their standard box for everything to reach over and hug Cas and Cas was acting like a damn tree.

"Now's the part where you hug back," Sam reminded him jokingly.

"Oh. Right." Two tentative hands came up and landed awkwardly on Sam's back. "Uh, sorry."

A huff of laughter slipped from Sam's throat, just an amused snort at Cas's reaction. He was so socially inept sometimes it was adorable. But he'd actually hugged Sam back. "Ah, there you go."

Then Sam pulled back, clapping a hand on Cas's bicep as he took a step backwards. Sam had only hugged one person in the past, like, year and a half. And his brain was engrained. When you got used to hugging someone a certain way, you started hugging everyone that way.

Which is how Sam ended up with his hand awkwardly on the side of Cas's neck, thumb tilting like he was about to run it over Cas's jaw. It was standard, the way Sam always backed out of a hug with Dean lately. His body just did it automatically and there was a tense moment of stillness as they both realized.

Then Sam's eyes darted off of Cas's and they both looked away from each other awkwardly. It wasn't the random physical touch that was weird, Sam could have patted Cas's neck without any awkwardness because they were friends and it wasn't like Sam was grabbing his ass. No, the awkward glances afterwords only came from the unspoken realization between them. It was why Sam had done it that had them both shifting away from each other.

And once again, Dean stood tall and heavy in a room he could be a hundred miles away from. A weight and a ghost in Sam's life that he was never going to shake.

Sam was just glad he wasn't the shorter one in their relationship, because that could have gotten a hell of a lot more awkward. Usually when Dean and Sam hugged, Dean kissed Sam's neck lightly, just once, before he pulled away. It was just like Sam's habit to support Dean's neck with his hand. So if Dean was hugging any strangers, he might be finding himself in some awkward situations of awkwardly kissing people neck's without thinking. They'd done it since forever, and it had been so engrained that Sam hadn't even realized he did it until he was pulling away.

Sam really hoped Dean wasn't hugging anyone else. But he seriously doubted it, neither of them were the hugging type. Besides in the morning, when they were warm and sex-sated and happy and everything tasted like coffee and stars and Dean in his dead guy robe, wrapping his arms around Sam in an affectionate hug while eggs popped on the frying pan behind them.

He shook away the thought, shook off the dust of a ghost that was clinging to his shoulders, dragging him into a thousand memories he didn't want to think about right now. Thankfully, Cas spoke again and Sam was saved from any more memories of hugs, because he had plenty to knock him to his knees.

"As far as I'm concerned, Metatron is the key to fixing everything that's wrong. I'm gonna find him." Sam could agree to that. Partially. He was still going to find Gadreel, but they could definitely fix more than one thing at once. Sam was just glad Cas was talking so he didn't have to think about Dean.

"You know, Sam, we could use all the help we could get to find Gadreel and Metatron."

Okay, he takes it back. Now Cas was bringing up Dean. Again. Could they really just not talk about Dean? Sam wasn't going to talk about Dean.

"We got this." Sam said firmly. They didn't need Dean. Dean said he didn't want them anymore, he didn't need them. They weren't going to go crawling back to him now. No, Dean was off doing god-knows-what trying to get his revenge.

Probably drinking too much, probably shooting that debonair grin at everyone in his general vicinity. Hell, he was probably driving in the Impala right now, favourite song on the radio as he sang along, words that Sam knew by default and Dean knew by heart.

Sam wasn't going to let himself need him. Because Dean sure as hell didn't need Sam.

Well, not if you asked Dean. Dean had the exact opposite opinion. And he was in the Impala, Sam was right about that. But he sure as hell wasn't singing. Or grinning at anyone. Or smiling in general, actually.

No, Dean was pissed, as seemed to be his biggest character trait over the past week. Crowley had screwed him over too, he was pretty sure of it. And now he had this burning thing on his arm that hurt like a bitch and drew all of his attention to it. That made him pissed too, the way he couldn't stop thinking about it. Maybe he should be glad to have something to relieve his thoughts of Sam, except it didn't. His brain just thought about them both.

His brother, his infuriatingly gorgeous little brother that was being the perfect ball of sunshine halfway across the US right now. While Dean was parking his car at yet another glittery body of water, this one void of orange lights and creaky wood and rain and Sam.

No, Dean didn't have Sam anymore. Instead he had the King of the Damned in shotgun. His arm was throbbing and his head hurt and he felt like he'd been jipped in some way. He didn't have enough information and he didn't have the blade and it sucked nine ways to Tuesday.

His brooding silence was interrupted before long, an achingly kind twist of words from the passenger seat.

"He was right, you know. You are worthy," Crowley's voice was soft and condoling and somehow Dean found more space in his body to hate Crowley that much more.

What the hell would Crowley know about Dean's worthiness?

Dean was the most unworthy human being on the planet. And Crowley was the king of Hell, shouldn't he be evil and scary and not trying to give Dean freaking therapy sessions in the car?

"Oh, great." Dean growled. "Now you're gonna get all touchy-feely, too?"

He didn't have time for more of this shit. Or maybe he had too much time, an empty void of blank pages in front of him and no idea where to start filling them in. Either way, demons should really fucking stop sympathizing with him because what the hell does that say about Dean?

Dean was still glowering in his seat, eyes straight ahead and hands clenching leather until stitches dug into his skin and bit strong enough to hurt, to remind Dean that he was still a living, breathing thing.

When Crowley spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer, like maybe Dean would listen to him if Crowley got down on his level. Dean wouldn't.

"Your problem, mate, is that nobody hates you more than you do. Believe me, I've tried."

You know what? Dean wasn't even going to respond to that. Hell, he wasn't even going to think about it. His jaw ticked once, pissed and nearly uncontrollably mad. Angry and mad were two very different things. One still meant you had your sanity left. Dean wasn't sure which he was teetering on the edge of.

Crowley's words might come back tonight some time, might sneak up on Dean at the bottom of the bottle. Maybe he'd analyze it out, come up with some sort of drunken conclusion. But for now he was brushing Crowley off like the past minute and a half had just been pure silence instead.

"So, how do we find this Blade?"

Crowley got out of the car and Dean followed as Crowley rambled off a shitty plan that had Dean entirely reliant on trusting Crowley to bring him anything, let alone the damn blade. He decided not to point that out though, just pretended he didn't notice how one sided this plan was. Besides, they had bigger fish to fry. Like the tiny fact that Dean had gotten played.

And of course, Crowley was full of terrible freaking excuses.

"Omelets. Broken eggs. Et cetera," Crowley said with a brush of his hand. Killing a hunter, destroying a resource, murdering one of John's friends...all just broken eggs to Crowley. Dean fucking hated demons more than any other creature on the goddamned planet.

This one in particular, though.

His arm swung back and his fist connected with the side of Crowley's face before Crowley could so much as blink. The punch was hard and fueled with deep, raw anger.

Anger at Crowley for Tara and making Dean his damn puppet, anger at the planet for trying to deal Dean into their multidimensional deck of cards, anger at the burning stinging sensation in his arm he hadn't been able to shake yet, and so much pent up, self-destructive anger that had him sadistically wishing his fist would be throbbing more after that punch. Dean wanted to feel the pain as much as Crowley was.

Crowley reeled backwards and to the side, surprised and off balance and trying to recover with as much dignity as possible. Dean leaned in closer to the wide eyes and offended look, biting out violent words that felt like they didn't belong to his body. He heard them but he couldn't feel them leaving his vocal cords because was that really his voice?

"After I kill Abaddon, you're next." There was more animal growl than human in there, words loud enough to be a shout. And they definitely got through that thick, annoying, British skull because Crowley paled, instantly trying to reason with Dean.

"You don't mean that. We're having too much fun." Crowley tried to protest. Dean was done here. Screw Crowley and the way he thought he knew Dean. Dean was fucking leaving. He turned around, only getting a few steps back towards the car before an order barked out behind him. Dean hated his body for stiffening up and instantly freezing to obey.

"Listen up." It was a short bark, and unfortunately it worked. Dean was listening. "Even with the Blade, we're gonna need all the help we can get against Abaddon."

No.

They were not going to go there.

Dean did not want to talk about Sam.

Not with Crowley. Not with anyone. Not now, not ever. He didn't even want to think about Sam. At all.

"Go find the Blade." Dean didn't even turn back around. Just snapped out the words and stayed staring at nothing. His arm was burning and his head was pounding and the corners of his eyes felt potentially soggy with sharp, hot tears Dean wasn't going to ever let fall.

"It's always something with you boys, isn't it?" Crowley murmured. Then he finally left Dean the fuck alone. Maybe it was always something. Dean didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything.

But as soon as the last witness of his masks was gone, they all crumbled a bit, the pain in his body shining through like a chink in his too-shiny armour. He hissed against the throbbing wight of it all, fingers curling in the fabric of his sleeve as he yanked it up over his arm.

The mark was there, bright red and raised, burning like hell. Literally, like hell. It felt like the fire was turning his skin to something gnarled and unrecognizable as his own, the symbol feeling like it was etched so deep he'd never scrub it clean from his veins.

Some sick, twisted, psychotic part of Dean's brain looked at the inflamed red skin and recognized it. He'd had another mark like this once. And wasn't it fascinating how different the two were?

Deep red, swollen, burning skin that had once had a match, a bigger symbol, branded into his upper arm. A handprint from heaven, now traded out for a crooked stamp from hell. If that wasn't symbolism for the way Dean's life had taken a turn, Dean wasn't sure what was.

It was just so damn ironic. And morbid.

~*~

It was two nights later that Dean finally scoped one out: sitting solo in a shadowed booth at the back of the cheap bar that was nestled on the side of a fairly vital two lane road, within walking distance of the shady motel on the border of a town old enough to host a few ghouls. Basically a hunter's dream. Highway-traveling monster-killer guarantee.

Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe Dean had stepped past another line of insanity. He was too beyond caring right now to even analyze it. He had questions, and he needed straight-forward answers. This was the fastest, least painful way to get them.

He scanned for an ice-breaker on his way over with two beers, caught his eye on the talisman necklace glinting in the shadows around the man's neck. The target was younger than Dean by a bit, probably somewhere in his mid to late twenties. Dark brown curls that were just short of too long and dark foreboding eyes. He appeared to be attractive, sensible, and tough, but not nearly psychotic-looking enough to have been born and raised on the job. If Dean had to guess, he'd say the guy had been in the life for somewhere between five to ten years.

And if the way the guy tensed up and automatically reached for his hip as Dean slid into the booth across from him was any indicator, the hunter was experienced enough to know the ropes. He was edgy, cautious, ready to bolt or shoot if Dean said one wrong word. But he hadn't shot Dean yet, and that was definitely a good sign.

Dean placed the two beers down on the table between them, grinning wolfishly at the hunter across from him. So far, Dean was pretty sure his own identity hadn't been made. Which was definitely good news because not being recognized was vital to the plan.

"Nice necklace," Dean remarked, eyeing it as he popped the top off his beer. "Anti-possession or anti-hoodoo?"

The guy looked at Dean with raised eyebrows but he kept his hand on his gun, still not trusting Dean in the least.

"And who are you?" The man finally spoke, his voice sounding even younger than he looked. It didn't have the gravel or pain in it that most hunter's voices did, this guy sounded more like a Men of Letters than a killer. Apparently sometimes the pretty ones had it better than Dean did.

Dean still snorted at the paranoia, taking a sip of his beer before leaning back casually in the booth, appearingly undaunted by the weapon the guy was holding on him. "Fellow hunter. The name's Page. And no, vampires aren't scared of garlic; you gotta chop their heads off with a machete to do any real damage."

The guy visibly relaxed then, his mouth even quirking up in a bit of a smile at Dean's joke about the vamps. Dean had been around enough hunters to know how the whole security question thing worked, figured he might as well get it out of the way. And apparently it worked, because it didn't look like Dean might be shot anymore.

There was the soft click of a gun going back on safety, then both the guy's hands were on the table. He scooped up the beer Dean had brought him, popping the top with his palm without so much as a thank you.

"Anti-hoodoo. Spent a fair amount of time in Louisiana, figured it'd be smart. I'm Chris, by the way." Chris stuck out his hand over the sticky table between them and Dean took it, fake smile plastered on. This guy had no idea who Dean was and that was exactly what Dean needed.

"Well, Chris, I'm lucky I ran into you tonight. I was on my way to go find some hunters, ask around about some things, but I come in here for a drink and there you are!" Dean should win acting awards. Well, lying awards. He was shit in front of a camera. But the fact that he had managed to force his mouth into something resembling a grin alone was proof of how damn good he was at this job.

"Page, right?" Dean nodded. Chris raised his eyebrows again, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the table as he took a swig of his beer. "Well what sort of things were you looking to ask around about, Page?" Chris was being weirdly nice, a careful mix between helpful and cautious. But Dean got a generally good vibe from the guy, he was probably just the type of hunter Dean should be asking questions to.

"Actually, some other hunters. Ran into them on my way to a knew job, already had the thing solved by the time I got there. I barely caught a glimpse of them leaving town, but I could remember hearing something about the car they were driving...an Impala? I think they go by the Win, uh, Whit--"

"Winchesters." Chris finished for him. Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at Chris, a grin lighting up his face. If the smile didn't reach his eyes it was too dimly lit in here for Chris to tell.

"That's it!" Dean exclaimed, his voice more excited-sounding than Dean was pretty sure he'd been in the past five years. Then he settled back in his side of the booth, calming back down and taking a slow drag of his beer. "What can you tell me about them? I heard they have quite the reputation."

Actually, Dean knew he had some kind of reputation. He used to keep tabs on it, but he hadn't for years. Cain had mentioned it more than once though, and Tara had known about him too. So his interest had spiked again. And of course, Dean was quite interested to know what the demons were writing about him on bathroom stalls. But he figured a good place to start painting the picture and asking questions was probably with the hunters first.

Like Chris. Whom, judging from the look on his face, definitely had heard of the Winchesters. Good. Dean's plan was executing perfectly.

"Reputation? More like legends." Chris snorted, sipping at his beer. He'd become entirely relaxed now, to the point that Dean was willing to bet Chris was a bit of a lightweight and this wasn't his first beer of the night. A little tipsy was fine with Dean, especially if it meant more answers. Chris's shoulders were slumped and his elbows rested casually on the table, words unguarded as he swirled the beer in his bottle and studied Dean's face.

"Really?" Dean prompted, trying to sound more curious than the incredulous he felt. He was pretty sure they weren't legends.

"Oh yeah. Word on the street's that they stopped the apocalypse." Chris got this kind of awe-like tone in his voice and Dean raised his eyebrows. Then the furrowed line between Chris's eyebrows deepened and he let out a short laugh. "Although the word on the street also says they started it. So..." Chris shrugged.

"Kind of a yin-yang sort of deal. They raise a lot of hell - literally, but they also do a damn well lot of good. It's this whole black and white thing they've got going - playing both sides. Sometimes they're rumored to be evil, workin with the devil and demons alike. Other times half the hunting community's arguing over whether or not the older one is banging that angel friend of his."

Dean nearly choked on his beer. As it was, a few coughs had him cautiously sitting his beer back down on the table. He should not be drinking if Chris was going to be saying stuff like that. Goddamn.

Really? People thought he was banging Cas? Hunters thought he was banging Cas? Hunters argued over whether or not he was banging Cas? Dean was definitely not banging Cas.

Chris didn't seem to think anything of Dean's coughing fit, just gave him a few seconds to recover before he started back up on his story, his eyes still lit on Dean's face. Dean ignored the look and eyed his beer warily. He needed more alcohol in his system for this conversation but he nearly just gave himself up and choked to death on it so he was kind of torn between whether or not to pick the thing back up.

"Anyways, they were kind of the guys that introduced hunters to the existence of angels. So theory is they'd be all sunshine and good, but truth is they're pretty damn deadly. Not to mention terrifying as hell. Individually they could take out a vamp's nest blindfolded, but put 'em together? They're this team, like gears -" Chris meshed his fingers together, overlapping every other to show just how apparently close and efficient Sam and Dean were - "in a clock. Well-oiled machine, power-up level-infinity kind of stuff."

"Wow," Dean said, daring a quick gulp of his beer. Chris's fingers were still drumming away on the table as he nodded and looked at Dean. The guy was pretty persistent in his gaze. If Dean wasn't looking for info, he probably would have high-tailed it out of here already. It was a little intense, the way Chris was watching him. Dean started to wonder if maybe Chris had recognized him after all.

There were a few moments of silence as they both drank their beers, each of them scanning each other and the bar around them for trouble or anything out of the ordinary. Based on the fact that nobody moved or pulled a gun, Dean would guess that Chris had come up blank too. What had Dean said earlier about hunter's being the least trusting type of person on the planet? He sighed, downing the last few drops of his beer before regrettably abandoning the empty bottle to the table.

Then he ran a hand over his mouth, leaning forward a bit towards Chris to pry a little deeper. "You said they're a team, so are there three or four of them?"

Chris looked at him in surprise, then laughed lightly again. He laughed annoyingly much for a hunter, Dean noted. The last time a stranger had laughed this much at Dean they had been trying to get in his pants. Apparently Dean was just hilarious tonight though, because Chris's eyes were shining as he leaned across the table, smile quirking at his lips as he spoke. "You really don't know much about the Winchesters, do you? Where you been living, under a rock?"

Dean just shrugged. Chris leaned back in his seat and flagged down the waitress with a hand in the air, ordering them another round. So he hadn't made Dean, then. And he was still up to talking. Dean let some of the worry ease out of him. Everything was still going to plan.

"It's just the two of them. Sam and Dean. Most efficient team in the world. Tell you what, there have been rumors about those two since before I even knew this life existed." Dean's fingernails dug harshly into his palm at the mention of Sam's name. And the whole "team" thing, that stung like a bitch. We made one hell of a team back there, Sammy.

But Dean was in this, he had already asked the questions and he had to be prepared for whatever the answers were. He wasn't backing out now.

"Now, all the way back in the eighties and nineties, rumors started circulating about these two young boys. Brothers, raised in the life by their crazy, drunken, revenge-seeking father. The original Winchester. He was good, one of the best, but nobody knows his name anymore." John, Dean wanted to shout. He was the best not just one of, jackass. But he didn't say anything, he just kept his mouth shut and kept listening.

"No one every really talked much about Daddy Winchester though, not when his boys were the real story.

"Ever since they were kids, the older one was known for being super protective of his kid brother. Not in the usual way, either. This was an eight year old kid who gave a respected hunter a black eye for elbowing his four year old brother in a bar. Basically it was this intense, obsessed kind of super protective. The older one's name is Dean, and most everyone was at least a little scared of him by the time he was twelve. Anyone or anything that got between him and his little brother Sam was gonna pay. Normally by gettin destroyed.

"As if that wasn't talk enough to start up interest, the older the boys got, the closer they got. Then the rumors started takin on a new twist. People noticin how they sat too close, breathed the same air. They were constantly touching, enough to make any onlooker think they weren't actually brothers. For a while there was a bit of a debate on whether Dean had just picked himself up a boyfriend that looked like Sam or if it was actually his baby brother's ear he was whisperin into."

Dean squirmed in his seat. He remembered those rumors. Remembered the shit John had gotten for it at the time, remembered the shit he'd given Dean about it. Dean had never told Sam, obviously, but John even went so far as to tell Dean they had to make a habit of spending time apart. Starting with sleeping in separate beds. Which Sam had pitched a major fit too, like he had at every order he'd gotten at that age.

Everything Chris had said so far, Dean had been told before in some sort of round-about way. He remembered the first time he'd met Ellen, how she'd turned and commented something quietly to Jo about them being "those boys." Dean remembered the night at the bar that ended with him giving a split lip to the first guy that assumed Sam was his boyfriend instead of his brother.

Maybe they had been too close. Maybe that was the source of their problems. Even if it was though, it was too late now to do anything about it. They'd gone down that path anyways. But that didn't make it any less weird to hear this Chris guy talk about him and Sam's relationship like it was something interesting and vaguely disgusting.

Dean just wanted to scream that it wasn't their fault they were born in blood, they were made for each other and soulmates in heaven goddammit and Sam was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

But Sam was gone now.

Dean bit his lip and forced himself to listen back in.

"But then, little brother Sam left the job. Left Dean alone with their alcoholic dad and skipped off to school or something. No one really knew much what happened to Sam, just what happened to Dean. The kid went berserk. He slaughtered and killed and spilt more monster blood those couple of years than any other hunter, regardless of the fact that the kid was barely 22. He got in a lot of trouble too, caught by the cops, nearly died all the time, got messed up with stupid shit like underground fighting rings."

Dean cringed. He didn't know people knew about that. Not a good thing to have on your reputation.

"Had everyone on edge for a while. It was like the whole world had gotten between him and his brother and he had to destroy all of it. The whole thing was pretty messy. But eventually, somewhere down the road, Sam caught back up with Dean and they started hunting together as a pair. Just as close as ever, only more deadly because they were older. And meaner. Everyone who met them said that something had changed inside Dean, he was rougher and darker after the years without Sam.

"Time went on and rumors flew like crazy, too many for anyone to know what was true. Rumors Sam was the antichrist or a demon, rumors that Dean made a crossroads deal or was a demon. Rumors Sam had died. Rumors Dean had died. But the thing about those guys, those Winchesters never seem to stay dead. Because no matter how many times one of the Winchesters is rumored dead, they somehow show up alive somewhere eventually. Some of the more religious types think they're part of God's great plan, some sort of double messiah."

Okay, yeah, no. God was a dick and Dean made a point to keep his nose as far away from God's "great plan" as possible. And he was definitely not a damn messiah.

"There is one thing for sure that everyone agrees on about the Winchesters though: you don't separate them. They go fucking homicidal. Worse than homicidal. Total wrecking balls. The level of codependency...it's intense. Not like anything else you'll ever see. "

Dean's gaze was fixated on his beer now. He wasn't going to look up, wasn't going to let the words sink in. He was just watching, an outsider, observing and listening. Chris was telling a story, talking rumors, and Dean could handle that. He wasn't going to break something. He had to clench his fists to be sure, but he wasn't breaking anything.

The word codependent wasn't getting to him. This whole thing about Sam wasn't getting to him. It was important info, knowledge is power and he needed to know what the world knew of him. He'd just shut off all the pesky emotions and listen quietly as Chris watched him with big brown eyes.

"See the oldest one, Dean, he's actually the shorter of the two, even though he's over six feet tall. Shorter tempered than his brother as well. One of the most accurate gunmen in history and he can knock a full grown man out with a single punch. He's known for his whole impulsive and reckless shoot-first policy, and he's committed some of the most gruesome deaths and executions I've heard of. Some people say he went to hell to train in the art of torturing, which seems pretty damn ridiculously far-fetched to me, but it doesn't make him any less scary.

"He's really brave though, according to lore. Doesn't back down in the face of anything. And he's probably the most loyal person on the planet. Preaches family like his brother saved him from the darkest corners of the universe."

He did, Dean though dully.

"And the younger one, Sam, he's this tall, terrifying-looking fucker. Apparently he's got muscles ripped through him and close-quarters combat skills that are unbeatable. Just about as accurate of a shot as his brother, and rumoured to have special powers on top of it all. But the scariest thing about him is how damn smart he is. Supposedly, he can speak fluent Latin and knows the lore to every creature in existence, not to mention a thousand others that probably haven't even been documented yet."

Not entirely fluent, Dean corrected in his head. And no longer had powers.

"Sam would do anything for his brother - they both would - and his dedication and willpower has been like, memorialized. He was supposedly the one who put Lucifer back in his cage." Chris paused for a moment, letting that sink in. Dean raised his eyebrows for the upteenth time because it was the only expression he was pretty sure he wouldn't choke on right now. Chris ran his fingers over the rim of his beer bottle, looking pensive and curious. "Although they say Sam was also the dumb kid who let Lucifer out? Maybe one, maybe the other. Maybe both. Rumors, man. You can never know what's true."

Dean tipped the edge of his bottle towards Chris, ignoring the slight tremble of the glass in his hand. "I'll drink to that."

Chris smiled and followed suit, throwing back another few mouthfuls of beer. Goodness he was a rambler. Dean was sitting there just still trying to take this all in. Chris glanced around the bar again, sighing as he ran his fingers up and down the condensation on the outside of his glass. This guy seriously could not keep still. Dean wondered how in the world he'd stayed alive this long.

"So basically, they're badasses that make the rest of us look pretty damn lame." Chris smiled but Dean couldn't bring himself to return it. "They're terrifying, too, and odds are at least a little evil. And they've probably saved both our asses a dozen times before without either of us knowin it."

Chris's methodical drumming fingers slowed, faltering a bit as he mulled over his next (decidedly more drunken) thought.

"Jus so long as you don't get between em, you're fine." Chris mouthed thoughtfully at the opening of his bottle, his next words kind of a quiet afterthought. "Although, honestly, a meteorite pummeling to the earth probably couldn't get between them. The way they look at each other?"

Maybe a falling flaming rock from the sky couldn't get between them, but a falling flaming angel sure could if Dean let it. And he did. Stupid fucking angel ruining everything.

But something else Chris said was nagging at Dean more.

"The way they look at each other?" Dean asked innocently. Because he was a sadistic bastard and wanted to hear Chris say it.

Chris shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes cast down and shoulders slumped more.

"They, uh. Some rumors out there kind of suggest that they might be...fucking." Chris's hands suddenly went up, all defensive and comically wide-eyed. "I know, I know, they're brothers. Believe me, everyone hopes it's just a nasty rumor. Because seriously, I'd rather have the hell-torturing rumor confirmed than...that. I mean, it's disgusting. The idea of screwing your sibling, I just...I mean, something would have to be seriously fucked up in a person's brain to do that, you know?"

Dean blinked at Chris. Chris was looking at him expectantly for an answer. It took him a few seconds to even claim back hold of his own brain and thought processes.

"Uh, yeah," Dean murmured awkwardly. Okay, it was high time to tail it out of here. He'd heard more than enough. Way more. That had definitely just crossed the line from useful to extremely-unnecessary-opinions.

Dean dug his hand in his pocket, shooting an apologetic glance at Chris before checking the screen on his phone. Pretend-vibrations and fake texts were hands down the easiest out of all awkward situations ever. Before phones were big, finding an escape plan was always awkward as hell. But now Dean could just pretend he'd felt his phone vibrate, dig it out of his pocket and stare at the screen. Obviously it was empty but Dean had feigned text messages and phone calls a thousand times in his life it just came easily now.

"Damn, looks like it's my cue to head. Sorry about that, I had a great time." Dean looked up from his fake text message with a faker smile, tucking the phone back in his pocket as he stood up from the booth. "It was great meeting you, Chris."

Dean stuck out his hand, offering for Chris to shake it. Chris stood too, tossing down a few crumpled bills on the table.

"Likewise," Chris grinned, taking Dean's hand with a stern grip in his own. Now that Chris was standing, Dean could see he was roughly Cas's height, maybe a fraction shorter. His hands were almost too soft to be the hands of a hunter, he was missing all the calluses save for the gun ones. Still just a kid.

"And thanks for the info. It's fascinating stuff, I'm sure it'll come in handy next time I run into the infamous Winchesters." Dean grinned and Chris maybe held onto his handshake a moment too long, then the moment passed and their hands awkwardly dropped back down to their sides. Chris was still looking at him all intensely but the few seconds of weird tension had at least faded. Then Chris perked right back up, beaming like Dean had just handed him a gold star.

"Sure, no problem. I doubt you'll run into them again though, not many people see 'em twice. Hell, I wouldn't know what a Winchester looked like if I ran into one!" Chris joked. Dean's smile was tight lipped and didn't reach his eyes.

"Right. Well, I better head," Dean started, turning for the door. Chris just sidled up next to him.

"I'll walk you out. I should head back to the motel for some sleep anyways." Chris shot Dean a side grin with a dimple and a facial expression that looked like maybe he was putting a different sort of emphasis on the word sleep.

Dean tried not to think about that. And tried not to grimace.

But he obliged to the Chris's remark anyways, even letting the guy hold open the door for Dean like Dean was a damn girl. Being walked out to his car was not something he'd signed up for when he'd sat down across the hunter wearing the wrong-symbol'd-necklace. Not exactly the place Dean wanted to be in right now, but Chris had been more than cooperative and Dean didn't want to end the night as a total dick if he didn't have too.

And maybe all the laughter had taken a bit of the edge off. Maybe having to pretend to be happy and not broken and dying inside had made him forget just a minuscule amount of his pain. Painting on the mask sometimes convinced the wearer, even if just for a moment or two. And maybe he wanted to keep up that facade for just a few moments longer.

Although that moment longer was snapped in half real quick when Dean stepped out into the chilly, windy air with his keys in hand, automatically unlocking the door of the Impala he'd parked right by the bar's entrance.

He turned back around to say goodnight and thanks again to Chris, when he suddenly paused, catching sight of the big brown eyes looking at him like a deer in headlights. What in the -- oh. The car. Shit.

Dean's hands went up automatically, the universal signal for I'm not going to hurt you.

"Look, Chris, I can explain --"

"You're Dean, aren't you?" Chris interrupted, his face twisted with confusion and fear and maybe a little bit of sympathy.

Seriously, the car was that much of a give away? Dean pursed his lips, considered not answering and just getting in the car and driving away. But Chris had been really helpful, and what was the harm in letting some guy know who he was? He practically knew every thing about Dean anyways.

"Yeah," he replied shortly instead. Chris looked from the car to Dean then back and forth again. It would be pretty easy to tell Dean wasn't Sam because he didn't so much as come anywhere near to fitting the description. Sure, Dean was tall, but Sam was a damn giant and a hell of a lot more muscular and masculine looking than Dean. Although the scruff Dean had grown out on his jaw hid a bit of the pretty slope of his mouth, the sharp curve of his cheekbones. A moment of two of silence passed before Chris finally spoke up again, sounding a little less scared and a little more confused.

"Where's Sam?"

Okay, Dean was willing to talk but not about that. Not with anyone. Not even some random stranger hunter. Especially not some random stranger hunter. Even if he did know everything about Dean already.

"You know the meteorite you were talking about? Well it hit." Dean's tone was sharp now, none of the faked splendor and feigned interest of before. Chris seemed to take the personality-adjustment in stride, like this is what he would have expected out of the infamous Dean Winchester anyways.

"When?" Chris asked.

"Less than a week ago," Dean snapped back, his eyes shooting down to the gravel-dusted ground.

Chris made some sort of noise, a pitied sounding one that had Dean's head jerking back up with a glare. He did not need some stranger's sympathy. But Chris had taken a few steps closer, and his gaze was anything but pitying. No, instead he looked intrigued.

"I'm guessing you wanted an update on your reputation, then? That's why you came and talked to me?" Chris edged closer and Dean watched him warily. He didn't know what the hell kind of game this guy was playing at, but Dean wasn't interested. He reached for the door handle behind him, keeping an eye on Chris as he closed his hand around it.

"Yeah, well, whatever. I gotta get out of here, so thanks or whatever but--"

"Wait!" Chris interjected, one hand going up in the air to stop Dean before he could get in the car. Dean raised his eyebrows, jaw ticking impatiently. He didn't have time for this, he didn't want to have to stand and listen to whatever question it was that Chris had for him. Dean didn't give a damn, he already had everything he'd wanted from Chris.

Then Chris kind of shifted his weight between his feet, looking at Dean with a singular raised eyebrow, arched up high and graceful. "That offer about my motel is still open if you wanna..."

The wind was tossing Chris's hair, making the brown curls bat around his face and look just that much softer. Apparently, Chris didn't want to talk at all. He just wanted to take Dean home. Which Dean hadn't really seen coming (maybe if he wasn't such a total mess around guys), especially not after he just found out who Dean really was. Dean just stared at him for a bit, neither of them moving, save for the wind rousing their hair.

"Why?" Dean finally asked, feeling exposed with the cold air nipping at the back of his neck. It was only going to get colder tonight, if he was alone. It might be a low blow, but -- "Why would you offer that if I'm apparently so terrifying?"

Chris didn't cringe away like Dean had expected him too, just shrugged lightly. This guy was so nonchalant it was almost unnerving. Except it wasn't actually upsetting at all, in reality it was kind of weirdly calming.

"I figured that the rumors about you fucking your brother must be true. Based on your reaction and everything. So it sounds like you could use some rebound sex, honestly." Chris had this smirk on that said he had an idea of exactly what Dean could use, what Dean wanted.

For just a moment Dean had to fight down the sudden crazy urge to punch that smirk off his face until the deep brown eyes were unrecognizable under the mess of tangled curls. Then he got a grip on himself again, regarded Chris cooly. Dean wasn't sure if he should be offended or flattered. Maybe both. Finally he spoke again, body as tight as a guitar string and just as wound up and likely to break.

"Actually, he fucked me most of the time. If we're keeping count." Dean said casually, testing for a reaction. Just out of curiosity. And mostly to get his mind off of beating up some hunter just because he smiled Dean's way. If Dean started punching he might not be able to stop and having half the hunter community coming after him for manslaughter of one of their own was not exactly something he needed on his plate right now.

Chris laughed out loud at Dean's words, leaned back and laughed into the sky with soft, white puffs of air coming out of his mouth, so much warmer than the cold air around them. Dean had been so cold for what had felt like so long.

Then the warm body moved in closer, until the warmth was licking up Dean's insides and making him feel more real and alive than he had since he'd stabbed the life out of those demons in Cain's kitchen. This was a different kind of warmth though, one that brought vitality instead of the victories of stolen death.

Chris didn't push him backwards, just moved closer until Dean had backed up against the car, was looking at Chris with carefully narrowed eyes. His body was screaming for the encompassing warmth to stay but his hands still itched to destroy the thing that dare come so close to him.

Then soft, full lips were ghosting over his ear, speaking in a low growly whisper as Dean stared at nothing over Chris's shoulder.

"So why don't we head back to my place? You can take out all that pent up frustration on me, fuck me into walls and throw me around. Hell, you can even call me Sam if it makes you feel better." The mention of Sam's name sent shivers of pain down Dean's spine, which Chris must have taken for arousal because he pressed in closer, chest and hips lining up with Dean's. He felt like Cas from this close, just slightly smaller than Dean but ten times brighter, more fiesty.

"Then I can bend you over on the bed, eat you out from behind with your ass in the air while you moan like a whore and pretend I'm your brother." Teeth tugged at Dean's earlobe and Dean's eyes fluttered shut. His heart was beating harder in his chest and he didn't know he even had a heartbeat anymore. He thought he was too numb and too dead for that. He'd thought his heartbeat had left him the same time Sam had.

The words didn't stop coming, the same low and soft growling in his ear that had Dean frozen and trapped between the cold metal of his car and the warm, soft body of Chris.

"Hell, bring along your pistol and we'll see if she wants to make a guest appearance. Tell me Dean, you ever been fucked by a gun before?"

The words were filthy and the image was dirtier still somehow. His precious ivory-gripped silver-embossed gun, the one thing he and Sam shared without a single discussion. Something that was their's, safe and solid in Dean's life since he'd been five. Sliding in and out of his ass, taking the place of the Sam with just the memory of him, fucked with his precious gun by a stranger who's soft curls were brushing along Dean's jaw.

A wet, tingling pressure made Dean's head spin as Chris's tongue darted out and licked a stripe across the skin below Dean's ear. He didn't have a choice, Dean's body arched into the movement, pressing his body up against Chris's as his back curved and his head shot up.

Dean's eyes flashed open the same time his lips parted for a gasp. Above him, were stars. His eyes opened and he saw stars, not enough, not as many as were really in the sky. It was too populated here to see them all, but there was still a bright constellation on the horizon. Still those same stars that made up that symbol.

Ihwaz. Sam.

Dean's hand was on Chris's chest and pushing him away before he even made the conscious decision to. It was true that Dean was terrible with guys, had no idea what to say or what to do. But he still was bigger, stronger, and knew how to push someone away. He didn't have Sam here to defend him, it was up to Dean now.

True, the whispered words were hot and promising in Dean's ear. Chris was definitely attractive, and the mental image he'd been painting sounded a hell of a lot better than drinking and crying himself to sleep alone in some cold motel room tonight.

But if Dean was going to be real with himself, he didn't want this. Even if he did, the arousal caused through anger and desperation would only get him so far. He had a feeling that even if he wanted Chris, he couldn't get it up. Couldn't keep it up, couldn't get off on it, no matter how kinky it was. It was a disgusting thought to admit, a terrible thing to think, but Dean was fairly sure he'd never come without Sam's help again.

It was always going to be just Sam.

Dean sucked at talking to guys, at explaining anything. He was basically a mess the first time one so much as flirted in his direction. But just because Dean was getting dirty talked by Curls didn't mean he was suddenly weak, didn't mean he suddenly didn't have that one syllable word that was so overlooked but so fucking important.

"No." Dean finally voiced, pushing his hand firmly against Chris's chest. Chris was forced back a foot, his warmth still attainable but not a distraction. "No, you should go."

He'd shoved Chris away and that should feel like a good thing but Dean just felt more broken and weak. Look at him, look at how much of a wreck he was. Lightly pushing guys off him because he was so damn lost.

Chris's big brown eyes stared at him credulously. A few seconds of stinging silence passed, then Chris scoffed, crossing his arms with a judgmental look on his features.

"You know Dean, you're kind of pathetic in person." The inflection on the word pathetic went straight to Dean's core. Pathetic. That's all he was. Then Chris's mocking tone darkened, turned vicious and snarly.

"All this big, bad talk but in all honesty you're just this softie who's got a hard on for his little bro."

If Dean was truly a machine someone had just pulled the lever, turned him into something inhumane and icy cold enough to be a monster, to be soulless. The life sucked out of his eyes and the last bit of remaining warmth stripped away from him. It was an engrained Dean Winchester feature that he hated. He had no control over it, no control over his hands or his body. Everything happened faster when he shut down like this and it felt so dangerous so reckless so out of control.

And right now Dean didn't so much as even think about it because all that mattered was the sudden sharp pain, spike of red in his arm. His arm burned, hurt something terribly wicked. Like his skin had been branded with pure rage.

But then Chris was pressed against the side of the Impala, bent backwards over the cool metal that reflected back an echo in the emptiness of Dean's eyes. The sharp edges of Ruby's knife was pressed against Chris's jugular but Dean couldn't even remember pulling it out of his jacket. Not like it mattered. At least this bitch had shut up for a moment.

Dean body was pinning him harder, tighter, meaner to the car, his mouth lowers down close to hiss in Chris's face.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that."

Dean was deadly serious. And Chris just moaned under him. Moaned low and extremely aroused, rolling his hips up tight against Dean's. Dean could feel the shape of Chris's bulge, outlined heavy and uncomfortable rubbing across the front of Dean's jeans. It felt so foreign Dean wanted to be sick.

"Yeah, c'mon, work out that frustration baby. You know you want it." Chris bucked under him again, smoothly rocking his hips into Dean's and grinding into him, seeking something to rub his erection against. Dean was the farthest thing from hard right now, he was too pissed and incredibly disbelieving and forever broken.

And here was this attractive bastard, enjoying every moment of it. Okay. That's it. Dean had tried to keep his cool but his arm still burned and Curls just wasn't getting the message.

The knife was instantly sheathed back in his jacket, the space around Chris's white throat replaced with Dean's callused hand. Fingers wrapped over his windpipe, crushing from the sides while Dean simultaneously pressed down, hard and unrelenting as he growled. He sounded like some sort of animal, even to his own ears. But he wasn't going to sit there and let this punk grind on him and call him baby and tell him what he wanted. This guy had no fucking idea.

"Pathetic? You wanna talk about who's pathetic? You're just a horny, worthless bastard who spends his time gossiping about people he's never met and spreading his legs for any thing with a pulse that walks through the door and gives you a second thought." The words were harsh and biting and Chris's eyes were wide now, his mouth open and flapping as he searched for air against the hard block of Dean's hand. Dean pressed down harder, cutting off any minute source of oxygen.

It was infuriatingly beautiful, watching the light start to fade in Chris's eyes, watch the hope be replaced by the deep, animalistic fear of approaching death. That raw, terrified look. And Dean still had a minute or so before Chris would pass out from it. Two or three minutes till he was dead. Unless Dean pressed harder. Then he could end this real fast.

But he still had more to say. He wasn't quite finished with this manipulative dickbag yet.

"I'm just big, bad talk, huh? The only reason I haven't sucker-punched you yet is because I know once I start, I won't stop until you are a squeaming pile of flesh and blood on the pavement, somehow even more hideously unrecognizable as I twist your bones from your fucking body." Dean spoke with an eerie calmness, watching the panic rise in Chris's limbs as he started to flail against Dean's hold.

The burning in Dean's arm told him press tighter. If he pressed tighter, watched the light fade in Chris's eyes, then maybe his arm wouldn't hurt so bad. Maybe his arm wouldn't burn if he just pressed harder.

Dean shrugged away the thought, leaning in close to Chris's face again instead.

"How's this for rumor confirmation: I spent ten years in hell, training to torture souls under the hand of Alistair himself, a demon so big and bad his name alone is probably way above your pay grade. Then, when I got out, I proceeded to torture Alistair until he was a screaming mess and more terrified and in awe of me than your thick little head of curls will ever understand."

Dean leaned back on his heels again, arm still locked firmly in place as he watched Chris's face go purple and his eyelids flutter. The curl of satisfaction in his stomach may have been the first pleasant emotion he'd had all evening. "How's that for your story you bottom-feeding scumbag?"

Dean violently released his hold on Chris and took a step back all at once, letting Chris collapse onto the ground. Chris had managed to stumble a few feet away from the car and was gasping like a fish out of water, hands feeling over his neck to check for anything broken. He was definitely going to have some purple and black finger-shaped bruises. And it's be a few minutes before he'd stop feel like he was drowning on land. Dean knew the drill with nearly choking to death.

Chris hacked and gagged and gasped on his knees on the pavement, crouched over and trembling with the need to breathe, and hopefully fear.

Dean stooped beside him, scanning his eyes over Chris like someone analyzing a dead butterfly. Fascinating, once pretty, but totally rendered useless now. He crooked a finger under Chris's chin, forced his head up to look at Dean.

There was more terror in his eyes than Dean had seen in a long time.

"Remember the part about how homicidal we turn when we're apart? Maybe you shouldn't have forgotten that, baby." Dean spat out the last word like it was a curse instead of an endearment. He looked at Chris for another few moments, ran over the idea of what Chris could have given him tonight if Dean had let Chris take him home. He was creative, Dean would give him that. But he was a sick fuck that Dean should leave for dead here on the pavement. Dean wouldn't though. He wasn't quite at that manslaughter stage yet.

"Oh, and one more thing. Sam didn't start the apocalypse, I did. By carving and torturing human souls while they fucking screamed for their lives and begged for mercy until their throats couldn't make any sounds besides the gurgling, choked up blood of their intestines rolling over their sliced up tongues." Dean released his grip on Chris, making him fall down entirely to the pavement now, curled in on himself and still searching for oxygen with panicked gasps.

Dean knew that feeling. It was a fucking terrible feeling.

He left Chris there, swung open the driver's door to his car and slid smoothly inside. Dean turned his head one last time, scanning over Chris's body. He'd be fine in a couple of hours. Sore, humiliated, but fine.

Which is a hell of a lot better than Dean was going to be in a few hours.

"You have the same taste in necklaces that you do in hookups." Dean called out to Chris's body, knowing he'd still be listening. "Shitty, that could potentially kill you."

Then Dean slammed the driver's side door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Dragonfli:
> 
> "Oh that was a heartbreaking chapter. Such great insight into the Boys minds and hearts. Truly outstanding!"


	24. Blind (Sharp Teeth 09x12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of drug abuse and underage feelings

It had become a bit of a routine. Blink groggily awake, freezing fucking cold, stare at the room and at the darkness until his stomach gurgled loud enough that it would be a competition of who could get their faster. And Dean would stumble out of bed and haul ass into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time to hurl up everything he'd consumed last night. Alcohol, and whatever dinner he'd numbly chewed his way through.

Then it was gargling more alcohol of whatever sort he could find to wash out his mouth, spitting regretfully in the sink. Staring for a moment in the mirror at the face that didn't even feel like his anymore. He didn't break mirrors anymore, not like he used to. Not for a while. He looked back at the dead eyes in the dirty glass on the bathroom wall and wondered what in hell had happened to that poor, broken man staring back at him. He'd snort at himself if he had any sort of emotion left. As it was he just walked dully out of the bathroom, moving as slow now as he had been rushing earlier.

Lumbering to his duffel. Digging in between the dirty laundry and black shirts for the smooth, round, plastic bottle at the bottom. He'd close his eyes at this point, promise to himself that this was the last morning he'd do this. Tomorrow he'd just drink water instead, he'd rough his way through it because surely the world would be a little less sun-less tomorrow. Then his fingers would fumble with the childproof lid, popping it open and not looking down as he carefully tipped two pills into his palm. Just two. After all these years, still wasn't suicidal.

It was just something to take the edge off and he told himself it wasn't all that bad. And ignored the little Sam-sounding voice in the back of his head that asked him why he hid them then, why he always felt so goddamn bad tipping back his head and slapping the palm over his mouth, pills falling into his throat. Swallowed dry because he wasn't stupid enough to drink them down with alcohol. And it wasn't like he had any other sort of liquid. No, he'd give himself a few hours before he drank. Too many people go out that way, it seemed like a terribly depressing and ordinary death.

Dean may be terribly depressing right now but he wasn't dyin' ordinary.

He was midway through convincing himself to venture outside, into the fake sunlight (the only real sun wasn't here because the one out there was just rude and dim and all wrong - Dean knew what the real sun looked like and it wasn't in that sky) to go get breakfast or something when the very terrible, very loud sound of his phone going off interrupted his internal conflicts. He glared at his phone as he dug it out because shit that was loud he should turn down his sound settings or he would split a damn eardrum.

Staring at the screen Dean promptly ignored the twist in his stomach when the notification came through as just activity on the police wire. Not Sam, then. Of fucking course it wasn't Sam why the fuck would Sam be calling him? Dean had ditched him. Dean had left him in the rain and the cold with the excuse of poison hanging heavy and true between them. Although apparently it wasn't fucking the real reason Dean left. Dean had no idea what the fuck Sam had meant by that last comment and it had been destroying him, eating him slowly inside out until he felt decayed and rotting. Still had no idea what it meant. Sam had said it like Dean did, but Dean had no fucking idea. And since it was his damn idea to leave you would think he knew what he was leaving for. Although apparently according to Sam he was just lying to himself.

Quit lying, Dean chided humourlessly to his head. Right, like that would work. He'd thought of everything he fucking could that Sam could have meant but he'd come up with a thousand things and had absolutely no idea which one Sam could be talking about. Could be so fucking sure of.

The phone shrilled in his palm again and Dean jumped, cursed, and put it up to his ear.

The police scanner coughed out, and Dean did the best he could to not think about who had hacked into his cell phone for him to make him be able to pick up stuff over the police wire. It was hell of a lot less suspicious than caring around a little black box, especially if there were cops around. So Dean listened dully, guessing it was probably nothing. And then the John Doe description came up, someone Dean was pretty sure he recognized. That could only be Garth. Garth, who had dropped off the earth and was supposedly in a hospital now. Dean was dully surprised Garth wasn't dead. Couldn't even muster up a smile at the thought that there was someone on this earth that was living and breathing and might not hate his fucking guts. He should go see Garth. It's not like he was doing anything more productive right now. And he kind of owed it to the guy, Dean was a dick to him on more than one occasion.

And yeah, Dean was a bigger dick to everyone more now than ever, but whatever. He probably had an obligation to go. Who the fuck else would?

Sam, his head provided helpfully. Dean stood in the middle of the room and chewed his lip and tried to get the buzz in his head to quiet down so he could actually think, dammit. Shouldn't've popped those damn pills.

He'd lay back down in bed for like five minutes, sober up and clear his head, then he'd figure something out.

He woke back up at ten and cursed again.

His head was pounding more than before and he was late. Sam could have heard the police radio by now, but there was no way in hell Sam would have been up at four in the morning like Dean was. Sam was a hell of a lot more balanced than that, the police call would have gone to voicemail. But it was ten now, which made it...nine, in Sam's time zone. Okay. Sam would be just getting up in a bit, checking his voicemail and hearing it was a John Doe matching Garth in trouble. Sam would go.

Dean knew where Sam was going to be.

He hated himself for the spark of energy that ran through him at the possibility. The whole point was to avoid Sam, to get the hell out of his life so that neither of them hurt anymore. It wasn't working for Dean, but if it was working for Sam than it was fucking worth it.

There was always the chance Sam wouldn't go though. Or know it was Garth. Or hell, maybe he'd picked up the phone, visited Garth, and was back in the bunker by now. Dean chewed his mouth and considered the idea. But he had a tugging feeling in his gut that his first guess was right. Sam was probably getting up right about nowish, and he'd be on the road before noon.

Dean would like to think that Sam would want to wait until after he ate breakfast before he embarked cross-country on a trip alone, but he had an itching feeling that Sam was probably not eating like he should. Which was Dean's fault, like everything else. Sam had just better not be fucking going off the deep end doing stupid shit.

But Dean knew Sam, and he was probably fine. More fine than Dean. He was stronger than Dean. Dean knew that. Everyone knew that.

If Sam went to visit Garth, Dean knew the exact route Sam would be taking. The best way to get from Lebanon to that hospital. And if he left before noon, Dean could catch him.

He hated himself even as he ran out the door, barely remembering to grab his shit before starting the car and peeling out of the parking lot like he was on fire. Sure as hell felt like he was on fire.

~*~

He may or may not have calculated an estimated milage route, when Sam would need gas, where he would pull over for it on the way to hospital. And Dean may or may not be currently camping out in the Impala at the only gas station positioned in the right milage that was clean enough and cheap enough for Sam to turn into. Dean stared at his bitten-down fingernails and wondered why the hell he knew Sam so well.

And what the fuck he was doing here.

He'd sort of made an ultimatum with himself. It was like those stupid chance games he used to play as a kid. If a chick in my history class wears red today, then I'll get laid by that one blonde. If I don't get out of bed right now than I'm losing my next poker game. You know, stupid stuff. Just another thing to add to the list of things Dean despised about his brain.

If Sam showed up, Dean would talk to him. Not just talk to him, but really talk. If Sam showed up at the gas station then it was fucking destiny and Dean would let Sam drag him back to the bunker and they'd talk all this shit out and be okay. It sounded dumb and Dean didn't believe in destiny. At all.

But he also didn't believe in coincidences. And running into Sam here would be a coincidence if Dean believed. So not destiny, necessarily. Just, a sign. A sign that Dean was supposed to go back with Sam, supposed to work this out. Because what are the odds Sam would show? Even if this was slightly planned.

There were a thousand factors, though. Sam could have left his phone off. Could have turned off the police radio function. Sam could have heard the voicemail and not cared. Not recognized it as Garth. The police radio could have shitty signal at the bunker. Sam could have left at three in the morning this morning and already visited Garth, got him out of the hospital and all. Sam could decide to go tomorrow. He could run out of gas early. He didn't even have a fucking car, actually.

Dean wondered for a brief moment if Sam would take Cas's pimpmobile. Was Cas still with Sam? Had they hung out, bonded about how much they hated Dean? Dean wondered.

But seriously, even the type of car that Sam jacked (if he decided to go to all of that trouble, just to see Garth) would make the little window of chance that he runs into Dean here even smaller. If it was a newer car, better gas milage by a ton and Sam might not even have to stop. If it was an older one, it could run slow and not get here in Dean's time calculations. Hell, Sam could have grabbed a damn motorcycle if he wanted, which would totally fuck over Dean's plan.

So, so, many factors. Sam could leave any damn time of the day. Dean had just guessed, guessed what time Sam would take to get on the road. Get a car. Make the choice to even go.

Hell, traffic could suck. It could be raining in Lebanon and make it too slippery to drive an unfamiliar car fast.

The more Dean thought about it, the more he realized that this was really fucking dumb because no matter how well he knew Sam, he couldn't predict the entire damn universe.

He was sitting with his feet up in his car and waiting for nothing.

Dean closed his eyes against the wave of pain and nausea that flew through him at that, closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the seat and didn't even have it in him to curse or hit things or drink. He just wanted to lay here and shrivel up, parked at some shitty gas station in the middle of nowhere just because he thought there was a chance that Sam might stop here.

It'd be a fucking miracle if Sam even took the same road Dean did. If he even showed up to the hospital the same day Dean did.

Hell, Sam might not even be coming from Kansas.

Dean's cheeks burned and he bit back a sound in his throat, eyes watering indignantly. Of fucking course. Sam probably hadn't even been in Lebanon. He wouldn't want to stay in the bunker all alone and just read. He was probably off hunting somewhere in Montana. Or hooking up with chicks in Florida. Or hell, maybe he'd decided that now that Dean was finally gone, he'd march his perfect, perky ass back to Palo Alto and become a lawyer. About fucking time, probably. He'd be fucking great at it.

What were the odds he'd run into Dean here? Out of all the 48 connected, some random ass gas station in the middle of nowhere just past the Wisconsin border. He probably didn't even have time to come see Garth, was probably too wrapped up in whatever. Even if he did...

Honestly, Dean could meet Sam at the hospital if he wanted to run into him so bad. But that was a guaranteed end goal, the destination. It felt like cheating. The universe wasn't telling Dean anything if they ran into each other at the end of the line.

But seriously, if Sam showed up at this place, it had to be a fucking sign. Had to. Couldn't be any other damn thing. So yeah, it was a stupid ass ultimatum but Dean watched the dust roll by outside the Impala anyways, eyes out the driver's side window so he didn't have to look at the vacancy in the passenger seat.

He'd been here for nearly half an hour now. He looked at his watch. 24 minutes. He'd been waiting for 24 minutes. Dean sat up, groaning slightly as his head and body and limbs and everything protested the movement. But he sat up anyways, peering out the windows of the car. There was nothing out there.

Fucking nothing.

Sam wasn't coming and Dean had just wasted his time because he was desperate and stupid and what the fuck was wrong with him, he had no idea. Well, Sam was what was wrong with him but Dean knew he'd never scratch that addiction out of his veins, no matter how many times he tried to bleed himself dry. Which he didn't, it was just a thought. Once. If he was entirely bloodless, like the cats they give you to dissect in anatomy, would he still feel Sam pulsing through his veins?

Probably, Dean thought dully to himself, settling back on the seat and closing his eyes for another moment. He'd give it another seven minutes. Just seven minutes, he promised himself. Seven was the magic number when it came to shit like this. Seven exactly. Then he'd get a damn life.

Longest seven minutes of his entire existence.

And just as 100% empty when seven minutes were up. Sam wasn't coming. Of course he wasn't. Dean was an idiot. He'd actually thought it'd be that easy, that the universe would just throw him and Sam into the same room and force them to accept it and talk things out until talking turned to kissing that turned to touching and grinding and stripping and Sam's sweet mouth running over his skin, so warm and --

Okay. Dean was getting out of here right the fuck now.

He bolted up in his seat, glancing around the gas station and the dust one final time before starting up his engine. It was empty and Dean was empty and had he really thought this would work? Really thought that some dumb chance would win him back Sam again?

If Sam had showed, Dean would have sunk to his damn knees in the dirt and begged for forgiveness and never fucking left Sam's side again. They'd figure it out together, like they'd promised. Like they'd promised in that church.

Dean's eyes started to water and then he was pulling back out onto the deserted road, headlights aimed for Garth's hospital and eyes bitterly blinking back tears. Why the fuck had he been so hopeful? He'd just gotten his heart ripped out of his chest again for something that was never going to happen in the first place. He was so so stupid. He had actually let himself believe Sam would show.

Dean stomped on the gas, speeding off down the straight line of the horizon. Fuck if he was even coming back this route. He never wanted to be on this road again.

Sam glanced down at the dashboard of the unfamiliar blue car, eyes lighting on the fuel gage. Fuck. He was in the middle of nowhere. And he'd be running out soon. Sam glared at the empty road in front of him, at the dust kicking up on the sides of the car. There was no way there was a gas station anywhere near here, it was just dirt and rocks and --

Was that a gas station? Sam's eyebrows went up. Really? It was just in the distance, just ahead. What were the fucking odds? He hummed a sound to himself, amused at the idea that his luck had turned out so damn well. This never happened to him.

Like, never. Sam's brief smile faded as he approached it. Watch it be fucking haunted or something, that'd be just his luck. Because something had to be wrong, there had to be some catch.

Something was off, Sam could feel it. Shivers went up his spine. It was like something had just gone extremely wrong, like somebody had flicked a hole in the universe, upset the balance of everything. That's what it felt like, as dumb as it sounds. Sam shook his head at the thought, flicking on his blinker even though no one was out here besides him and the coyotes, and turning his wheels to pull into the gas station.

A fading sound made him look up, and Sam's eyes snapped back in the direction he'd just come from. Nothing. Hmm. He turned his head, glancing down the road in the other direction. Oh, weird. Apparently there was someone else dumb enough to be out here in the middle of nowhere. Two red taillights, speeding off in the direction Sam was heading after this. That guy was going fast, damn. Those taillights were fading nearly out of sight in just a few moments. Fast enough that for a moment, Sam didn't recognize the kind of car they were.

Then it hit him and it felt like his stomach dropped to the floor. No. There was no way, it couldn't be. Sam was hallucinating. It was a mirage, then. Had to be. Although it had been that sound....but why the fuck would Dean be way out here? It couldn't have been an Impala.

Sam's hands were tight on the steering wheel he had yet to let go of, even though he had pulled up to the pump and shut off the car. He stared at the horizon, squinting, like maybe he could make Dean reappear. His breathing had skyrocketed and Sam had to wipe his hands on his jeans they were sweating so much.

It couldn't have been an Impala. Okay, if it was real, it was an Impala. But not necessarily Dean's, right? And not necessarily real. Just because Sam saw the taillights of a 1967 Chevy Impala fading on the horizon didn't mean Dean was suddenly about to just open up the shotgun door for Sam and go back to the bunker with him. Sam was hallucinating. Had to be.

His mouth was dry and he felt kind of numb all over as he climbed out of the car to get gas. If he'd filled up before he left, then he could have chased after the damn taillights. As crazy as that sounds. What if it had been Dean? What if Sam didn't have an empty tank, what if he had chased that car until he reached up behind it, laying on his horn until Dean pulled over to the side of the road?

What would have happened? Would Dean come storming out of his car, pissed? Happy to see Sam? Crying? Would Sam get out of his stolen blue car and stumble over the dust on his way to get to that black, sleek home of his, yanking open Dean's door and kissing him until neither of them could breathe?

What would the odds be, of running into Dean like this. They probably hadn't even been in the same state the whole time Dean was gone. So what were the odds he'd run into Dean in the middle of the fucking dustbowl, nowhere near anywhere Dean would go to pout about how much he hates himself?

Dean only stamped on the gas for a few seconds, just until he got over that little lip at the end of the hill, road slanting back down now. Then he eased off a little, sighing and staring ahead. A funny tingle went down his spine and Dean looked down curiously at his watch. It was exactly half an hour. He'd been so, so stupid.

Wait. Wait. Seven plus twenty-four was thirty-one, not twenty-nine. Dean had only waited for an extra five instead of the seven he had promised himself. Shit.

He glanced in the rearview, seeing just the hill behind him, gas station out of sight. He didn't see the blue car that had just pulled in, the familiar guy in the fed suit, staring off into the horizon. Dean just saw the hill and kept driving. He contemplated turning around for a solid ten seconds, then sighed again and gripped the steering wheel tight.

What the fuck was an extra two minutes going to do anyways?

Clearly, Dean had judged Sam all wrong. Or the universe was laughing at him in some sadistic, twisted way. Either way, waiting an extra two minutes at the gas station would have done exactly nothing. Nothing.

Sam probably wasn't even on this road right now.

~*~*~

The nurse had said something strange and he couldn't shake that uneasy feeling he'd gotten since that random ass gas station, the mirage of headlights. But Sam had walked into a lot of hospital rooms - especially with friends and hunters in them - so he braced himself before he opened the door.

Literally zero amount of mental coaching could have prepared him for what he walked into. Innocently swings open the door, and there's Dean.

His big brother, looking actually a hell of a lot bigger than Sam remembers him to be. Or maybe just older. More haunted, definitely. Surprised. Maybe a little pissed. Or a lot pissed.

Sam froze in the doorframe and their eyes locked. Suddenly Sam was all too aware of his heartbeat, of the look on Dean's face. God, his face. Sam didn't even know what to do with himself right now. Besides fall back on one of the most useful things Dean had ever taught him, turn Dean's trick back around on him. He shut his face down, masking every single emotion - save for vague annoyance.

"If you just go blank, Sammy, people will know something's up. So pick one, one that you can make obvious so it covers the rest." Dean looks at Sam expectantly, waits for him to nod. Sam does, reaching out two fingers to dig into the corners of Dean's mouth, pull his face down into a frown.

"Now I'm grumpy," Sam imitated in his best low-Dean voice. Dean was teaching him how to lie, how to hold a poker face. And Sam kept physically playing with Dean's features, tugging at his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Dean kept laughing and swatting at Sam's hands. Finally he just grabbed Sam's hands in his own, transferring both of Sam's little wrists into one of Dean's palms so he had a free hand to tickle Sam with, fingers darting out over Sam's ribcage. Sam squealed and tried to break free, laughing and pulling away from Dean. Dean finally relented, scooping Sam up into his arms and tackling him to the ground.

Laughing, laughing. Sam pushed the memory out of his head. Pursed his lips. Turned away from Dean for a moment to close the door behind him. Dean. That Dean, here, standing in front of Sam.

He looked so different. There was a serious amount of scruff over his cheeks, to the point that it was nearly a beard. Hair that was golden at the tips and made Dean look shinier. And way older. And like he hadn't slept in a week.

Sam had the random, irrational urge to kiss it, rub his cheeks on it until it burned. And force Dean to sleep, pry the metaphorical alcohol bottle out of his hands and hold him down onto the bed until Dean saw reason and was covered in nothing but Sam, never wanted anything but Sam again. Would never walk out again.

Instead he got piercing green eyes. Wary. Untrusting. Still a little pissed.

Sam took a step forward, two, walking towards the bed. Garth was unconscious between them, white room that had that scary, sterile smell everywhere. He distantly noted that this was the place all of their problems had gone sideways. Not this hospital room, but a hospital room. Sam had been the one lying down on the cot, and Dean was betting Sam's life away without Sam's permission.

Dean's head dropped as soon as Sam got closer, staring at his feet and pursing his lips with that really expression that made Sam want to fucking yank Dean's head back up, force Dean to look him in the eyes and attest for his sins. Dean's fists clenched and unclenched. So he was nervous, conflicted, didn't know what to do here. The pink, pouty mouth was framed like a precious painting, surrounded by scruff and making it that much more obvious at how obscenely pink it was. Sam was probably staring at Dean's face like a schoolgirl.

He turned his head to look at the monitor. Like it mattered. Like Sam even read the fucking numbers.

How is it possible that somebody can look like shit and be the most gorgeous thing on the planet at the same time?

Sam had never seen Dean let himself go like this. Even in Purgatory, Dean had kept himself sharp. (Sam only knew that because when Cas showed back up full-bearded, Sam had to ask. Dean had laughed at him, said I still had a knife Sammy, of course I damn shaved. Do you have any idea how distraught and fucked up I'd have to be to not shave?) Apparently, this fucked up and distraught.

Was this worse than Purgatory then? Was it worse than Sam being in a coma? Was losing Sam and knowing Sam was okay without him the level of distraught and fucked up Dean had to be?

It was only too bad Sam wasn't okay without Dean. The little voice in his head cringed because he knew. Even if Dean never did, Sam knew how damn not okay he was.

He could only stare at the monitor so long before it became obvious. He could feel the burning, searing weight of Dean's eyes on him. Dean was looking at him but Sam was afraid to look up. Afraid he'd lunge over Garth's damn hospital bed and grab Dean, shove him up against the wall and hiss in his face. Ask him why the fuck he let this happen to them. Why the fuck he wasn't taking care of himself. Sam wasn't stupid, Sam could see it. The tired lines, the bags under his eyes, the way he'd flinched when the door opened. God, Dean hadn't even bothered showing up in a fed suit. Fucking civilian clothes, of all things. Dean was nowhere near functioning and it was sickening and Sam couldn't meet Dean's eyes right now and do nothing about it. He couldn't. Not when his body was still sparking at being in the same room as this stupid bastard.

Finally Dean's eyes left him and Sam chanced a quick glance at him. So fucking beautiful.

Sam wanted to hit something.

They both looked down at Garth, a foot away. Too damn close for Sam to breathe right but he needed to be closer, needed to be miles closer. Needed to hold Dean into his body until their skin gave up and just melded into one, internal organs entwining.

It sounded gross but Sam needed to be closer. Infinitely closer, forever and ever and he just couldn't do this, he couldn't bear it. The silence. It was so heavy and there was so many things Sam wanted to hear come out of Dean's mouth. He needed to hear that voice, needed to know if it was rockier than the last time he'd heard it. Needed to mentally catalog it in his head, right up in the file next to what Dean sounded like when he was five, reading Sam stories out of books he didn't remember.

Sam couldn't breathe normally and so he had to finally suck in a breath through his mouth, eyes unable to look at Dean but unable to keep off him either. He had to say something, had to hear Dean's voice respond. Had to be a question. It took Sam a second to even remember why he was here. If it weren't for the fact that the unconscious, pale body was stretched out in between their bodies and keeping Sam from Dean, he wouldn't even have been able to render up a question.

"Saw Garth's John Doe on the police wire." Finally, he was speaking. Dean didn't look at him yet. He was so damn close, Sam could see every single individual piece of the scruff on his face. He wanted to kiss it and kiss Dean and slap him then sit him down on the counter and shave it all off, careful and sweet and each clean piece followed with kisses. "You?"

Dean glanced at him, darting, once, quick like bullet. It hurt for some reason, even though Sam's question was lame and obvious but he needed to just hear Dean. There was a moment's pause, then that mouth was opening up.

"Yeah." Dean shifted, uncomfortable. But it brought him an inch closer to Sam, making Sam's heart pound. He looked down irrationally, staring at Garth like he was the most fascinating thing on the planet "Where you comin' from?"

"New Mexico." Sam answered simply, talking straight to Garth and refusing to look up. Dean's eyes were on him again, he could feel it, and that wasn't fucking fair. Dean got to look and Sam didn't, Sam just wanted to see Dean right now. But he couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't look in that vivid green right now.

Sam wondered why it mattered. Why did Dean care where Sam was headed from? It's not like they could've met up and car pooled on the way.

"Well, that's a haul." Dean nodded, but it looked like he nodding to himself. Sam briefly let himself entertain the idea that the taillights he'd seen really had been Dean. The timing was right. But there would be no reason for Dean to really be on that road. Although he hadn't told Sam where he was...Sam wasn't going to ask. He couldn't let Dean know how much it was killing him. Sam wanted every single detail of every single second of the past two weeks but he wasn't going to ask for them, wasn't going to let himself grovel that low.

It was like he was back from Stanford all over again, wary to let Dean in. Wary of himself more than Dean because Sam just wanted, wanted to know so badly. He wanted every piece of Dean and he wanted to kill every creature that had so much as looked Dean's direction in the past two weeks. Even the human creatures.

It was scary, how much just being in the same room as Dean was affecting him. Really scary.

"Especially considering that I got this, uh... pretty much covered, so if you want to..." Dean beckoned towards the door with his thumb, clicking his tongue. Right. Like Sam was going to just scoot. Just pop out of here when Dean had been gone for two fucking weeks. Sam couldn't leave yet. And honestly, he was quite offended that Dean implied he wanted Sam to.

Dean wanted Sam gone? Really? Was he really sure about that?

Even if he did which he couldn't, not really, not already, Sam was not a pushover, was not something Dean could just toss aside when he was done.

Sam had driven all the way the fuck up here and fuck Dean, he was staying.

Even if the thought of fucking Dean may be one of the reasons why he was staying.

This bastard couldn't kick him out. Who was the top in this relationship? Or ex-relationship or whatever the hell they were? That's right, Sam is. Sam is the toppy, dominant one, and he has made the man standing across from him telling him to just "scoot on out of here" scream bloody murder, made him come so hard he's blacked out on more than one occasion, made him beg for mercy and for Sam's cock.

Yeah, Dean was seriously out of his domain if he thought Sam was taking fucking orders from him.

"You spoken to him yet?" Sam asked instead shifting on his feet to face Dean head on, his voice switching subtly into that tone that meant don't fucking test me and Dean got the message. Holy shit he got the message, his hackles raised the second Sam brought out his dominant voice, shrinking back just a smidgen but enough for Sam to have to fight a triumphant grin.

His scruffy, gorgeous brother looked all riled up now, surprised and ruffled somehow. Like just that one question, the one refusal to leave had shocked him stiff. The way Sam was looking at him, actually looking at those green eyes now instead of anything but Dean. Sam's shoulders level in a challenge, feet firmly planted to get the message across as clearly to Dean as possible. Just try to make me leave again and watch what fucking happens.

Dean looked at Sam and blinked, a long slow blink. Like he wasn't sure if he was actually seeing this. Sam's eyes drilled into Dean's, promising that yes, this is exactly how this was going to go down. Dean looked away, all his movements slow like he was running through an ocean, like he was afraid anything quick would set Sam off like an animal.

"No." Dean said finally. Submissively. If Sam wasn't so fucking pissed at Dean for everything, he'd slam him up against the hospital wall right goddamned now, rip those jeans off of him and break him in two over Sam's dick. As it was, Sam was still way too pissed to consider it as a real possibility. Just thought about it, mulled it over in his head. He'd make Dean scream so loud that the hospital nurses would come running, thinking the grim reaper himself had finally showed to drag patients to their deaths.

"Assload of painkillers. He's been out since I got here." Dean was looking down at Garth now. Sam followed his gaze, really looking at Garth for the first time. He was all scratched up, looked paler than the damn sheet. What the hell had happened to him? Sam scanned his eyes down, softening a little at the tiny hunter. Then a glint of bright caught his eye and Sam looked down, tracing a finger over shiny silver cuffs.

"What's he being charged with?" Sam asked, a bit of concern showing through his voice. More confusion than concern, but he still looked up and met Dean's eyes boldly.

Dean darted his gaze away, raising his eyebrows softly. He looked so docile, so different than Sam pictured he'd be when he was this mess of a mess. He'd expected Dean to be harsh, violent, a little animalistic. The only animal he resembled right now was that suicidal teddy bear they'd tried to gank once.

"Killing a cow," Dean said, a little bit of surprise seeping in his tone. He blinked again, soft and slow, and Sam waited until Dean's eyes were on him again before he spoke, prodding deeper.

"Why?"

"I was about to see if I could find out." Dean looked at him out of the side of his eye, like he was thinking about something he really didn't want to right now and couldn't help. Sam was kind of dying to know what it was. He kept his eyes locked solidly on Dean, which was the only way he saw it. Saw Dean's eyes flick down the length of Sam's fed suit, flick back up to his eyes guiltily. The atmosphere in the room felt stuffy all of a sudden, this thick thing between them. Then Dean threw in the punchline, voice sounding gravely enough to make Sam's lower half get some ideas of its own. "Lock the door."

Sam didn't move immediately, his eyes flicking up and down Dean's body too. They were such a wreck together, holy fuck. Dean stood stock still, waiting, tense. Sam turned then, moving for the door. And trying to keep his heartbeat down, even though it felt like it was going to leap out of his damn chest.

There was a glint in his peripherals and Sam didn't bother trying to taper his reaction to it, he was too high strung right now with the palpable tension in between them. He spun around, rushing back and practically shouting at Dean.

"Whoa! Hey. What is that? Adrenaline?" Sam came back to his one-foot-away stance, just Garth in between them as Sam spread out his arms in a piece of body language Dean was definitely going to understand. Dean ducked his head down, eyes on the needle as his fingers traced over it affectionately. Sam was suddenly reminded of the part of his brother that tortured souls, that enjoyed it. Sam had seen his work table before, knew there was a syringe on it. Wondered if he looked at it like that.

"Yes, sir." Dean's voice was all growley again. Sam's dick made a terribly annoying twitch in his pants at that and why the fuck did his body just do that around Dean? Just because he had glanced at Sam and called him sir. It was sarcastic, even. So seriously, why the fuck?

And if Sam took his temporary pissiness at his body's annoying draw towards Dean out on Dean, it seemed only fair.

"You trying to jump-start him or kill him?" It was a low blow, sure, but it caught Dean's attention. Riled him up more, if only just a bit.

"I want some answers." His voice raised just a bit, a little more urgent, looking at Sam a little more daringly. Sam just wanted to rile Dean up to the point that he broke him, he spread Dean's insides out in front of them both and made Dean into a puppet of emotions. Then Dean's eyes were on his and Sam was melting a little and he hated that. "He walked out on Kevin. He walked out on us."

There was a pause after us.

The way Dean said it, like us was an entity. He couldn't fucking do that.

Sam really wanted to hit something again.

"So if you got a better idea..." Dean trailed off, looking at Sam with that too pretty mouth and that scruff that made him look almost unrecognizable, nothing like the Dean that Sam had kissed and memorized and made love to. This was a new Dean, rough around the edges, and it made Sam sick. He could really hit something right now.

Wait. That might work.

Sam looked down at Garth, thinking about Dean. About all the shit he'd put Sam through. About how Sam's dick apparently didn't get the memo. About the way Dean wasn't taking care of himself. About the way he'd thrown Sam away in the rain like Sam had meant nothing all that time.

The swinging back of his hand may have come across Garth's face a little hard.

Okay, a lot hard. And not exactly a Sam move, more something Dean would do. But it felt really fucking good and Dean was gaping at him, and then Garth was sitting up and screaming and Sam forced his attention off of Dean, forced his eyes off the perfect circle of Dean's colorful mouth.

Sam was breathing hard just from the exhilaration of it. A total bitch slap and that felt fantastic. Another glance at Dean and his lips were still parted, still looking at Sam with surprise.

"Aaaah! Aaah! Aah! Dean? Sam? What is this? A hospital? Wait. Am I in Heaven?" Garth stared between them both, head turning back and forth to either side of the bed.

Sam had been watching, a little amused, until the last sentence had him tensing stiff. He didn't have to look at Dean to tell his body just did the exact same thing.

Heaven. They haven't talked about that in a long time. And now, when they were fighting, not exactly the best time for an ice-cold reminder that they were soulmates. Sam instantly fell silent, awkward, because fuck if he was going to respond to that question. Or explain to Garth that only special people shared heavens. A few cases, whatnot. You know, like soulmates.

Could Sam smack him again please?

"All right, take it easy, Garth," Dean said too quickly, nearly interrupting Garth he was stumbling over himself so much to get Garth to shut up. Sam was secretly grateful. He and Dean didn't look at each other. "You're in Wisconsin."

"You were hit by a car. Do you remember anything?" Sam questioned, still staring at Garth.

They weren't looking at each other at all now, because there was finally an excuse not to. As terrible as that sounded, but it was all just a little overwhelming to have eye contact in the middle of...this. No, they could just feel each other's energy in the room instead. That's how they were, and it was easier that way when eyes weren't included.

Sam wasn't going to analyze why, because if he thought about that, the real problem, the reason behind Dean really walking away...Sam would be the one walking away this time.

Unfortunately, the distraction of Garth didn't last long. He went running - absurdly, and half naked - into the bathroom, barely shutting the door before the terrible sound of retching filled the space. Great. Okay.

Well now, Sam was alone with Dean. Kind of. The two of them stood for a moment, unsure of what to do with each other with Garth right next door and no big, empty space between them now. Sam maneuvered carefully away because the second he touched Dean - even if it was just a shoulder brush - odds are he wouldn't be able to take it.

He was pissed and for some reason the best solution for that felt like it might be fucking it out on Dean. But Dean had been the one who walked, which meant he didn't want Sam right now.

And there was still the bigass factor Sam was trying not to think about. Wasn't going to think about.

Dean propped himself up on the edge of Garth's hospital bed, forearms on his thighs and head dipped down, staring at the ground. Sam looked at him for a moment, trying to make sense of the melting pot of emotions in his head, before he finally just made his way to the plush chair across from Dean. Further than he'd like to be normally but it would work fine for now.

Although there was no unconscious or screaming man in between them now that they were both on this side of the bed. Just space between them, a few feet of space that felt so unfamiliar and strange. Sam couldn't really take his eyes off of Dean, who was just sitting there so... gorgeous and infuriating. The silence between them felt heavy, heavier than anything Sam had been pinned under for a long time. Deafening, really. He had to do something. Say something.

Then finally Dean parted those perfect lips, curious but kind of timid words coming out. They sounded flatter than they should have, but Sam knew Dean was trying to put up just as many masks as he was.

"Anything on Gadreel?" His eyes flicked up to meet Sam's, and everything felt like it was in slow motion. He had himself on a pretty tight lockdown, but Sam could read him decent enough anyways. Dean was being cautious as hell, and maybe a little scared. Scared of what Sam would say, what Sam would think? Maybe what Sam wouldn't say. There were so many elephants in this room, so many things they weren't talking about, it could be a damn circus. But at least they were talking. To fill the space.

"Actually, uh, yeah. Turns out he, uh, he left some Grace in me before he bolted." Sam huffed, his eyes lifting to Dean for a reaction. Holy fuck was that a reaction if Sam had ever seen one. Dean blinked at him, like he hadn't heard right, his head lifting up. The words absorbed and Dean shut down, turning to look at the wall with his lips drawn out in a full pout like the eight year old version of himself. Except it wasn't one of those cute pouts, it was a pissed one. Really really pissed.

"You know how wrong that sounds, right?" The words were gruff, even a little mean. He was looking at Sam now, eyes slightly narrowed. His fingernails digging into his palms, hard enough that he'd be drawing blood soon. Sam wanted to rush forward and force Dean to uncurl his fists, kiss all the moon-shaped imprints he was making right now.

Dean just kept up the glare and Sam got it, he really did. You'd have to be blind, deaf, and dead to not be able to see how obvious Dean's reaction was right now. He was really fucking oozing jealousy. More jealousy than Sam could remember ever seeing on him. Steaming, pissed, barely able to move. Jaw clenched, green eyes flashing dark and dangerous.

Sam could tell exactly where Dean's mind was right now, could see him mulling over the fact that someone else had been inside of Sam and left a mark. The expression he had on was almost scary, to be honest. Sam was really glad he wasn't Gadreel right now.

Jealous as hell.

But if he thought about it, tried picturing reverse situations...if someone else had been inside Dean, if someone else had left a damn mark on his brother...Sam would flip. He would. Dean may be fuming and about to start dripping blood from his palms, but Sam would flip the fuck out. Nobody else got to touch Dean, no matter how much they were fighting. Sam would be pissed too. As much as it totally sucked to admit it.

But he got it, he really did. Got Dean's jealousy. And Sam may be pissed to hell but he wasn't cruel. He wasn't going to let Dean sit there and fester in the fact that someone had left something inside Sam.

"Wouldn't worry about it. Cas took care of it." It was a small consolation, just a few words. But it was something he could at least give Dean. He knew what it's like to be jealous. Did he ever. But at least now Dean knew it was gone, that the piece Gadreel had left behind was gone. Dean still didn't look to pleased.

He just tipped his head at Sam's comment, looking from Sam to the ceiling. Blinking like a mad man, the way he did sometimes when he was trying not to flip. He'd done a pretty decent job of keeping locked down so far, but suddenly a puff of air came out his nose and his face shouted wow really fucking loud and sarcastic, even if his mouth didn't open. His head tilted back and then Dean was staring at the wall again like the wall was the best thing on the planet and Sam wasn't sitting right here. Dean was still moving so slow, so unnaturally slow and calculated. Sam couldn't help but stare at him, raptured.

"What?" Sam asked, even though Dean hadn't said anything. Dean's eyebrows went up, like maybe he was surprised Sam could read him. Dean had been gone for two weeks, not two hundred years. Although Sam would still be able to read him then, he was pretty sure. Dean didn't look at him, looking at the damn hospital room, the windows, the door, anything but Sam. Avoiding his eyes, a tiny shake of his head. Sam was going crazy just overanalyzing every single twitch of Dean's body.

"Nothing. I'm gone for two weeks, and you're like an episode of "Teen Mom."" Dean still didn't look at him. It looked painful, all that avoiding. Like he couldn't look at Sam.

So much jealousy was pent up in him right now and Sam kept looking at Dean, trying to pick apart his words. He wasn't sure what exactly the implication there was, what Dean was trying to say. That Sam had a lot of drama? That Dean was still jealous as fuck? That Dean had thought Sam's life was just going to drop and put and hold and nothing was going to happen until Dean came waltzing back through the door and blessing them all with his graces? What?

Sam readjusted in his chair. He couldn't stand Dean not looking at him but there was no way in hell he'd say anything to him. What could Sam say? If he so much as mentioned it it would feel like begging. Like that terrible C word he had tried so damn hard to break and was failing miserably at. But at least if Dean wasn't looking at him then Sam had free rein to run his eyes all over Dean's body. Read as much of the past two weeks that he'd missed as he could.

Dean rubbed his hands together. He was cold, then. Like Sam. That kind of internal cold that only really came when your body went into withdrawal from being held and loved and kissed all the time to just flat out nothing.

He wasn't sure if he was elated or depressed that Dean was just as cold as he was.

Sam couldn't help but stare as Dean's fingers interlaced with each other. He was holding his own hands. Like he was missing Sam's. Sam felt like damn near tearing up. It looked so subconscious, so sad and lonely and lost. Sam nearly leaned forward in his chair, took those frozen hands in his own and held them like they were meant to be held. Because Sam was the one meant to hold them. Not the depressing emptiness of holding your own hand.

He almost did it, too. Started to lean forward when a rough patch of retching and coughing interrupted from the bathroom. Dean turned his head towards the door, hands still clasped, but the spell was broken and Sam wasn't going to do it he was too pissed still and there was no way it was going to be over that easy. He watched Dean's mouth, watched his Adam's apple and his throat as he raised his voice over the noises. That throat, which was bare of bruises and hickies and marks from Sam's mouth. It looked so goddamned warm.

"Just breathe, Garth! Work it out." Dean shouted the words of comfort - if you could call shouting comfort - then his head dropped down, chin to his chest and shallow breathing. It was like he'd already given up, already had too much and couldn't even take it anymore. Dean shook his head, like he was trying to stop thinking about something. Sam wondered if it was a flashback, if memories were haunting Dean too.

What kind of memories could it have been? Sam could name about a hundred times that either he or Dean had been the one hunched over a toilet, hurling out their guts. Usually from alcohol consumption. And almost every single one of those times, it was the other brother who had sidled up behind the sick one, cold cloth on the back of their neck, mint gum in a pocket, and fingers gently brushing hair away from sweaty foreheads. Dean used to shh him quietly, drop kisses to the back of Sam's neck.

Maybe it was one of those memories.

Either way, Dean wasn't looking at Sam still. And with his head ducked, he wouldn't even know if Sam's eyes wandered, if they took the chance to really take in all of Dean. Scan him head to toe. It took Sam about three seconds of checking over Dean's body before he found something unfamiliar and new. Sam knew every inch of Dean's body, and the last time he had seen Dean he didn't have a burn on his forearm. Sam could only see the tail end of it, bright red and sticking out past his shirt.

It looked painful and serious and it wasn't even patched up. Why hadn't Dean patched it up? And what the hell had happened?

"What happened to your arm?" Sam asked, words coming across as a little possessive. Or maybe a lot possessive. Curious, maybe? No, Sam couldn't lie to himself. Possessive.

Dean's arm flexed but his head didn't lift, instead gentle fingers coming over to pull up his sleeve and bring the whole thing into view. Woah, that was definitely not just a burn, that was an intentional burn. Like a brand. Bright red and so obvious Sam had no idea how he hadn't seen it before. Dean was looking at it just as curiously as Sam was, like it was still new and weird to him.

"Oh. It's a..." Sam was watching, eyebrows raised. Waiting. Dying a little to know. Dean still didn't look at him. "...gift from Cain."

"Like...the wrestler?" Sam asked. Dean rolled the sleeve back down, hiding it. He scoffed at Sam's question, looking at the wall. If he didn't stop staring at the damn wall Sam was going to lean forward and tilt Dean's chin towards him, hold onto that scruffy face with both hands and force Dean to look into his eyes. Somehow, Sam knew that if he tried that right now, Dean would fight him. Legitimately fight to get away. Sam didn't know why he knew or why Dean would do that, just that that's exactly what would happen.

"I wish. That would be awesome." Dean's hand wrapped over the mark, self conscious. Like something was wrong with him for having it. Sam wanted to fix it, to fix Dean. Patch it up and kiss it better and make Dean okay because that mark..."Uh, no. The, uh...The Old Testament dude."

Dean finally looked at him, a slow blink that had him opening his eyes on Sam. Sam was trying to think about Dean's words but he finally had those eyes on him again. If he wasn't freaking out so much about the burn, he wouldn't be thinking about anything besides Dean's gaze right now. But he was multitasking, trying to swallow up Dean's attention while wracking his brain for a Cain in the Old Testament. And the answer his head gave him was pretty damn terrible. Sam's eyebrows shot to his forehead. As in, that Cain?

"He got all Biblical on me and gave me his mark." The plush bottom lip slid under Dean's teeth, grazing over it like he was trying not to think about what he'd just said. His tongue peaked out and Dean's eyes got shifty again, but as in really shifty instead of straight out staring away.

Biblical. If someone was knew someone biblically, that meant sex. It was a term Dean had even used before. Sam's world kind of exploded. Dean and Cain and --

There's no way that would be voluntary, so had?

Did Dean?

Cain had left a goddamned mark--

Unless there was some other explanation for this that Sam just wasn't seeing but he really had no idea and if Dean wasn't so damn cryptic then maybe Sam wouldn't be flaring and flaming up with jealousy right now. He thought it had been bad for Dean earlier, had been sorry for Dean then but.

But the world was tilting and Sam's vision was fuzzy, the entire hospital room graying out besides Dean, his Dean who had a mark, who had been branded and god knows what else and was just sitting there and he wouldn't even look at Sam or explain himself and Sam was going to hit something again or puke like Garth was or maybe just fucking scream because he had no idea what was going on and maybe he shouldn't be frantic right now but Dean had a look on his face that Sam didn't know and he would fucking kill something if anything had happened to Dean and how the hell had Dean even let this happened and what exactly was it that happened in the first place?

Sam was leaning forward in his chair, freaking out. Voice too loud, maybe reaching for Dean. Confused and jealous and a little off his rocker and wow he responded exactly opposite to this jealousy thing than Dean did.

"What does it even mean? How -- how did that happen?" Sam's eyes flicked back up to Dean and Dean was slow to reply. Sam had to calm himself down. He wasn't supposed to care. He'd tried so goddamned hard not to care. But the brand, and the way Dean had looked at it, almost like he was ashamed. God, if anything had hurt his brother...

"Crowley and I found him, and he gave me this-" eyes landed right on Sam, steeling a little. Business, now. "-so that I could eighty-six Abaddon once and for all."

Crowley? What? Dean had been with Crowley? The demon? And Cain? But he said Cain had gave it to him, said it like a gift, not like a fist. Like maybe Sam had totally just overreacted for no reason. So Dean was okay then? But Crowley?

Sam had missed a fucking lot and suddenly he needed to know every single second of it. He couldn't ask though, how could he ask that? How could he say to Dean tell me every single moment I missed of you, tell me every single thought that ran through your head, every single time you smiled or cried or screamed I have to know I need to have every single moment of that? Especially when that's not how they were anymore. Dean had made sure of that. Dean had broken, them thrown them away.

And then went off with a demon afterwords.

"You worked a job with Crowley?" Sam sounded disbelieving, and Dean seemed to absorb that like a punch. His eyes flicked away, nodding slightly. Trying to detach himself, looking back at that damn wall and not at Sam.

Crowley. The one that had always had this, this...thing with Dean. Ever since the first damn time they worked with him. Crowley had gone to get Brady, said Dean could only come if Sam didn't. And Dean had abandoned him there in some beat up shack. Alone because Dean had chosen Crowley and the case over staying with Sam and Sam shouldn't have been so upset but he was. Really was. And he'd hated Crowley ever since.

Crowley, who got to work a case with Dean. With Sam's Dean. Got to see all that broken and scruff and pain before Sam did. Was there when Dean got that, that mark and Sam really wished he had killed Crowley during the third trial.

"The devil you know..." Dean admonished, like he knew exactly what Sam was thinking about. Dean's words drifted off into the heavy silence that weighed between them. Wait, silence. It wasn't supposed to be quiet, just a little bit ago hadn't Garth been--

"Garth?" Sam asked to the lack of upchuck sounds from the bathroom.

Dean looked up at Sam, hadn't even noticed the silence. He looked up, lips parted and full and shiny. Dean looked up with those perfect eyes, looking surprised and unguarded for just a moment, bright eyes underneath a sweep of dark eyelashes. He looked up and he was beautiful, mouth opening and staying open as a single syllable fell off his mouth like honey.

"What?" He asked, sounding like a greek god. Or a sex god. Or something. Sam just stared at Dean for a moment, stared at how fucking beautiful this wreck of shambles was that was sitting in front of him.

Sam couldn't break the eye contact so it was a good thing the silence finally sunk in on Dean because he turned his head, looked towards the bathroom. The spell broke and they both rushed to their feet, clicked into hunter mode and thankfully Dean got to the door first so their shoulders didn't brush as Dean's hand swung the door open.

The bathroom was entirely empty, window wide open. Garth was gone, he'd bolted. But why the hell would he do that?

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, going up on his tiptoes to stare out the window. There was nothing out there, Sam could see from here.

They both rushed outside then, careful to go through doorways one at a time so their shoulders or hands didn't brush. Maybe Dean was too wrapped up in the case to notice but Sam had to be careful, had to make sure this didn't turn into a disaster before it even started.

For a moment, they were just hunting. Ran outside, debating over theories and asking questions. They were both walking in a rush, because maybe they could catch him. Walking fast, arms at their sides and then Dean was walking close, infinitely closer and Sam nearly tripped from it. Their shoulders almost brushed and Dean didn't seem to notice, just kept talking and scanning the parking lot. Sam was scanning too, eyes on everything but his brother until

Their hands brushed, Sam's left and Dean's right. It was Dean's fault, his shoulder was nestled right behind Sam's and they were walking fast and his hand had swung out, the back of his first knuckle and thumb sliding over the inside of Sam's palm, underneath his pinky. Sam's entire body shot up with a jerk and his head snapped to look at Dean but Dean didn't even seem to notice, hand gone as quick as it had come. A total accident and Dean didn't even notice. Didn't mention it, look down, apologize, flush red. Nothing. Just shot an entire storm of tingles up Sam's spine and then kept walking like it was nothing.

Sam wanted to shiver or scream or just grab that damn hand and lock his fingers in between and never let go. Melt their palms together like wax so they never stopped holding hands again. Everything from Sam's wrist down felt like it was swimming in gel, like there was a thickness and a resistance around it, like the source of gravity had moved. He wasn't anchored to the core of the earth anymore, his hand was being pulled in, dragged in by Dean's. Hanging so close to Sam's and so touchable and the tension, the extreme tension, was insane.

There was nothing quite so frustrating as the tension of not holding hands when the other person's skin was right there, brushing yours and so close and just not taking that final step. Sam had felt that terribly annoying tension nearly half his life but he was pretty sure it had never driven him as mad as it did right now. Because this time he knew what it felt like to have Dean's palm pressed to his, warm and safe and all for Sam, creating a possessive little world of their own in between the arches of their hands. Fingers overlapping and calluses brushing the surprisingly soft backs of skin.

Sometimes when they were holding hands, Dean got super lazy and just kept his hand lax, fingers splayed out straight. Sam would just wrap his hand around Dean's tighter, holding on enough for the both of them. Dean would always smile at that, at the gesture. And Sam would always whine about hold my hand back, dammit. Would it kill you to put in an ounce of effort into this? And sometimes Dean would curl his fingers back up, tight tight tighter until there was no space between them and Sam's hand would throb, warm and squeezed too tight. Dean would hold Sam's hand like if there was a centimeter between them, he'd lose Sam forever. He'd hold it tight enough to hurt, tight enough to bruise and it always made Sam's heart ache in his chest, made him hurt secondhand for how many times Dean had lost him, they'd lost each other, that it'd gotten to this point. That they both needed it like this sometimes, leaving bruises and hurting just so they knew the other was here, they were safe and they weren't ever going to part again.

Sam forced his eyes back to their surroundings, forced himself to notice the infliction change in Dean's voice. Back to the present, to now, where they weren't holding hands. Weren't even talking, really. Not about everything they needed to say. No, Dean was just asking about Garth stealing a car. Sam looked at the vacant spot and noticed the heap of clothing, echoing Dean's question with another inquiry. It still felt distant, everything felt distant.

And then Sam forgot how to breathe. Dean's hand knocked into Sam's shoulder, deliberate and burning wild and hot through layers of clothes. The force moved Sam's body around, swiveled him just on the single touch, the single casual back of knuckles pushing bright and fast against Sam before disappearing, making Sam's shoulder feet thin and cold and fragile. A violent rush went to his head, some emotion Sam didn't want to think about.

But Dean was touching him. Had touched him. Twice. In like thirty seconds. Casually, automatically. Like the way he used to, the way they were always just touching somehow.

Sam's eyes cut up to Dean's, just to see if he was staring at the place their bodies had connected too. Instead his eyes were fixed on something behind Sam, like he didn't even notice his hand had been on Sam. Twice. Maybe he didn't. But they were close, so goddamned close now. And it ached, deep in Sam's roots.

All those moments from before when Sam had wanted to take out his anger, to fuck Dean or kiss him senseless or bandage him up were nothing compared to this sudden, terrible ache that Sam could feel in his bone marrow. An ache just to have this, to have the smattering of casual touches back, to have the warmth of Dean's body in his bed at night. It ached and weighed at Sam's heart, dragging him down down down.

He didn't have time to properly react, move, say anything before his eyes drifted down to Dean's neck, the slender throat moving again as he spoke.

"I'll see what I can find on those cameras. Why don't you go talk to farmer Brown, see about that cow?" Dean had been pointing with his free hand, and somehow Sam followed Dean's gaze and his fingers, saw the flash of light across a camera lens. It still took an extra few seconds before Dean's words processed, before he recognized the order.

'Yeah,' Sam said distantly, too loud and too quickly because it wasn't like he was even in his body right now, he was just watching Dean from afar because he was so much closer than he'd been and Sam could see the glimpses of freckles now, could feel the furnace that Dean's body always was.

Then Dean was walking away, no goodbye and no preamble but there was never a goodbye with them and suddenly Sam wished there was. He wished Dean kissed him goodbye every time they parted, the way Dean used to kiss him slow and sweet for good morning, chaste and shy for a hello when he got back from running an errand.

What would a goodbye kiss taste like? Sam stared at Dean's retreating for a millisecond before he forced himself into rationality and hurried off, bolted ok the other direction because he might do something really stupid if he stayed right here. Like chase after Dean and demand a goodbye kiss. Which would also be a hello kiss because they hadn't kissed in weeks and Sam felt emptier because of it.

He was still really mad, he was. Dean had walked out on him and had lied to him and chosen for him and ignored Sam as a human being with opinions and just made him something for Dean to keep around. He's broken promises and ruined everything between them and Sam couldn't just let Dean back in with open arms.

As much as he was dying to, as much as his body and his mind wanted to, he was too mad. It was just that when Dean was right there, so close and overwhelming and consuming after not seeing him for so so long, Sam for irrational and conflicted.

It was just that you couldn't be in the same room as Dean Winchester once you'd had sex with him and not think about having sex with him. Or about holding his damn hand. Or kissing that stupid, lying face until all the problems just slipped away into forgotten shadows.

It was never going to be that simple between them again though, too much had gone wrong. It didn't mean Sam was wishing it could be that easy, but he'd be lying to himself if he thought a damn kiss would fix anything right now.

His body just kept wishing, and there was nothing Sam could so about that. But he wasn't so weak that Dean would get in that easy. Dean was under his skin and in his bloodstream and sewed to his heart so deep that Sam wouldn't be Sam anymore with Dean gone, but he wasn't weak. He was stubborn and just because Dean was beautiful and overwhelming and hurting and needing Sam just as much as Sam needed him didn't mean that Dean was forgiven.

Dean wasn't forgiven. There was still too much on the table. Still too much they'd never talked about. Sam just couldn't let that all go, not anymore.

Dean had lied. And then, of course, to major things so much easier and better than they'd been, Dean lied again.

Like just because it was over the phone Sam wouldn't be able to tell. Right.

But the look on Dean's face when Sam rounded the corner and snatched the files from him was almost worth the pain of the lie. Dean looked dumbfounded, like he couldn't even believe that Sam would have seen through his phony, dick self. Seriously, send me a postcard? What the hell was that? Besides another reason for Sam to be pissed as he rifled through files.

"Wow. Make, model, license plate. Really, Dean?" Sam glanced up from the photographs, the very obvious, laid out priory they needed. More than what they needed. Dean looked vaguely guilty but hardly sorry.

"I told you we can't hunt together. It's for your own good." Dean should make that into a post card. How many things that were for Sam's own good ended up having enough collateral damage to last a century?

"I hear you." Sam said instead, just to see the cringe. It'd hurt Dean a lot more if Sam agreed than argued, as sadistic as that made Sam. But it wasn't enough to see the cringe. A bit of regret couldn't compare to the pain they had caused with this entire mess. So Sam kept going, twisting the knife. And laying some the law, while he was at it. "And after we find Garth and get to the bottom of this, I'm gone. But until then, no more games."

Dean looked pretty internally torn up about that but he stated quiet, nodding his head. If Sam could pretend, Dean would to.

Until it got real damn hard to pretend anything when they were both fidgeting to hell and ignoring looking at anything, especially each other. Or the obsessively lovesick couple perched on the couch in front of them.

Sam felt like puking. The fact that Garth was a werewolf wasn't enough, they had to thrown in the fact that he was married. Happily. And gooey. And disgusting.

And Dean and Sam had to stand and listen to Garth and Bess ooze marriage and happiness and cheesiness and that neon pink Romeo & Juliet kind of love that made Sam want to throw things.

Romeo and Juliet was the one piece of literature that Sam reverently despised. Well, there were others, but that one took the cake. It was literally the most pointless, terrible story on the planet and everybody thought it was like the ultimate love. It was infuriating.

There had been this time, round about when they'd found the bunker, that Sam had been on the phone with Dean and Dean had made the point to call him Juliet in an attempt to be some sort of romantic reference and Sam had kind of blown a gasket.

"Wait, did you seriously just call me Juliet? As in Romeo and Juliet? Dean, that is like the worst love story on the planet. They knew each other for a week, six people died, and Juliet was only thirteen when she committed suicide for a guy she barely knew." Sam heard a low whistle as Dean made that face on the other end of the line. Sam let that sink in for a second as he pondered, then his tone lightened up as he spoke again. "If you want to compare us to something, pick like Adenine and Thymine or something."

"Adenine and Thymine? Are those like greek god people or something?"

"No, dufus, they're two DNA segments that refuse to bond with anything besides each other and can't do anything without the other one."

There was a pause for a moment on the other end of the phone, enough that Sam put down the pen in his hand and looked up, really paying attention. Finally a short huff of laughter came over the line, Dean's words a little hesitant.

"Um. Well that's real romantic and all...but, uh. DNA?"

Oh. Shit. Sam's eyes got comically huge as he realized the accidental reference he'd just made to them being brothers and ouch.

"You almost home?" Sam said too quickly over the phone. They were just going to pretend that conversation had not just happened. "I miss you, baby. That, and I'm really bored with researching and could use a shower or something..."

Sam left the implication on shower pretty damn strong and he was pretty sure Dean got it. Well, based on the way that Dean had tackled him to the ground when he'd flown into the bunker ten minutes later, he'd definitely gotten it. And they forgot all about the slip as Dean kissed the memory out of Sam's mouth.

Garth brought Sam back to the present, his southern accent breaking clean through Sam's thoughts as he looked over at his sugar pie moon bear, making heart eyes as they threw affection and pet names at each other that made Sam really want to hurl. Which meant Dean probably had puked in his mouth already.

Baby, honey bunny. It was terrible. And Sam couldn't imagine having to sit in on an entire household family with that. But thankfully, Dean said he'd go with Garth to go "pray" or whatever. Which Sam was definitely grateful for, although he wasn't going to say that.

At least he and Dean were talking. Out of necessity. Case-only. Sam didn't forget that he was pissed and he definitely didn't forget that Dean was the one who walked out, who'd chosen this. For them both. Instead of discussing it. Again. But at least the case talk came easy. If they lost everything else, apparently they'd never forget the hunting parts. Like that was much of a consolation.

He took a few steps outside into the bright sunlight surrounding the police station. There was no way he was going to call Dean when he was being stared down by a couple of badges. It felt weirdly private and personal, calling Dean. Sam hesitated, staring at the phone in his hand, at the simple D he had for Dean's contact number. Dean thought that was hilarious, loving being just "D" in Sam's phone.

It's cause it's the only D you're ever gonna get, Dean used to tease, playfully kissing Sam's shoulder. Sam stared harder at the tiny little screen. He should call. Really. He sighed, pressing down his thumb and lifting his phone up to his ear. He was 98% sure Dean wouldn't pick up. And then suddenly there was a click, and Dean's breath in his ear. Soft, quiet, intimate. Right there.

"You there?" Sam managed. Half sure it still wasn't Dean. He played it off as cool though, played it off the best he could.

"Yeah, just pulled up. Nothing too sketchy yet." His words were accented by the creak of the closing driver's side door of the car. So he had just gotten there. He wasn't lying, for once. Sam had legitimate information for the first time since... a long time.

"That's a good thing, right?" Sam asked, just so the conversation could go a little longer. It was a topic-inducing question, one that needed an actual answer. Which meant they would keep talking, and Sam hadn't come out here for nothing. But Dean had actually picked up, was actually carrying on conversation.

"Not betting on it." Dean murmured, his voice sounding low and so so close to Sam's ear. He fought the shivers that threatened to sluice down his spine. Sam was not that much of a girl. He nearly stumbled over his words trying to speak again, just rambling now. They'd already talked over opinions earlier, already had this conversation really. Except that both of them had been on the Garth-is-crazy side at the time and now Sam was bringing up the other side. Just to keep talking.

"Or are we just that jaded? I mean, maybe Garth's right," Sam said lamely.

"Well, ain't you a glass half full," came Dean's voice again. Just two bites of sarcasm short of affectionate. But it was the first thing anything close to banter that they'd had since the bride incident. Sam had missed that so much, had missed the teasing, affectionate voice. The snarky comments and immature jokes. Sam had poked and prodded at Cas's mind just in case he had a smidgen of Dean's humour in him but that had been pretty useless. So if something warm and bubbly shifted in Sam's gut at the possibility of challenge and things to roll his eyes at...

"Any luck with the cops?" The low voice cut in again. Sam didn't have anything really to report back about this, so the conversation was going to be over soon. It was just a phone call, it shouldn't matter in the least that it was about to end. It was just that they used to do this all the time, used to constantly be on the phone when they were apart. Hell, Dean called Sam on beer runs. They just liked having that attention on each other, even if the line was silent between them and they both just breathed on either end. It was the comfort of knowing the other person was there, right there.

 

"Uh, sheriff should be rolling up any second." Sam glanced back at the police station. As much as he was glad not to deal with the awkwardness of praying with werewolves, it also meant he'd be chatting it up with a couple of lame humans while Dean's ass was on the line with no backup in a house full of monsters. And with the way Dean was lately? The reckless, rough edge that was so damn apparent in the way he moved, the way his eyes shifted over the room. Sam didn't want Dean to have to go by himself. But he didn't have any terrible, edgy feelings about it that would have made him tell Dean he shouldn't go.

Sam only got that way sometimes. He hadn't had premonitions in more than half a decade, but both him and Dean were pretty observant and intuitive. Sometimes one of them would get a bad feeling, like something was going wrong or could go wrong. Or maybe it was because they were so connected. Whatever it was, it had saved both of their lives countless times. Hell, it was the only reason Dean had dragged Sam out of Jess's fire that night in Palo Alto. He'd had that feeling and he'd turned the car around, come and saved Sam from burning to the ground with Jessica.

But he didn't have any feeling like that now, so he would just be vaguely worried in the radio silence, thinking about Dean had hoping he didn't do anything stupid or get himself hurt.

And maybe it was dumb to say, maybe it wasn't where they were supposed to be in their lives right now but...Sam felt like he needed to say it, like Dean needed the reminder. Just in case he wasn't thinking straight. Just in case he wasn't sure if Sam still cared anymore. And maybe it was a little much, maybe they hadn't gotten quite back to this point yet with each other, but Sam froze in place anyways, the words just on the tip of his tongue. Another beat of silence, then

"Be careful." Sam said a little quietly. Like it was a reminder instead of Sam caring way too much. Which he did, care way too much.

"Yeah," the low voice echoed back, entirely void of emotion. Then there was the click of the call ending and Sam was left to stare at the phone. Had Dean even noticed Sam had said it? Maybe he'd just responded automatically because he was so used to Sam saying that in the past. Maybe he was surprised Sam had said anything. Maybe he was instigating the usual Dean ways and refusing to think about anything too hard. Or maybe he was staring at his phone right now just like Sam was, thumbing over the front screen and wondering how the hell they'd ended up here.

This time, it wasn't Sam who took that next step, reached out and pushed them a little closer. Physically, this time though. Which had always corresponded to mentally so well. If Sam needed something, he was a lot more likely to get through to Dean if they were touching, even if it was just fingertips brushing a forearm. But it was a hell of a lot more than fingertips right now.

Sam should be internally freaking out, based on the way he'd nearly had a heart attack earlier when Dean had just tapped him, just brushed his hand. But for some reason Sam couldn't make himself feel anything but comfortable, warm, in place. It was his spot, the one designated position he actually had in this world and while it was surprising as hell that he got to have that right now, that Dean had given him that, but Sam couldn't bring himself to get riled up about it. He just felt sated, like this. The place he was supposed to be.

A few minutes ago he'd propped himself up on the hood of the Impala, patiently going along with Dean's request for a stakeout. Dean had been fiddling with something in the car, which Sam was pretty sure had been an act to buy time, then he finally crossed over to the hood of the car too. It was a big car, wide enough that they could sit a foot and a half apart if they wanted to.

But Dean just brought his body in close, sidling up so damn close to Sam that Sam could breathe without feeling Dean's lungs expand too. Dean scooted back onto the hood, the back curve of his shoulder bumping up against the front curve of Sam's, nestled in that inch and a half of indent where only Dean seemed to sit so perfectly. This entire damn hood and Dean was sitting so close that the outside of his thigh was a hot, steady line burning through the outer seam of Sam's jeans.

Their bodies couldn't be closer right now unless Dean was in his lap. Hell, he practically was. And instead of freaking out, Sam could finally breathe for once. He felt himself relax down, felt that tension in his muscles back off a bit because he could feel that Dean was safe and here and so warm. Sam wanted to just close his eyes and soak it all up, bottle it into something that he could keep with him for those lonely, cold nights on an unfamiliar bed in a room that still didn't feel like it belonged to Sam.

They sat in contented silence for a while. Sam, because he wanted to feel this, to just feel Dean so close to him. Dean had been the one that had done this, had positioned them like this. Sam could get drunk on it. Dean was like this addiction, and just one hit of proximity and Sam felt like he was slipping again, losing his grip on the need for separation. He just wanted Dean's body this close to his. Closer. Infinitely closer, they could never truly be close enough. The only thing that ever felt like they were as connected as they needed to be was when Sam was deep inside Dean's body, bringing them higher to each other and closer to that place of perfection with every movement, every press of lips.

Sam shook it out of his head. Any more silence and he was going to start picturing up graphic images. And with Dean this close, there's no way Dean wasn't going to notice if Sam suddenly got rock hard in his jeans. Besides, he'd been fighting those memories since the second Dean left, had been fighting all of those little things that came up to haunt and tug at Sam every few minutes.

"Okay, Dean, they gave you lunch, they gave you pie. Why are we still here?" Sam was going for funny, for a bit of light-heartedness in the middle of this heavy blanket of proximity that had him feeling drugged. The words didn't shatter the silence as much as they slipped into it and there shouldn't have been the slightest break in the comfort of the moment. True, he'd spoken to keep his head from torturing, but it was a legitimate question.

Sam didn't particularly expect for Dean to stiffen, didn't guess that those words would set his brother off, make him close up and clam up or Sam would never have said them. It was a sudden reaction, barely detectable, but Sam could see the slight tension gather in the back of Dean's neck. He was suddenly uncomfortable, suddenly waiting for something. For the moment to break, maybe?

"Uh, yeah, you're right." Dean stared forward, so straight and stiff that it looked painful. All of that effort, to just not look at Sam while Sam's eyes were on him. Sam still hadn't figured out what the sudden stiffness was for though..."Yeah, Garth's good. You want to hit the road, it's square by me."

Sam chewed his lip, looking down and smiling without any joy, just an upturn of his lips. Of course. Dean thought Sam was trying to bail. Well, in case Dean forgot, Dean was the one that had bailed, not Sam. Sam wasn't walking out anymore, that was Dean's job apparently. And he certainly wasn't just going to hit the road. Dean's head was turned towards Sam now, but ducked down so he wouldn't have to meet Sam's eyes still. Right, like Sam was just going to bolt. Dean had either gotten a lot more insecure or he didn't know Sam very well anymore. Sam didn't want either to be true, as terrible as that sounded.

"Look, I'm just saying, this wouldn't be the first time we came across a friendly monster. Or a-a family of friendly monsters -- whatever this is." And that's all Sam had meant by it too. He certainly hadn't meant leaving. But Dean didn't get a chance to respond because a ringing noise interrupted, Sam's phone vibrating in his pocket. Dean looked over at him, surprised. Like he had no idea who in the world would be calling Sam. Sam could see it in his eyes, the brief flash of worry that Sam had found someone else. Again, Dean must not know Sam very well anymore.

"Agent Perry," Sam said right out of the gate. Dean deflated an inch at Sam's side, like the worry had gone out of him in one big wave. Dean kept looking away though, gazing off nonchalantly like he couldn't give a damn about who Sam was on the phone with, like he never had. Sam was distracted for a moment as a voice came over the line. All his energy was still on Dean's body though, so he felt the moment Dean's gaze snapped over to him.

"Sheriff," Sam greeted. Dean's eyes were on him then. Their faces were close, and when Dean was turned to him like that...all it would take was for Sam to turn his head too and lean forward just a bit and then they'd be kissing, Dean's pouty mouth would be cherished under Sam's again. Dean's eyes were burning holes in him. As soon as Sam didn't have an excuse to look at his brother, Dean was staring him down.

"How can I help you?" Sam asked, trying not to sound shaken by the weight of Dean's eyes on him. Dean was looking at him so intensely that Sam was almost afraid to turn his head and see the expression on Dean's face. Just staring, unabashed, unblinking, because he had an excuse to. Sam was on the phone and gosh, if he had known that was all it would take to get Dean to look at him, to really look at him, Sam would have feigned a phone call hours ago.

But then the sheriff said something that meant they actually were needed, so the spell had to be broken. They were going to have to leave and Sam was going to pretend he wasn't disappointed. It was just so nice sitting here with Dean but with what the sheriff was saying...

"Really?" Sam asked into the phone, a little surprised. They actually had something. Looks like there might be a reason to stay besides just seeing Dean after all. Sam glanced over while he still could, almost caught off guard by Dean's expression even though Sam had felt his eyes on him. Dean looked so attentive, like he was cataloging every movement Sam had made in the past twenty seconds. Sam couldn't hold that gaze long, couldn't match the intensity of it without doing something really stupid. Like kissing his stupid brother.

So he turned away quickly, pretending he wasn't shaken up by the way Dean had stared at him. Sam wasn't ready for that, not on top of the place Dean had chosen to sit. It was all just a lot at once. So he didn't feel too regretful as he put a hand up in the air, signaling at Dean that they should hit the road. Dean didn't get up right away though, like he usually did. Normally he had the car started by the time Sam clicked his phone shut, but Dean was waiting for some reason. Maybe just to draw out the last few seconds of being shoulder-nestled and tightly-pressed-thighs.

But they really should go, and if Dean wasn't going to break this than Sam would. He stood up off the hood, taking a fraction of a step away from Dean. Dean looked away then, getting up a little slower than Sam had but still making his way over to the driver's side door.

"Okay," Sam told the sheriff, clicking the phone shut. Dean was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, face carefully sculpted to not show an ounce of emotion. Dean should be a damn artist, the kind of masks he could paint on his own face...it was incredible. "Slaughtered deer," Sam told him over both of the hood, creaking his door open. Dean nodded and opened the driver's side door. Inside the car, there was this strange optical illusion that had Sam feeling so far away but uncomfortably close at the same time. Just...strange, in all honesty. Or that terribly familiar lack of strange that was a lot more terrible than if it had been weird.

That's how this whole case was. Automatically comfortable, once they got over the awkward rut and really started working. They really were an efficient team. We made one hell of a team back there.

Apparently, including the part where Dean comes and saves Sam's ass. As soon as Dean showed up he was tackled by a werewolf and as great as Dean was, there were two werewolves and plenty of guns around and there was no way Sam was going to lose Dean like this, tied to something in an old barn while he watches the brother he'd just gotten back get ripped to shreds or shot by some psychopaths with claws.

He struggled against his bonds, tore his eyes away from Dean for a moment just to try to break free and help him. It was useless, the ties were solid and Sam was screwed. Until Dean killed the two werewolves single handedly and managed to save everyone.

And then rush to Sam's side first, hands lighting on Sam's ties instantly. Sam tried not to swoon under the attention, under the way Dean's crooked finger tipped Sam's head up from his chin, looking over Sam's face with worry.

"You okay?" Dean asked, a little gruffly. His eyes scanned Sam's face and body quickly, then he was right back on untying Sam before he even waited for an answer.

"Yeah, fine," Sam managed to huff out, hopefully not sounding too spun up. Dean was saving him, but that was what they did and it shouldn't spark up feeling inside of Sam like this. It did though. Really.

Everything seemed to spark up feelings inside of Sam when it came to Dean.

But then it was all over and Dean was pulling into the parking lot Sam's car was, Impala stopped just next to Sam's rental one. There was a moment of silence filled by the rumble of the engine as they both sat and realized this was the end of the line.

How long was it going to be before he saw Dean again? How much worse for the wear was Dean going to be then? But they'd had an agreement. Sam said he would go when the case was over. And it was over. Dean didn't want him here, Sam had to keep reminding himself that.

He opened up the door, straightening up into the outside air. It really shouldn't feel as cold as it did. Sam couldn't leave with silence though. And maybe it would sting, maybe it was a terrible last thing to say. But Dean had done it to him earlier, and at least it would tell Dean that Sam paid attention. Without revealing how much Sam felt like he was shattering again right now.

"I'll send you that postcard," Sam said to the Dean-less space beside him. There was a beat and then that same gruff voice from over on the driver's side of the car, Dean's new favourite monotone word that left Sam wondering what the hell was going on in that pretty head.

"Yeah."

Then the door shut with a final sound. Sam was nearly opening up his own driver's side door when he heard another creak, followed by a slightly timid voice.

"Hey." It was like an interjection, like a please stop mixed in with a wait and it certainly had Sam turning around. Dean shuffled around to the front of the car, getting closer to Sam but still hesitant to look at him. Sam took the opportunity to run his eyes over Dean's features again, to memorize that one last time. The features of his boyf- ... ex-boyfriend. Dean had broken up with him, Sam wasn't forgetting that. But he listened anyways as Dean stumbled his way through whatever it was he was trying to say.

"Uh, listen, that night that, uh... You know, we went our -- our separate ways --"

"You mean the night you split?" Sam filled in. Kind of bitchily. But Dean wasn't going to get to pretend that this was both of them, the separation thing. If it was up to Sam, they would have gone back to the bunker that night and sat down on Dean's bed in their pajamas and talked about everything they'd been ignoring for the past two decades until they filled in all the missing pieces from conversations they really should never have ignored. And then they'd heal, slowly, and learn to know each other again and learn to trust each other again. But Dean had chosen for them both (again) and they'd broken up instead of fixing everything. So yeah, Sam had every right to inject his snarky comment there. Especially with the result it got, the look on Dean's face.

"Fair enough." Dean agreed, eyes skirting away for a moment. Like for some reason, Dean had never looked at it that way before. "I was messed up, man. Kevin was dead, and I..." Dean paused, biting his lip as he looked off in the distance. Sam watched him, wondering at what point in Dean's life it had gotten physically painful for him to share his internal feelings. Maybe always. But he finished anyways, expressions raw as he fessed up. Raw enough for Sam to actually believe that this was the truth. Or at least part of it. "I don't know what I was."

"Okay." Sam consented, leaving room for Dean to keep talking. If this was an apology, Sam doubted he'd sleep better because of it, but fine. It was better to have than not. Another beat of silence passed as Dean waited to see if Sam had anything more to say. He didn't. Dean shrugged, looking away all uncomfortable. He really did suck at the whole talking thing. But at least he kept talking.

"Hell, maybe I still don't. But, uh... I know I took a piece of you in the process, and for that..." Dean's face was twisted up with the struggle of what to say, how to apologize for ripping Sam's heart out and leaving it trailing in the dirt behind him as Dean pranced across the country. And Dean thought he knew how Sam felt. It was so much more than just a piece Dean had taken. Unless he was referring to Sam's soul as that piece, then that was a pretty accurate statement.

But apparently, Dean couldn't find the words to apologize for that. How do you apologize for that? Sam wasn't sure what he was expecting Dean to say. Although a "sorry" might have helped. Maybe. Sam didn't get those often enough from Dean to even really know. Eventually he gave up the battle of all the things too difficult to say, sighing and just ranting out his feelings instead.

"Somebody changed the playbook, man, you know? It's like what, wh-what's right is wrong and what's wrong is more wrong, and..." Dean stilled, his hands stuffing in his pockets. His entire demeanor changed, to that silent, submissive way he got when he talked about them. As a couple. Sam held his ground and tried to be patient as Dean stumbled his way through the next part too. "I just know that when... when we rode together..."

"We split the crappiness," Sam finished for him, eyes on the scuff marks traced up the side of Dean's boots. He hated to admit it but the steely, wary side was gone. Dean was over here bearing his soul and Sam always melted when he did. He couldn't look at Dean say when we rode together with that much emotion on his face and not let himself feel some of it too.

"Yeah." Dean sighed. "So..."

His head tilted in question, like maybe he was gesturing at the car and at himself at the same time. Asking Sam if he wanted back on board. Dean had dumped him and broken his heart and lied and broken promises. He'd destroyed all of the words he'd said in that church in his act of dishonesty, made Sam's reason for living counteract until there was nothing left anymore. Kevin was dead.

But it was Dean.

"Okay." Sam decided.

"Okay." Dean nodded back.

It could have ended there. They could have been an "okay, okay" couple and had that be the final words. Both of them tumble into the car and take off wherever, chalk it all up to another fight and get back to sleeping tangled in the same sheets and making each other coffee like nothing had happened. Like this entire time, as in the entire time they'd just been blind and ignoring everything.

Sam couldn't ignore anymore. He'd done it his entire life and people were dead now because of it. He couldn't turn a blind eye anymore, not when so many were dead because of this, because of them. They'd caused it. Them.

"But something's broken here, Dean." More than something. We are broken, Dean. Dean heard him, heard in between the lines.

The normally brilliant bright eyes looked dull, dead. Like someone had cut them off from their life force. The corners of Dean's mouth were pulled down slightly, like he was troubled. Sure, Dean knew they were broken. But that expression was not the kind of depth he'd had if he knew just how broken.

"I'm not saying that it's not. I..." Dean paused again. They paused a lot when they spoke like this. About feelings always trying to right word to say because there was so many things they weren't allowed to. Then Dean shrugged lightly, like he was almost verging on wanting to be hopeful. "I just think maybe we need to put a couple W's on the board and we get past all this."

"I don't think so. No, I-I wish, but. We don't see things the same way anymore...our roles in this whole thing." Sam gestured between them both on the last sentence. He might as well have just reeled back and punched Dean instead though, he would've had a smaller reaction.

Dean blinked rapidly, like he couldn't have heard that right. He hadn't seen that coming at all, Sam could see him reeling with it. He still didn't get it, didn't see the why. Or the what. His face contorted up, shock slipping into an expression that screamed excuse me, what? We'll Sam had plenty to answer that question.

"Back in that church, talking me out of boarding up hell? Or-or tricking me into letting Gadreel possess me?" Aka forming an eternal bond with me and choosing each other over the world because we are so selfishly in love, then proceeding to go back on every vow and word and lying to me and getting people killed. That's how far they had come. "I can't trust you...not the way I thought I could, not the way I should be able to."

Green eyes searched him silently for a moment. Then Dean was nodding slowly as he absorbed, read in between the lines. And then threw Sam's entire speech into a virtual trash bin labeled Petty Boyfriends Drama. His tongue darted out to wet his lips into something shiny, then his mouth curled up in a sadistic grin, all of the venom of it turned inwardly as always.

Then Dean's gaze drilled into him. His eyes, his face. All more serious than Sam had ever seen him be. Like he was about to enlighten Sam with the most important thing Dean had ever said. If lies came in percentages, then Dean's next few words registered on the negatives for that scale, he was so damn insured into what he was saying.

"Okay, look. Whatever happened... We are family, okay?"

The message was accented by the steel, solidarity in that pale green. Like Dean had just said so etching revolutionary. Like saying we're family negated every word. THAT WAS THE WHOLE POINT. Sam huffed out an unamused laugh because wasn't that the entire thing what this was about? Them being family?

Dean thought Sam was getting all squeamish about breaking marriage vows, about breaking up as boyfriends. He actually thought Sam was petty enough to make a fuss over their sexual and romantic relationship because Dean had lied to him through it.

Dean was trying to remind him that brothers came first, above all of that. In the list of things they were, whether it was lovers or friends or partners or boyfriends, brothers was the most important. That's what Dean was saying with his "whatever happened, we're family."

Of fucking course being brothers came first. That was the whole point. They were brothers. Brothers. That's why none of the rest of it ever worked. That's why none of the rest of it. Ever. Worked.

"You say that like it's some sort of cure-all, like it can change the fact that everything that has ever gone wrong between us has been because we're family."

Because being family and being in a relationship didn't work. Couldn't work. Dean had proven it and proven it and proven it but he still didn't see it. Still didn't get what Sam was trying to say.

"So, what -- we're not family now?" Dean said it sharp with serrated edges. Like he was trying to give Sam a reality check, trying to make him listen to his own words. Because surely, Sam would never actually confirm what Dean just said. That's something Sam would never take away from him, right?

Sam could dump him and break his heart and beat him up bad divorce him, but Little Brother Sammy would never ever in a million years revoke Dean's right as a brother. Because that was their eternal bond, really. What made them so special and so connected. The only thing between them that was unbreakable.

That's why Sam had to break it. Well, one of the reasons. There were so many. And Sam would do what he had to. It was the only way they could both survive this.

"I'm saying, you want to work? Let's work. If you want to be brothers..."

Sam stopped, letting the words trail off and sink in. Leaving that blank for Dean to fill. It took a few seconds before Dean unfroze. Blinked. Dean's eyes burning into him in perfect silence. Sam sucked in a breath, looking into that fire. "Those are my terms."

Nothing physical changed on Dean's face. But if you looked close enough you could the piddle inside the black of his eyes melting and coagulating. Then Dean cut his eyes away, turned his head. Sam watched Dean as he tried to make sense if it all. As thoughts and emotions threaten to spill over the beautiful mask he'd made. He couldn't interpret what Dean was thinking. He had a vague guess at what Dean might be feeling, but he was terrifyingly uninformed on thoughts ricocheting off that underestimated brain.

Then Dean looked back at Sam and his eyes were different, changed. Like peeling off the plastic screen cover on a new phone, turning the display you'd known all along into something so sharp and clear it barely looks real.

Like sharp-edged crystals, jagged edges like glass. Sam could see all the broken pieces, could see how much dead and wrong there was inside Dean. For once, Sam got a glimpse of it and he was 100% sure he was the cause of it.

Then Dean nodded once, like it doesn't matter, like he's okay.

Sam bolted for the car before he could change his mind. Before he caved to the look on Dean's face and took back his comment about being brothers. He kept his head down and moved fast, like he was under fire.

It felt like maybe he was. Just because the words had come from Sam's mouth didn't mean he didn't feel them puncture his core. Sam got ripped open too. Not being brothers wasn't going to be any easier for Sam than it was for Dean. But it was what had to be done. Dean was never going to get it otherwise.

He was silent as he swung into shotgun. Dean was silent a few beats later as he swung into his side of the car. The Impala was even quieter than usual as Dean turned the key, flooding the engine. The normal roar felt weak under his seat and Sam fixated his gaze out the window.

Coming home had never felt so depressing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few miles - maybe 5 or 6 - north of the road to the bunker was a blacktop two-lane, the kind that was old enough to look weathered but not so old that it wasn't a smooth ride. On one side were fields of corn and the other was soybeans or something of the sort. Low enough, especially in December, that you could see the rolling plains go on for what felt like forever. The corn was low too, leveled out to the ground but still high enough to give some texture to the landscape. Everything was surprisingly not as dead looking as you'd expect.

It was pretty in that Kansas kind of way, blank and comfortably numb. Even though that was Pink Floyd.

There was a creek that ran perpendicular to the blacktop road. It only had flowing water in the spring really, but the muddy trench it carved through the land was still enough to endow a bit of a bridge. Not anything fancy or even noticeable, just an old road sign warning bridge ices first and two wooden guard rails on either side of the road to bounce off potential skidding cars. For bring made out of wood, they looked surprisingly sturdy.

Both sides of the mud bank creek had a bit more vegetation than the plains in the distance. And there was a rocky path down to the creek bed on one side, probably formed by bored teens or adventurous kids. The rocky path arched up the hill to the side of the road, where there was a clearing of rocks big enough for a car to park on, but just barely. Not exactly a tourist spot, just a ton of gravel, wood, and mud.

So Sam was a little surprised when Dean pulled over, parking the Impala in the gravel just on the side of the road. The space was too small for the Impala's big frame but any passing traffic (haha right, traffic on this road?) wouldn't hit the car.

Before Sam could ask why they'd stopped or make a jab at Dean's sudden fascination in dried up creeks and wooden bridges, Dean was out of the car, driver's side door closing and shutting off Sam's first word. Apparently whatever reason it was that they were here was too important to talk about in the car. Which was normally not a good sign.

The bunker was like five minutes away, but apparently this couldn't wait five minutes longer. Also not a good sign. So if when Sam climbed out of his side of the car had seemed a little wary, it felt justified.

Dean was propped up on the wooden guard rail, ass on the top board and feet tucked in against the last board, facing the creek bed away from the road. His back was to Sam but his hands were clenched against the wood like he was either really upset or about to fall into the creek. If he leaned forward just a tad, he would fall down the fifteen feet into the mud, but Sam had a feeling that wasn't what the clenched fists were for.

Sam made his way over cautiously and quiet, lifting up to sit on the guard rail next to Dean. He'd considered sitting on the other side of it, facing the road, but decided that the view of the little trickle of water way down below was probably a lot more of an interesting view than dried up asphalt.

The wood was a little cold, especially in comparison to the warmth of the car. But the chilly air at least made everything feel a little more awake. It wasn't getting dark quite yet, they were just at dusk. But the sun would be going down soon. Behind them, Sam was pretty sure.

There weren't any crickets or little bugs to make outside buzzing noises. The only sound was the rustle of the wind through the dead corn, pushing at and breezing past the foot-tall stocks on the ground. A few prairie grasses lined part of creek, and they rustled two, moving with the wind and making that peaceful, wind-rustled sound that felt like it was so rare to find. Well, as absolute as this was, anyways. Nothing to interrupt, no cars or birds or little nature noises. Just the rustle of the wind through the Kansas brush as it flipped around and played with the ends of Sam's hair. Gently enough it wasn't annoying or detrimental, just kind of breezy.

"Why brothers?" Dean's voice finally came. Sam perked up, turning his head in surprise. He'd been too busy listening to the wind to be fretting over why Dean had brought them out in the first place.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, looking Dean over. Dean was staring down past his feet, looking at the mud and water below them. He fidgeted under Sam's gaze, lifting his head up to look straight ahead again, just barely glancing at Sam.

"Why brothers?" Dean repeated, watching his hand as he picked at a stray sliver of wood on the guard rail, chipping it out of place on the corner. "I mean, why didn't you take away something else? Like, tell me I couldn't kiss you. Or sleep in the same bed. Or hunt with you. Or be your boyfriend. Or whatever. Just, why did you take that away?"

Sam just stared at Dean. He still didn't get it. Still couldn't see what this was all about. He thought Sam was just punishing him, trying to take away labels like you take toys from a naughty kid. Dean noticed the silence, because he glanced up at Sam again, eyes shifting to take in Sam's expression. Then his jaw tightened and he looked out over the pitiful corn stalks.

"Is it because it'd hurt the most? You know that's what get to me the most? Is that why?" Dean sounded so certain, like he'd already come to conclusion that he was right, without needing to consult Sam about it. (Wow, did that sound familiar or what?)

"Dean, Dean, hold on. You think that's what this is about? Me trying to -- to get back at you or whatever, by hurting you?" Sam was staring at Dean incredulously now. The little wood chip came off in between Dean's fingers and he threw it with a bit of force, like he could make it fly away from here if he tried hard enough.

"Well, yeah, that's what you're doing. Isn't it?" Dean glanced over at Sam, then his eyes flicked down, finger running curiously over the smooth, pale wood Dean had revealed in chipping away a sliver of the corner on the guard rail. Sam's eyes watched it to, tried to imagine the entire guard rail that color and couldn't.

"God, no." Sam sucked in a breath. "Dean -- you don't get it, do you? What I meant by family being the reason we always get screwed? You just can't be family and be...be in a relationship. It doesn't work."

Dean's hand froze. Sam tore his eyes away from it, dragging his gaze up cautiously until it locked on Dean's eyes. Dean's jaw wasn't on the floor but that was basically the extent of his expression anyways. Like same had just said the most incredulous thing Dean had ever heard.

"That?" He finally managed out, voice even more disbelieving than his face. "That's what this is about? All these years and you wanna bring up the - the - the incest thing now?"

They both flinched at the previously never mentioned "I" word. See, that was half the problem. They had never talked about it. Ever.

"Yes, Dean! When have we ever talked about it? Really? We just kissed and then it all just happened." Dean opened his mouth to interrupt but Sam held up a finger to shh him. "And don't say we don't need to talk about it because we do. It's the cause for all of -- of this." Sam gestured wildly around him like the rustle of the wind and the sad little stalks of dead corn could somehow represent the entirety of the shit that had happened to them in their lifetime. Both of their voices were raised now, both of them telling and probably leaving permanent fingernail marks in the wooden rail.

"You think the fact that I take it up the ass from you is the reason our family's fucking cursed? Really, Sam?"

"No, Dean, I think you're too damn in love with me to make the right choice and save the fucking planet."

Dean flew off the guard rail at that, swung around and hopped down onto the road. Sam spun and followed him quickly, the asphalt feeling minutely rocky through the soles of his boots. Dean's back was to Sam as he paced, tense and angry, a few steps away. When he turned back around he looked like he was going to scream or cry or stab something. It was a strange combination of emotions, but Sam could see Dean struggling through them all.

"If we were just boyfriends - had never been brothers - I'd still feel that way. And we'd still be in this exact same goddamned mess, Sam." Dean's hand was up, single finger pointing at the sky as he shook it with his words. He was trembling, all over.

"Name me one couple you've even heard of that loves each other like we do Dean."

Dean fumed silent for a moment. Sam didn't move, frozen solid as Dean paced.

"Fine. Then family, there are people out there who care about their brothers--"

"Like we do? Dean, you don't get it. Family can let go. They grieve, but they let go. You can't." Sam's words were bordering on desperate now. He was pleading, just trying to get Dean to understand. Dean was staring at him like he didn't even know who Sam was.

"It's a different kind of love, Dean. Loving your brother and being in love are two different things. You have both, Dean. That's why it doesn't compare. Not to anyone." Sam's words broke off at the end, going quiet as that sunk in, rooted itself into the ground between them. Dean's face was twisted up, confused.

Silence fell in between them too. The both of them, standing seven or eight feet apart I'm the middle of a road in Kansas. One of Dean's feet was planted on a yellow line. Sam was fairly sure Dean didn't notice. The yellow lines were so much bigger up close. So much bigger when they weren't rolling under the wheels of the Impala.

Every centimeter of space between them filled as they stared at each other, the big, ugly truth between them in a gnarling, twisting, invisible tree that felt like it would uproot the asphalt under Sam's feet. Silence, building on top of it, around it. Dean was getting farther and farther away and Sam would sink into the earth again, open his arms and let the dirt take him in like the devil did.

The wind didn't rustle prettily anymore. It caught on pieces of dried deadness and whistled around them, whispering and hissing as it slid through the empty prairies. Blank.

"But that's a good thing," Dean finally spoke, voice so soft it was almost a whisper. The hissing wind stole away Dean's words, whipped them down the creek bank and laughed as it ran.

What was a good thing? That people had died? That more people always would? They were so blind to the destruction they caused because the only thing they could ever see was each other.

"No," Sam whispered, the word dragged away by the wind before it could form a presence in the world. His voice raised up again, his eyes on Dean's like a challenge. "No, Dean. It's not. We've messed everything up because of it, because of this...double bond. It was never supposed to be that way. We're brothers. It's wrong."

There had been space between them, a whole universe it seemed, but then there wasn't. Dean destroyed it, destroyed it in seconds. One moment they were feet away and then Dean was slamming Sam into the wooden guardrail, hard enough Sam was afraid it might break and they would both go tumbling into the creek bed below.

It was like the first night they'd been together since Stanford - Dean had slammed Sam into the side of a bridge, fists tight in Sam's jacket and faces close enough to make both of their hearts pound. Now, the fury in Dean's eyes was mixed in with hurt, with not-understanding. His fists held Sam like he was something precious, even as he pinned Sam up against the wood.

Those green eyes darted back and forth across Sam's face, searching for something. Needing something. The shadow of scruff on Dean's cheeks felt nearly out of place. He looked so young, so helpless. And from their proximity, Sam could hardly see the scruffiness anyways. It was just a blurred shadow at the edges of his vision. No, right now, Dean just looked like Dean.

"You can't tell me," Dean started, words soft like the way he was when he was deadly. Torturing, intimate. But somehow, lacking even the slightest ounce of danger. It was just soft, nothing else.

"--that this feels wrong."

The kiss was different than any other time Sam could remember having Dean's mouth on his. And that was thousands and thousands of memories to compare to. It didn't fit any of them. The closest Sam could think of was their first kiss. That wet, emotional, life-changing kiss because Sam had died and Dean had sold his soul and neither of them knew how to survive.

That kiss had felt like the world was turning upside down. This one felt like the world was turning right side up.

Dean's mouth was so gentle on his, lips sliding together and bodies sparking with the same energy. The taste of Dean flooded Sam's mouth, a sweet and gentle tongue caressing over Sam's bottom lip. The slightest drag and pull of their lips over each other's, needy but some perfectly, inhumanly satisfied in this moment.

It was like completing a circuit on a lightbulb. That final wire connects and everything lights up. All the pieces that belonged together separated, but finally joined and made one again with the single connection of one piece. Dean's mouth on his, that's all it took and everything was brighter and better and Sam was full and complete and himself.

Sam would have stayed right there, kissing Dean forever. Dean's hands unbundled from their fists, flattened out over Sam's chest and stayed there, one palm over his heartbeat and the other just on his chest. A reminder, another physical point to prove that Dean was right there.

Mouths opened wider and drove in deeper, passion rippling up in Sam's gut and making him need more, more, more. He could never have enough of this. More than just the feeling. Sam could never gave enough of Dean.

Dean's head tilted, searching for a deeper, more inclusive angle against Sam's mouth. A scruffy, unshaven part of Dean's cheek brushed against Sam's, a sharp, rough movement that made Sam's senses swim with oversenitization. But the slightly painful scratching brought Sam back to life, saved him from the drowning he was happily sacrificing himself for against Dean's lips.

Sam broke away. Dean drew back, eyes full and body shaking. Sam wanted to hold him, and knew that if he reached out now, he'd never let go. Dean looked up at him, waiting. Hands still planted on Sam's chest, head tilted up as he looked at Sam. Their faces were further apart now but Dean was still here, still so close.

Sam looked down at Dean, sadness filling him up from his toes until he could burst. His big brother. His beautiful, golden-flecked big brother. Who he'd do anything for, who he loved just as much as loved him. Just a little differently. Still so much, too goddamned much.

"When did you know?" Sam asked, his voice quiet. The words were only for the little space in between them, this Sam and Dean space meant only for them and their shared soul.

Not when did it start, because they both knew there wasn't really much of an answer to that. Maybe in that fire in Lawrence when Sam was six months old, maybe the second Mary told Dean that he would have a baby brother. Maybe thousands of years before that, in some fucked up destiny stars thing that everyone thought they could determine their lives. When it started didn't matter. What mattered was the moment Dean knew, the moment he realized that he was in love with his little brother.

The moment that fucked him over for the rest of his life. That was the moment that mattered, because that realization was it. That was the key. That was where they had gone all wrong. Dean didn't answer him at first, instead looking out over Sam's shoulder and into the blankness beyond it.

"Too long," came the too quiet answer. Sam's hands curled and uncurled at his sides. He didn't feel pinned, with Dean touching him like this, holding him to the rail. Sam was touching back, his chest was touching back. He couldn't put his hands on Dean, he didn't have that kind of control.

"When?" Sam asked again. They were in this fragile, fragile moment and Sam could feel it. He could feel with every ounce of him that something was about to break. It was too fragile.

"Really, Sam." Dean said, sounding tired. And a little scared. But Sam wasn't dropping that easily, he didn't give in like Dean did. Dean's gaze was still far off, quiet, whispered, pained words slipping out of his mouth like tears. "I was so young."

The words felt private, like they weren't meant even for Sam. Just an after thought, one that his mouth should never have let free. Sam latched onto it though, looked down at Dean's eyes until Dean was forced to look back. Now Dean was the pinned one, unable to move and looking trapped and scared and so desperate for Sam not to do this.

"Dean, when did you know you were in love with me?"

Silence fell on them again and Dean ducked his head away. Sam didn't move to stop him, just kept his energy pinpointed on the hands on his chest, where Dean was bracing himself. The only reason Dean was still upright, Sam was guessing. Sam waited for Dean to get a grip, to handle this. How is it that they had never talked about this before? How is it that they'd had been together for so long and no one had never asked this question, demanded a serious answer? How come they never went over how fucked up they were? How they were going to deal with it?

Just because they ignored it since forever didn't mean it went away. Clearly, they were still brothers, and they were still fucking. That wasn't something you could bury and "let loose in bursts of violence and alcoholism." Everything else might work like that, but this couldn't. It hadn't. Dean could try and try but it was never something he could forget about. It would never stop haunting them both if they just pretended it wasn't there.

It was like those people who had ghosts in their houses, but refused to believe it. Said the supernatural world didn't exist and so therefore they couldn't have a ghost in their house. The ghost didn't just go away because the people ignored it. No, the ghost got madder and madder and bigger and bigger until one day it starts killing people from the shadows. You can't deny it anymore when there are dead bodies because of it. Sam just couldn't believe that they'd let it get this bad, this long. They waited until after there were dead bodies. More than just a few, they waited until the gates of hell didn't get shut, until Kevin Tran died. Until demons and angels alike took advantage of that skeleton in their shared closet and turned it against them. Against each other.

When Dean looked back up at him, there were tear tracks on his cheeks. Another piece of Sam's heart broke off at the sight. He wished they didn't have to do this. Now, when all of this was already between them. If they had had this conversation, had salted and burned the ghost off the bat -- then maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad.

Maybe it wouldn't break them so much they couldn't be fixed.

Sam had no idea how they were coming back from this one. He had no idea how they were going to get over this, move on. There was too much, the wound was too big. And it was still bleeding. It might never stop bleeding. No matter how many stitches they tried to hide it with.

Dean sucked in a shaky breath, one of his hands curling and uncurling on Sam's chest. rumpling up fabric, smoothing it out. He stared at it for a while before he looked up at Sam. He looked so broken already, and he hadn't even said it yet. This was it, Dean's biggest secret. So far as Sam knew. It was the one thing Sam had never gotten to know about Dean, not really. Dean had never told him, and honestly Sam had no idea where to begin guessing. So he waited, waited and looked at Dean as a few more tears slipped out, as he finally opened his trembling lips.

There was a beat where Sam could see him fighting it, could see him telling himself not to. To keep it all locked up.

Then another tear slipped past and fell onto Sam's boot, a single paint splatter of sadness amongst the dust. Stained.

"When you left for Stanford, Sammy."

Sam's breath caught in his throat. Dean's eyes were closed now, his hands still like dead butterflies on Sam's chest. His eyes were closed and they were still choking out tears every now and then. Just a pearl of water, gathered on long, sweeping lashes. Growing, growing, growing, gone. Dripping down, onto Dean's cheek or Sam's shoes.

"You were just barely eighteen and I watched you leave and I knew I was hopelessly in love with you." It was the closest Dean had ever come to saying I love you (it still wasn't I love you) and it stung that it was like this. That Dean had known all that time. That he had realized as Sam was walking out on him. Sam couldn't imagine. He couldn't imagine realizing he was in love with Dean as Dean walked away. Sam had said so many hurtful things that night and somehow Dean had still known that night.

This was one of the worst nights of my life, Dean laughed humourlessly, eyes cutting to Sam with so much pain in them that Sam had to hold in a surprised gasp. In heaven, when they'd gone to the road that Sam had left him in. The road Sam had walked out. And Dean had recognized it, had told Sam that was one of the worst nights of his life.

The night Dean fell in love with Sam was the same night as the worst night of his life.

Sam would never be able to apologize enough for that. He'd never get to. This was why, this was why it wasn't supposed to be this way. There was so much more pain this way, when they needed each other like brothers and loved each other like soulmates.

Dean's fingers curled into Sam's jacket again, holding on tight like it was his only lifeline as he whispered, soft and quiet and so heartbroken that is made Sam's heart physically ache. "You were just eighteen."

And just like that, the flood hit. The moment had been so fragile to begin with, and now came the shatter. Dean sucked in a shaky breath, shoulders trembling, chest trembling, bottom lip chewed raw. Lungs unable to even take in oxygen like they were supposed to. Sam had never seen Dean like this and honestly he was terrified. He had never seen Dean get this bad, this out of control. This open, like a fucking book. Like something for Sam to dissect and look at, to bleed out under Sam's microscope. Suddenly Sam was so so sorry he'd ever asked. He should have never asked.

His eyes were open now, green and watery and spiderweb cracked like a motel bathroom mirror. Dean sucked in that breath, and they he just went, all of the words tumbling out of him like they'd been pent up for years. (They had been.)

"I lied to myself and I denied it and I fought so damn hard against it and against you and Dad and the world but most of all myself, god I fought myself so hard. I hated myself so much, Sammy. I couldn't even bear to look in the mirror, I couldn't see the person that I'd become. I broke them all, I broke so many goddamned mirrors and it was never enough. I couldn't escape. I-I hated every inch of my sick, disgusting mind that could be fucked up enough to love my little brother. My baby brother. The one I was supposed to protect. It was - it was my only job and I couldn't, I couldn't protect you from Dad, or from this life, or from me, and you knew that you knew--"

A hiccuped cry broke out of Dean's throat and he was a sobbing mess now and Sam was frozen, he couldn't touch him. He couldn't move.

"You knew that I'd never be good enough to protect you so you left me. You left me. You left me and I didn't know who I was. I was no one without you, Sammy. I was no one and you were gone. And I couldn't love you that way, I couldn't do that to you. I'd fucked up at protecting you from the world but I could at least still protect you from me. So I let you stay gone. God, Sammy, it killed me. If you were just my brother, like you were supposed to be, I'd come bug the shit out of you at college and beg you to come back."

Dean deflated. His anger, his tears, all the rushed words paused, slowed down for a moment. His voice got softer, just a little.

"But what would i be asking you to come home to? A fucked up brother who wanted to touch you and kiss you until you promised never to leave me again." Dean's eyes slid closed, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe, lips parted and shiny wet with salty tears. Sam;s jacket may have ripped from how tightly Dean was holding on to him but it didn't even cross his mind.

"God, Sammy. I was so young." Dean breathed the words, but at least he was breathing now. Tears were still streaming down his cheeks but neither of them moved to wipe them away. Dean's fists clenched harder one more time, making Sam feel tight all over with how much jacket Dean had in his hands. Then he released it entirely, patting flat palms on Sam's chest as he took numb step backwards, eyes down and still shaking.

"I'm so sorry Sam. I'm so sorry." Dean was two steps away now, and Sam was cold from the lack of his brother. His chest felt like it was branded, like Dean had left red handprint in his skin where he had been.

Sam stood in silence. It all made so much sense now. The timeline fit perfectly. The night that Dean had come and gotten him at Stanford, that first time he'd seen Dean for two years? Dean had this expression on Sam could never figure out. It'd bothered him for such a long time, having no idea what could be going through Dean's head, and he'd never solved that mystery. Never figured out why Dean was so reluctant around him, so scared when Sam got back. Why he'd kept himself so locked away. Sam had never figured out what happened to Dean while Sam was at Stanford but it all made sense now. Dean had been in love with him. He'd been heartbroken and in love and he couldn't handle that, couldn't handle all of that.

But he was wrong about one thing. Very wrong.

"No, Dean," Sam said quietly into the space between them. Dean looked up then, tears still on his face. He wiped at them now, looking at Sam concernedly.

"What?" He asked. Sam wasn't responding to the apology. Of course Sam fucking forgave Dean, he'd forgiven him for this so long ago. Used to say it wasn't their fault. The one time they'd ever even come close to mentioning the topic, before Dean even went to hell. A monster had called Dean on the phone pretending to be Dad and Dean had yelled at Sam that they couldn't do this, they were brothers. Sam had yelled back that it wasn't their fault they were born in these bodies, he wasn't supposed to love somebody just because of the blood pumping through their veins? Then Dean had stormed out and it'd never been mentioned again. They'd never actually talked about this, the decision that they'd made. To be together, in that way.

They'd been sleeping together for years, and they'd never talked about why. Or why not. Or whether it was even fucking okay with the other person. Holy shit, they were lucky they'd lasted this long on just ignoring it.

"No, Dean," Sam said again, now that he had Dean's attention. "You weren't that young. God, Dean, you were what...22?"

Dean blinked at him. He didn't nod, but they both knew Dean was. So Sam just plowed on, the sweet sadness slipping lower in his body, overtaken by the rage. The rage that it wasn't fucking fair this had happened to them. But Dean hadn't been so young. 22 was not young, not in comparison.

"Do you have any idea how much you have figured out when you're 22? Dean, you were out of high school, on your own. Hell, your frontal cortex had already started to connect to the rest of your brain. You had so much figured out."

"It shook you, I know that. More than shook, it ruined you. You were broken at 22 and I get that. Dean, I'd never undermine your pain. Never. And you better not think...please don't tell me I have to tell you I'm sorry for leaving because you know...you know. I know I've said it enough times now that it should be engrained in your brain. Dean, I never should have run from this life. I never should have run from you."

Dean sniffled. Then he froze, looking up at Sam with his watery eyes. He had this expression on his face, like Sam had just said the craziest thing of the day. Hell, Sam hadn't gotten anywhere near that yet. He raised his eyebrows slightly at Dean, asking what the hell Dean was freaking out about right now.

"Sam, you always told me you weren't running from me. You were running from Dad and hunting." Dean said it slowly, like he was convincing himself at the same time he was convincing Sam.

Sam just snorted out unamused huff, turning his head to look off in distance. The pretty colors of the sunset had just faded from the sky, leaving everything to get slowly darker around them. They'd missed the sunset of the prairie during their kiss, or their fight, or Dean's story. Somewhere. Somewhere they'd lost it and it was just another thing to add to the pile of things that this had destroyed. Not like a damn sunset matter. But.

"Dean, I lied."

"You, you...why? Sam, why were you running from me? Why would, that doesn't. You --" Dean's eyes went wide. It was like the shoe dropped, that click moment in math when you finally figured out what the problem was after not getting what the hell the teacher was talking about for half the year. It all clicked and Dean suddenly just looked terrified. Flat out scared, like he never was in front of monsters.

"No," Dean said firmly. "No no no. Sam. Sam don't tell me that-- Please."

Sam just looked at Dean. He was still leaning against the guard rail, looking at Dean. Dean took another step back. His eyes went from scared to something alone the lines of pathetic. It was sinking in and Sam's silence was answer enough. Then Dean was rushing his space again, hands on Sam's neck, stroking down his shoulders, begging, begging.

"Please, Sam, please." More begging, and the tears were back. Streaming down Dean's face as his hands fluttered over Sam's body, afraid to touch but needing to, needing to be reassured but Sam couldn't lift a finger. "No. No. Please, Sam. Please."

It didn't matter how much Dean begged, it wouldn't change the past. He looked at Sam's eyes and he saw that, Sam watched his big brother break down a little more. Watched the gorgeous, impenetrable thing that was Dean Winchester break off into pieces that he'd never get back. "Please, Sam. No, please. Don't tell me you were just eighteen when you knew. Please."

Sam laughed, sounding like a dead man, turning away from Dean, shouldering past his wreck of a brother and just staring down the road he'd stepped into. It went on forever. Forever and ever and then it just faded into the black that was creeping up on the horizon. It wasn't dark yet but it was close. So close.

Dean had fallen silent behind him.

"God, I fucking wish. I fucking wish, Dean." Sam said to the road, to that forever that they might have had once. There was more silence behind him, silence from Dean. Then came the word, the word that meant the world. It was broken, Dean's voice breaking over it like both of their hearts were right now.

"Sammy?" So quiet, so terrified. Still begging. But more scared than anything. Sam stared out at the road, remembered shouldering a back and walking away from Dean once. On his way to California again, to find Dad while Dean hunted down a scarecrow. Sam had just walked out, staring down that road. This road was nothing like that road. But all roads were the same. And all roads led to home.

Every road in Sam's life had. Look where he was now, with Dean. Dean was his home and all roads led back to him and Sam knew that. He stared down the open road. Yellow lines disappearing in the distance.

"I was thirteen. I was thirteen when I knew."

The world didn't explode, like it felt it might've. The sky didn't drop on them, the world didn't spin around him. The wind just kept rustling, that sound of skirting through dead grasses and cut off corn stalks. The wind rustled around him, the only sound he could hear besides his heartbeat.

Sam wondered if Dean could hear the rustling of the wind. He wondered if Dean noticed those things. Sam stared out at the darkening sky and wondered what if would be like to see the wind.

"No," came a whisper from behind him. Sam turned around. Dean had staggered over to the guard rail, was leaning against it, head down as his hands got splinters from holding on so damn tight to the wood.

Sam stepped in closer. He didn't have anything to comfort Dean, now. Just the story. Just everything he'd never told Dean.

"No," Dean tried again, the word falling flat on his tongue. Sam looked at him. The wind rustled again and blew in Sam's face. It was cold, and it was only then that Sam realized he was crying. He was crying for Dean, because this was all so much worse for him. Sam had known all along, had known how fucked up everything was.

Dean was just realizing. Just realizing how much this had messed up. How big it really was.

It wasn't just some fling they had when they were older because they were both hot now and adult enough to handle it. It wasn't just another one of the fucked up things in their life. It wasn't something they could write off as we aren't normal anyways.

It was two human beings who should never have fallen in love and were in too deep over their heads to take it anymore.

Sam waited another moment, tried to count the tears on his cheeks without touching them, tried to figure out how long he'd been crying. But it was impossible for him to see his Dean like this and not cry. It was impossible to see his big brother's life get trampled on and not want to do something, to be there. Sam couldn't offer that physical comfort anymore.

He couldn't.

It wasn't fair to Dean, it wasn't fair to this whole thing. So he gave Dean the last bit he had, the last thing he had to give. He gave Dean that September.

"I was thirteen when I knew. It was so much bigger than me, Dean. The emotions, all of it. I saw you kiss a girl - give her a piece of you - and I needed it to be me instead. You were my everything, and I needed for me to be the only one you gave yourself up to. You were the entire world. I realized that I didn't want to have a life that didn't have you at my side. I wanted it more than everything. I wanted you. More than everything."

.  
::  
.

Sam was thirteen. It was September and Sam couldn't remember which state, just that it was one that the leaves actually changed colors for the fall. He's not sure why he remembered the colors of the leaves of all things, but he remembers.

As was the pro quo, dad was gone and it was just the two of them. Sam had just started school in the end of August, some new place that called itself "Middle School" instead of "Junior High." He'd given it some thought but Sam couldn't decide which was more insulting of a term.

Their temporary dwelling was a little different than usual, a room on the second floor of a very ugly yellow, astrick-shaped motel that had a wraparound walkway for the second floor, all the doors still opening to the outside. The check in was at the center of the five wings and they were at the very end of one, overlooking a parking lot that held at leas four drug deals Sam could remember walking above.

Across the end of the parking lot was a shabby, pointless line of trees that barely shielded the glowing lights from the building next door. The big red overhead sign screamed Ramada and you're not good enough to cross on this line of the trees. Sam used to walk past the sign and nudge Dean, ask him how the hell this little ghetto-ass two story motel of theirs get any business with the big Ramada next door. Then they'd both look around at the total emptiness of the motel and laugh, realizing that this little ghetto-ass two story motel of theirs didn't get any business.

Their two story motel was on the outskirts of a city, which was also memorable. The Winchesters tended to drift between backwoods small towns but John had been called in on a hurry, one of his friends desperate and John had just dropped them on the spot, telling Dean the transcripts were in the bag, be careful with the money there's not much this time yeah? And good god, keep your heads down and don't be memorable. This was a whole new game, the city thing.

They'd been in cities before but Sam wasn't sure if he'd ever been to a school that feed into a high school of upwards of 5,000 people. It was easy to be forgotten that way. And since he was starting school at basically the same day as every else, he wasn't even the new kid. He didn't get a teacher introduction or an ounce of special treatment, the hallways were too busy for anyone to even realize Sam had never gone to school here before.

If he thought it was hard to make friends before, city life was a whole new ball game. He sat at one of the crowded tables at lunch because they were all crowded and all changed every day and no one noticed or cared, just turning to ask him questions like they might have had a class together last year.

So Sam didn't have a lot of options. It was either be lonely and hate the few weeks they were here, maybe few months, or he could take the alternative. Whenever school was rough and Sam wasn't going to be able to easily find another geek kid to hang with, he caved and shifted into his brother, turning to Dean in his solidarity and curling into Dean's life like Dean was his sole source of joy. Which he basically was.

As much as he liked to deny it, Dean soaked up the extra time with Sam like he was the luckiest person in the world and Sam was the goddamned sun. Sam would sigh and waltz into their motel room, splaying his spindly legs over Dean's bed and chewing on his pen as he complained lightly about Dean's music and asked what they were going to do Friday night.

They were always each other's best friend, but that month was one of the times they were each other's only friends. Both of them, just each other. No one to talk to at school and no one to smile or wink at or flirt with, just the messy, loud grins and sharp elbows of each other to come home to. It was kind of a great thing, as much as neither of them wanted to admit it.

Sam was thirteen and his hormones were fucking crazy. His voice was nowhere near changing, puberty came late in the world of shaggy-haired dimpled geeks, but he'd always grown up faster than other kids, despite Dean's relentless efforts to keep Sam a kid as long as he could. When Dean was Sam's age, he was weaseling his way into part time jobs to get more money on the table for Sam, worrying about food and helping his baby brother with homework and going to Sam's plays at the elementary school.

But it didn't have to be like that for Sam at this age because Dean was seventeen and more than capable of taking care of them both, running marathons for them both. Sam really shouldn't have much to worry about, junior high was way too easy for him and he just read novels in his classes and wrote terrible poems and doodled monsters in his margins, wickedly bored as he hummed Dean's favorite songs to himself and waited for the bell to ring so he could get home to his big brother's grin and sloppy pb&j's.

Maybe it was the rush of the city or maybe it was all the extra time they were spending together or maybe it was just the very very unfortunate luck that Sam turned thirteen the same year Dean turned seventeen. It was a proven fact that everyone turns hotter when they're seventeen, and it's scientifically proven the way little boys start to get when they're thirteen, the things they start to notice.

Sam was thirteen and he didn't mean to fall in love with his older brother but he did.

He'd loved Dean more than anything on the planet his entire life, it was the only constant he had besides the familiar, worn touch of the backseat of the Impala. His brother's big, caring hands, patching him up and stroking his face and ruffling his hair and swooping him up off the ground, first for play that quickly morphed into work, wrestling and teaching and pinning Sam's sweaty little body under his.

It wasn't a conscious decision and it didn't really happen all at once like some storm hit him. He just remembers that he was thirteen and they were closer and that's the first time he could remember it starting. The first conscious thought to break free from the puddle, the lake, the fucking ocean of thoughts and feelings and memories he had filling his mind, his body, of Dean. It was just the first conscious thought and it hadn't broken Sam or terrified him or anything.

Because it was just one thought and it didn't mean anything. But it was the stepping stone, that first bite of the apple that gave room for the flood, left a space open for the pile of leaves to drown out that first stone.

Sometimes that was what it had felt like. Like Sam was laying in the brown tipped grass and looking up at the autumn sky, watching leaves rain down slowly and simply and beautiful down onto him from where white light was filtering through the spaces in the trees overhead. It felt like those leaves floating down did, golden and brown and red and purple and shriveling up and changing into something even more beautiful than the green Sam already knew and adored. Suddenly that green was more than just a bright, pretty green, suddenly it was golden too, all the colors of the rainbow (even pink) as Sam opened his eyes and really saw, saw for the first time how those eyes were so much more than green.

Sam could watch those flickering colors for hours, could lie on the ground for all or eternity and just stare up at the delicate floating of the leaves falling from what felt like an infinite blanket of sky. A blanket, like the blanket Dean was, covering Sam's body with his own as he curled around him, the only way Sam could sleep. That warmth, covering him and so so safe that Sam didn't need to be anywhere else in his entire life ever.

He used to trace the pattern of the falling leaves, watch the wind catch them and make them float all over like the wind was guiding them, teaching them, calloused hands over the soft backs of Sam's as he helped him line up the gun to the target, Dean's strength a solid, unbreakable warmth at his back. Sam would watch the leaves and wonder why they felt that way. He'd try to map out the logic behind it, try to guess which way the next leaf would turn. But he never got it, never got to the point that he could understand the way they were falling. He knew why, but he never could pinpoint the how. The little details. They just...fell.

Like Sam was.

If it was anyone else, any other circumstance, maybe they could lie to themselves and say it was hormones, just purely physical. Sam was a smart kid, he knew all about how people worked, how all...that stuff worked. So maybe it wasn't quite so weird that his body tightened up and he got a little breathless when Dean came bounding into the kitchen, grinning and hot and dirty and sweaty, muscles rippling and bunching beneath his too-tight shirts as he stuck his thumb out and smudged dirt across the top of Sam's sheet of homework. Sam would punch at that tight, defined stomach and grumble while Dean laughed that clear, perfect laugh but then he'd find himself running a thumb over the Dean-shaped smudge later and smiling to himself. He almost didn't want to turn in the paper, just because he didn't want his teacher to have that little piece of Dean, to see the physical evidence of what an annoying, pain in the ass, perfect big brother he had. But he turned it in anyways, sighing a little at himself because it was for a grade and clearly he couldn't just not turn it in for as silly of a reason as the fact that Dean touched it.

So clearly, the physical piece was there and it the timing just ended up exactly right for Sam's first thoughts to be the exact same time that Dean first really filled in his frame, his body defined and muscular and his attitude even more so. Or maybe the timing ended up exactly wrong but for some reason that wasn't the word that ever crossed Sam's mind about it. The physical piece was there and Sam would have to be a total idiot to not see his shining, gorgeous brother for who he was. And Sam Winchester was anything but an idiot.

But the thing was, that wasn't the biggest part. It wasn't even really the main part. It was just a side affect, like a cheery on top that Sam's big brother was strong and vaguely happy and so very very golden that his freckles got real dark and his hair got a shade lighter and everything about him reminded Sam of those golden leaves falling to the ground, specks of green still in the veins. Dean had gold in his eyes that September and Sam wasn't sure if he'd ever looked close enough since to see if it was still there. Dean's eyes had always been green, so so green, sinfully green. But they had little gold flecks, almost imperceptible unless you were less than inches away from them.

Which that September, Sam definitely had been. More than once. All the time. He had nightmares sometimes, so Dean slept with him always just in case. Besides, they were used to it, and neither of them really had a reason not to yet. Maybe Sam was getting a little old to need Dean in his bed, but he didn't notice. Or pretended not too. Not quite yet. He needed another year or two. Because it was safest there, it was the only way he could actually let himself get so vulnerable to be unconscious. It just wasn't safe to fall asleep alone when you were a hunter, and that was exactly how Sam felt about that so that's why Dean was still in Sammy's bed when his big brother was 17 and probably needed his own space but for some reason didn't seem to mind at all when Sam grabbed onto his shirt and scooted himself in closer to Dean.

Sometimes, when it was still a little light outside, Sam would go to bed early. He had alternative motives for it, but Dean never seemed to notice that. He'd come and join Sam just as the sky was starting to streak pink, the room they were in still bright enough to see each other like it was midday. They would just lay there in bed, bodies close and warm because the world around them was getting just a little chillier day by day. When it was bright like that, Sam could see the golden in Dean's eyes. He was so close that Dean's freckles swam out of focus, the only thing he could really see was long, brown, sweeping eyelashes that would tickle Sam's forehead sometimes and so so much green, little tiny gold flecks like pieces of Dean's soul that he kept buried deep and secret away.

That's the only reason Sam ever went to bed that early, was to see Dean like that. He was so calm and peaceful then, with his arms lazily draped over Sam and his eyes just watching, just looking at Sam. They'd have a million conversations during that time, their lips never parting to speak a word. They communicated eyes-only and sometimes Dean would say something with his eyes that would have Sam's crinkling into a smile. It wasn't anything they ever put words to, something they ever talked about or asked for. It just happened, occasionally, both of them tumbling down in the bed and just looking and happy to not be in danger, to have a moment with just each other.

It was another part of it, another leaf that fell that was just adding to the stack piling up on top of Sam. He had leaves all over him when he was lying in that grass, sporadic ones, and each one stood for something, for just another of the thousands that buried Sam beneath their light, mysterious weight. They fell and Sam watched and he did nothing to stop them because why would you try to stop the leaves falling from the trees? It was so beautiful, it was so natural. It was supposed to happen and it never crossed Sam's mind to stop it.

He didn't even realize what it was for a long time. That entire month of September, the rest of the year, after Sam turned fourteen, all the way through until he was fifteen and older and finally realized what he had done, what that first leaf was that had started the whole thing, when he finally realized what that thing was, what it meant for him to be in love with his older brother. When he was fifteen he flipped the fuck out and he hated himself and it was a disaster and a very dark time for them all, but for now --

Sam was thirteen and he just kept watching leaves fall. Another one floated to the ground the day that Sam came crawling home, bruised and crying and snotty and reaching his arms out for Dean the moment he stumbled through the rickety door. Dean had been off his feet so fast, had come skidding over to Sam and scooping Sam up like he weighed nothing, like Sam was five and just fallen off his bike. Sam had latched onto Dean like a koala bear, clinging to him and sobbing heavy into Dean's neck, nose pressed tight into where Dean's scent was strongest, where Sam was warmest, just under his jawline. Dean had clutched him and shushed him, one hand holding Sam so tight to Dean's body that they both ached with it. The other hand gripped his hair, then smoothed it down, running over Sam's back, his ribs, sliding over the curve of Sam's ass just to haul in Sam's body closer, holding Sam up so Sam could dig his heels harder into Dean's lower back. There wasn't anything even the slightest bit sexual about the way Dean held him, the way Dean was touching him. He just held Sam like how you hold a little kid, balancing their butt on your arm.

"Shh, shh, Sammy it's okay. It's okay. I'm here now, you're with me, you're safe Sammy. Oh god, you're safe. I got you. I got you, little brother." Dean had stumbled through the house to the bathroom, propping Sam on the edge of the tub but not letting go quite yet. Sam had his skinny arms wrapped around Dean so tight neither of them could breathe much, their chests so tight together that the air couldn't quite get into their lungs. Dean eventually realized that Sam probably needed oxygen, as much as Sam didn't wanted it. He only wanted Dean. But Dean put a couple of inches between them anyways, heartbreakingly prying Sam's head away from Dean's neck, cupping Sam's tear stained, swollen cheeks in his hands. Sam wasn't sobbing as much anymore, just little puffs of cries as tears rolled down his face more sporadically. Dean wiped at them with his thumbs, fingers tentatively dancing over Sam's features, checking for broken bones and sighing out in relief when he didn't find any on Sam's face.

"Sammy, baby, what happened? What happened?" Dean's hands smoothed over Sam's cheeks, over his hair, down his neck, fingers curling in tight against the top of Sam's spine. The atlas bone, Dean thought randomly, rubbing his fingers into it. He'd learned that a month ago. Sam seemed to relax a little more at the massage, his body still pressed tight to Dean (arms and legs still wrapped so damn tight around Dean that Dean was going to have bruises) as his cries turned into hiccups and he laid his forehead down on Dean's shoulder. Sam still wasn't talking to him, was just breathing and trying to stop crying. Dean watched Sam's shoulders as he fought it, fought his tears back down and try to calm himself into rationalizing again.

For a moment Dean really hated that he'd had to teach Sam that. Being emotional was dangerous, especially in a hunt, and the best way to get rid of that was to bury the emotions down deep until you could get back under control enough to be rational and logical and deadly again. For a moment Dean wanted to tell Sam to just fuck it, cry. You go ahead and hold on tight to me and cry and I'll hold you through it and then maybe you'll be okay that way. Sam was just a kid, goddammit. Just a kid and look at him sober up so quick like he never should have learned to.

Eventually Sam was just clutching his hands in the front of Dean's shirt, Dean's hands running over Sam's back as soothingly as he could while Sam went silent, his forehead still on Dean's shoulder. The top of Dean's thigh had a splatter of tears on it and both of their shirts were soiled and damp but Dean didn't even notice. Sam stared down at the droplets of tears he'd made on Dean's thigh, stared at the dark blue dots in the denim and wondered why Dean didn't stop him. Wondered why it never crossed Dean's mind to get a towel, instead of just instantly sacrificing his shirt for Sam's tears and snot. Did other brothers do that? Sam highly doubted everyone was as awesome as Dean...but was anyone?

How many times had they done this same routine? It had been a while since it had happened, but Sam had come running bloody or broken or sad into Dean's arms his entire childhood. Dean always scooped him up, took him to the bathroom to get cleaned up, or to the bedroom to tuck him in under the warm covers and lay with Sam and just tell him it was okay, he had Dean and Dean had Sam, in the end they had nothing to be sad about.

It was a strange time to come to that realization, that maybe Dean was the only person on the planet who would have scooped Sam up and carried him in here and let Sam slobber and cry all over him like a three year old while Dean held him and rubbed his back and gave him a damn neck massage. Dad sure as hell wouldn't have. And obviously a girl wasn't going to carry Sam like that and hold him like that. And Sam was pretty sure a boy wouldn't either. No one would, would they? No one but Dean knew exactly what to do when to do it and that wasn't as heartbreaking of a revelation as it should have been.

The only thing Sam had wanted was Dean anyways. All he'd wanted was his big brother, that smell and touch and familiarity and the knowledge that with Dean he was safe safe safe and he wasn't going to hurt anymore, not with those big, rough hands taking care of him and that soft, pretty mouth breathing on Sam's temple and in his hair and just making everywhere warm again.

"What happened?" Dean finally asked again, his voice tight. The hysteria was gone in it, thankfully, and Sam let out a slow breath. Of course Dean would want some explanation for why Sam came barging into the house in a total wreck of shambles. Sam was just about to come up for air and look at Dean's face when Dean's big pam cradled the back of his head, fingers tight in Sam's hair. Sam held on to Dean for another moment, taking in a deep breath that smelled like wood and leather and the unmistakable scent of safety, of Dean. Then he finally unraveled his legs from Dean's waist, where they'd still been all this time. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub and Dean was kneeling in front of it. God, his knees had to be killing him by now. Not to mention all of the bruises he was going to have because Sam needed to be closer, hold Dean tighter, let the goodness of Dean swallow him up so he never had to see the harsh light of the cruel outside world again.

Sam's legs kicked out to the side, his head lifting back off of Dean's shoulder as he rubbed at his eyes, blinking against the moisture still conglomerated on his bottom eyelashes. Dean's hands were on Sam's cheeks again then, running down Sam's chest and sides, double checking for injuries even though he'd done a quick scan the moment Sam had jumped into his arms and found nothing gashed open that required instant patching up. Just bruises, which could be attended to after Sam had his fill on crying. His touch had Sam shivering, but it looked like a good kind of tremble, the kind when just the right chord hit in a song and you could feel it in your bones. Comfort.

Dean felt like a record player, apparently only left with two words to accompany his desperate looks and rubbing hands. "What happened? Sammy, what happened?"

Sam's little body sucked in a breath, one that Dean could still feel even though they weren't pressed tight together anymore. He looked down at Dean's lap, over at the wall, down at his hands. Dean followed Sam's gaze, finally lighting on his knuckles and wondering how the hell he hadn't noticed before. He'd been so busy calming Sam down, making sure Sam was okay mentally, to do as thorough of a physical search as he should have. Dean had the sudden urge to strip Sam down and check every square inch of him to make sure he was really okay because how had Dean missed those?

Dean picked up Sam's hands in some strange form of awe, running a light finger over the swollen and broken skin on his knuckles, drawing back quickly when Sam winced. Normally Dean might have commented something about Sam going ten rounds with a brick wall, but the look on Sam's face, the fresh tear tracks and the cold, wet spots on Dean's shoulder and chest and thigh had him silencing the sarcasm for a moment. Instead he caught Sam's eye, forced his head up to straight again as he followed Dean's gaze.

"Whose battle did you fight today, Sammy?" The question was soft, kind of understanding. As understanding as Dean could be when he probably felt like screaming inside at seeing Sam all bruised and beaten up like this. Sam knew how much Dean cared, how much it was Dean's job to take care of him. But at least he knew, at least he already knew that Sam hadn't ended up like this for no reason. He had a very valid reason. Sam sucked in a breath, looking at Dean steadily because Dean was the only thing that anchored Sam to this earth sometimes.

How could people be so ignorant and terrible and normally Sam just sucked in a breath and walked away but not when everyone was just saying all of those thing to that poor girl and Dean just nodded and listened to Sam's story, listened to Sam rant, only bristled a little at the part where Sam wasn't the one who took the first swing. Dean gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep listening, even though Sam could see him thrumming with energy, with the need to just run out of this house right now and take it all out on some stupid, close-minded middle school kid who had said the wrong thing in front of Dean's little brother and now was going to get the wrath of the world (aka Dean) shredded down on him.

That was actually the reason why Sam tried to stay out of fights, because he knew no matter who, no matter what happened, Dean was going to jump in and kick everything's ass and maybe kill somebody one day just because they hit Sam's big, opinionated mouth. But sitting here on the edge of the tub and just explaining everything to Dean, one of his first real crusades for sticking up for other kids. It definitely wasn't the last, though. Sam got into fights a lot more than a kid as smart as he was should've. But he had something that Dean called Too-Good Syndrome that made him auto-worshipped by every gay, quiet, smart, or bullied kid he happened to stick up for.

Dean just kneeled there on the floor, hands covering Sam's, listening quietly and comfortingly as Sam choked out a few more sobs when he got to the part that he just didn't understand how people could be so cruel, and so ignorant, and how could anyone possibly be that close-minded, selfish, and uncaring?

"Why can't everyone in the world be just like you, Dean?" Sam had sniffed, twisting his hands up tighter in Dean's shirt and ducking his face to stick his tear-stained cheek to Dean's warm one. Dean's arms came up around his shoulders again, hesitant and surprised this time like the words were really sinking in and Dean had no idea what to do with them.

He entirely meant it too, Sam meant every word of it. Well, until the point that he realized he didn't want any other Dean's, just his Dean. But if everyone was as loyal and kind and caring and sweet and funny and beautiful as Dean then wouldn't the world just be an absolutely amazing place? He sure thought so.

Sam was thirteen and the leaves just started falling that September and they never stopped. It was Dean's warmth, the way Dean was secretly so smart, the way he cared so much about Sam. It was all of his gooey insides that he tried to keep tucked away but Sam could see most of them anyways. That what the leaves were mostly made of. That was the whole point. It wasn't just a jerkoff fantasy or a new hormones thing, it was Sam opening his eyes to the world and seeing that the only world he really wanted was Dean.

Just Dean.

And laying there on the grass, it felt so easy and so right and Sam was more than pleased with himself, with his life. He had the most perfect human being in the entire world all for his own and it didn't once cross his mind that September that there might be anything wrong with that. It was the easiest September Sam can remember because he was falling deeply in love with his brother in every way imaginable and it was just a happy, unorganized, messy sort of thing that couldn't get much better.

By that winter, the leaves had all fallen. And Sam stood in the middle of a snowy field, staring up at the cloudy sky and watching the first snowflake tumble down from the sky and touch his nose and he thought that maybe he could find yet another reason to love Dean with every inch of snow that fell.

There was a record-breaking amount of snow that year in the cabin they were holed up in.

Sam just grinned at the sky.

It was blissful and peaceful and Sam never really thought about it except when he counted falling leaves and snowflakes and new green buds on trees and shimmering glints of sunlight off of his brother's bright eyes. It was just the way it was, it couldn't be calculated, just like how the leaves fell.

It was listening to Led Zeppelin and going through a whole new string of teenage firsts that Dean taught Sam. It was cramped car rides and new schools and crappy food and that ever-present warmth at the corner of Sam's vision. Sam got older and he got more stubborn and he got bigger and he fought with Dad and he never wanted to stop sleeping in the same bed as Dean because it really was safest that way. At least the same room. It was more training, more wrestling, more elbows in stomachs and hands ruffling longer hair and it never crossed Sam's mind that any of that was a bad thing.

And then he got older, and someone said something. Everyone started saying something.

Sam was a hell of a lot older than thirteen (at least that's what it felt like - he was just 16 now) and the pile of leaves had become so heavy that Sam couldn't breathe. And then someone had shone a big, bright, ugly-colored light on it and now Sam was staring at that pile of leaves that had once been golden and now just looked dead and brown and shriveled.

The timing lined up again, and this time the word "wrong" was the one that crossed Sam's mind. Dean had been extremely pretty at 17, but now he was 20 and that was so so different.

And Sam was older now, old enough to understand. He'd been sitting in class enough times hearing the teacher talk about Egyptian rulers marrying their sisters and hearing the entire class gag and groan at the idea to know it really was not an okay to marry your sibling. Sam wasn't stupid, he got it. And it wasn't like he wanted to marry Dean, Jesus.

He just. Wanted to spend the rest of his nights in Dean's arms and the rest of his life entwined with Dean, happy and smiling and taking care of each other and always always as physically close as possible.

Which, when you looked at it like that...

Yeah, Sam knew something was wrong with him. It wasn't normal and he really shouldn't be getting goddamn butterflies at the smile Sam had known his whole life. Dean would smile him and it would take over Sam's whole body, it always had. Sam used to tell Dean too, he used to tell Dean it gave him a "squishy feeling" (Dean laughed at those words when Sam told him), a "bubbly feeling" (Dean smiled at those words when Sam told him), a "warm feeling" (Dean blinked surprisedly at those words when Sam told him) and the feeling had never changed but now it made Sam want to scream because it was so squishy and bubbly and warm and tingling. (Sam hadn't told Dean that word and he wasn't every going to.)

Sam didn't start feeling any different. Maybe had never felt any different his whole life. Well, mentally. Sam was pretty sure his head had always been in love with Dean, he just didn't recognize it as something until that September when he was thirteen.

And then Sam's body caught up to the rest of him and now it was kind of all a disaster. If Sam fucked this up, if he made his brother realize that Dean was the reason Sam would shiver at night, that it was the smell of gunpowder and the sound of Led Zeppelin he was jerking off to in the shower, that Sam had been full on just staring at those lips that looked like roses...

How was it that Dean had lips that looked like roses? It didn't even make any sense. Sam had heard more curses coming out of that mouth than any other mouth on the planet, had seen it busted up and chewed on and covered in ketchup from Dean's burger and for some dumb reason it looked like the most appetizing rose on the planet.

Then they were touching. All the damn time. Sam didn't even know two people could touch that often (had they always touched this much?) but somehow it felt like they broke records. Dean was always tapping his arm, elbowing his side, ruffling his hair, flicking his thigh, trying to give him goddamn backrubs. Because hunting was stressful and moving was stressful and school was stressful and the thought of Dean was stressful and he had ridiculously tense shoulders and apparently Dean felt like that was his job to fix.

And every test, every big grade at school, Dean paid attention and he always tried to do something to help. Whether it was proofread an essay, help Sam study, hold up flash cards, get him to bed early. And one morning, Dean handed Sam his lunch with the customary "Have a good day tackling the world today, Sammy" and a nudge of his shoulder to Sam's. Sam had looked down in the bag distractedly, head already off to that big ass paper he had due today. And then he noticed the sandwich.

Peanut butter cinnamon banana. His favorite. They didn't even have bananas in the house, let alone cinnamon so Dean had to have spent all the money he'd earned digging out that pool for the Smiths on just getting this for Sam and --

He looked up from the bag and Dean was smiling down at him (not very far down - Sam was just four or five inches shorter) with his brilliant, light up the whole Milky Way smile. And Sam stared back at his beautiful brother who was so thoughtful and cared so much and always went out of his way to be the best thing in the world for Sam. And Sam wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to stand up on his tiptoes and pull down Dean's head to his, push his mouth and his body and his existence up to Dean's until he couldn't breathe and didn't care, never needed oxygen if he had Dean. Never needed anything but the strong warm arms and that precious heart and mind that paid so much attention to detail, so much attention to Sam and Sam wanted Dean to take all of him in return. He wanted to give up his body and his life for Dean in some feeble form of a thank you, wanted Dean to consume his every inch and take Sam all for himself until there was nothing left of Sam that wasn't Dean's.

Sam was sixteen and he was kind of out of options and he hauled ass to the closest Catholic church (having to skip English but Sam had read the book they were discussing in like fourth grade) and somehow fit his sharp, lanky body inside that wooden box of a room. And he confessed his sins, like he was this devout religious man, which he really really wasn't. Sam didn't know the first thing about Catholicism, really. Roman Catholics, he got. But the modern twist on the religion was foreign because they don't teach it in school and it was too new to have any real importance for monster lore.

So Sam confessed to that quiet, empty box beside him that he was in love with his brother and the most fucked up soul on the planet.

And of course, it didn't go away. Sam got home and Dean was just as enticing as he always had been. So Sam did the most logical thing a Winchester could do: he buried it. Dean had taught him out of the gate about burying the painful things, and loving Dean and knowing it was wrong and that Dean looked at him and saw Little Brother Sammy and would forever see Little Brother Sammy was more than just painful. And even if by some miracle Dean saw him for more than just his kid brother, then Dean would never never feel anything for Sam because Dean was perfect and beautiful and Sam was awkward and just trailing Dean like a lovesick puppy.

He used to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, the flat, stained ceiling of a nameless motel that didn't have so much as a tree outside that he could stare at. Sam would stare at the ceiling, realizing that even in some alternate universe where Sam was worthy of an ounce of the attention Dean gave him, was so different than this Sam that Dean might somehow feel the same way...

Dean would never allow it. Even the Dean in that alternate universe, the one that fell in love with Sam back, he'd keep it all pushed down and tucked away and he'd never never act on it because every Dean in every path had to protect Sam, because that was the definition of Dean in the first place and that was the one thing that would make it no longer Dean if you ripped it away. So he'd feel like he had to protect Sam and kissing Sam with those beautiful plush lips of his wasn't exactly protecting him.

No, Dean would never feel that way and Dean would never allow it if he did. It was hopeless, worse than hopeless, worse than anything that could have happened to Sam because the one thing Sam didn't want to ever live without was the one thing he couldn't have. Not in that way. Literally only one beautiful person was off limits to him and this was the one person that Sam's body had decided to love as unconditionally as his head did?

The more Sam thought about it the more he realized maybe his body always had loved Dean too. Maybe that's why he snuggled so close and would cry as a baby if Dean wasn't holding him. Maybe that's why he climbed into Dean's lap long after he was too big, maybe that why that one September he'd held Dean so close for the whole month, because his body didn't want to be anywhere but as close to Dean's as possible. Forever.

It was so wrong and something Sam was never ever ever going to have. He couldn't torture himself with it. He pushed it so far deep and down in the darkest place of him, even he started to forget he had ever felt that way. If you lie to yourself enough times, you can convince your brain it's the truth. Subconsciously though, he remembered and was starting to work on a permanent solution of cutting Dean out of his heart. With school his priority right now and Dean taking a backseat, Sam started to see a path out. A path out of this miserable life, out of the pain and the lies and the freak he was. Normal, safe, far away from the forever that he'd been confused about Dean.

The awe and affection Sam used to look at Dean with turned into anger. He bottled it up inside him, every time Dean flashed a smile or a patch of golden tight skin, Sam got a little madder. Not at Dean, not really at himself, more at life. At the world, for making him like this. And he never really admitted it, but it was one of the reasons he tried to get out of the life. So he didn't have to face it anymore, the anger. But it started shifting, getting mad at John and at moving and hunting and their lives, forcing the anger away from its origins until the origin didn't matter anymore. Until the origin didn't exist in Sam's head.

By the time Sam applied for Stanford, he forgotten about the episode with the confession entirely. He'd forced it to go away, making it invisible in his mind and body. Maybe his subconscious took those months into consideration as Sam filled out his application and packed his bags, but it was so long gone in the distant parts of his head he didn't even realize that may have been a factor for running off until the last trial, when Sam had been standing in another church some fourteen or so years after his first confession. He'd stood there and he'd remembered what he had buried so well, so damn deep so damn long ago. Even when he and Dean finally kissed, finally went down that road, Sam still didn't remember he'd ever felt a fraction of those feelings in his past. He'd fallen for Dean all over again and had no memory of having done it the first time.

*

Sam was eighteen (Dean always remembered Sam's age before his, had to add the 4.5 years afterwords to find out how old he'd been) and already as tall as Dean and Dean hated that then, still does sometimes. Dean always makes a point to stand when Sammy's propped up in a chair, reading in the bunker, researching at a table, propped on a stained motel bed, talking to Sam but still standing, just because he can't get enough of that feeling. He's never ever going to have enough of watching Sam's eyes lift up to his, never going to have enough of Sam craning his neck to see Dean, glancing up through his too-long hair and looking for approval, for pride in his big brother's eyes.

Sammy had been smaller for him for the longest time, had still been a few inches shorter than Dean at 17. Then the end of his senior year got closer and Sam got taller. He turned 18 and he was looking at Dean eye to eye and that already made Dean feel like Sam didn't need him anymore. What's the point of looking up to a big brother that you don't actually, you know, look up to? But he bit back that thought because it was too selfish, even for him. At least the extra height made his long arms less freaky looking, more proportional.

So that meant Dean had been 22. Dean was 22 when his world shattered and Sam was 22 when his world shattered. Four years later, in a mushroom cloud of flames and the smell of burning blonde hair, a soft chocolatey cookie smell layering underneath. But reverse back in time to when Dean was the one that was 22 and Sam was 18 and too tall for Dean's liking and too a lot of things for Dean's liking honestly.

He was just so...infuriating, sometimes. Sam had this strange need to snap at everything, to hate Dad and the things Dad did for them. Actually, Sam hated everything. Dean could make a goddamned list of all the things Sam hated. Actually, you know what, maybe he would.

Sam Winchester hated Dad. Guns. Pressing bullets. Monsters. Killing. Knives. Loud music. Close-minded people. Lying. The look in the eyes of the victim's family. Being cramped in the car. Alcohol. Archery. Wrestling. Training. Running. Blood. Hunts. The job. The life. Everything everything.

Basically all the ingredients that you could mix in an old, cracked bowl and sprinkle some fairy dust over and voila, have a Dean Winchester. Sam hated everything about Dean's life, all the little pieces that were a part of Dean. But for some reason, he didn't hate Dean. It didn't make any sense to Dean's head at all. Sam didn't hate him but he hated everything on that list, and wasn't Dean basically just that list? So if Sam hated that list but not Dean...then that meant that Sam saw more to him than that.

And that was a scary thought.

Because Dean wasn't supposed to be anything more than a good son, more than a hunter. He was supposed to drink and curse to much and save some people along the way, that was all he really was. But Sam still didn't hate him and Dean thought about that a lot. He really wanted to know why Sam didn't, why Dean had never made it to the list of the things Sam hated. What was that missing piece? What was that vital little bit that kept Sam's warm eyes on Dean with a smile when he glared and growled at the rest of the world?

Dean really wanted to know, because if he could find out then he'd take that piece of him and let it consume all of the rest, swallow himself up so he was nothing but that bit of him that Sam loved because there wasn't anything as great as Sammy's dimples flashing as he smiled at Dean, really smiled. There was this warm, flooding feeling that went through him every time, that Dean was the one to make Sam that happy. Those dimples and the bright, shining eyes were for Dean. And honestly, they always had been. And Dean never stopped feeling like the luckiest thing on the planet.

But patience and smiles wore thin, eventually dissipating entirely by the time Sam's 18th birthday rolled around. He fought with Dad so goddamned much, fought with the world so goddamned much that half the time he'd snap in Dean's direction to, just to yell at something. He didn't mean it most of the time, would suddenly get all puppy-eyed and snuffle out something that passed for an apology in Dean's book and then a tentative look would be shared and they would forget the whole thing five minutes later. Sometimes, though, Sam meant it. Sometimes his words were so mean and vicious and dead spot on accurate that Dean had himself wondering whether maybe he was on that list after all.

Sam was eighteen and Dean was twenty-two and everything was really damn confusing. He could never figure out why Sam got mad, it seemed like it came out of nowhere. One minute they'd be fine, talking lightly about nothing in particular as Sam typed away on his laptop, then Dean would come up behind Sam, hands landing on Sammy's shoulders to get some of that damn tension out because he'd be cramping for the next three days if somebody didn't intervene. So Dean would keep talking about whatever they were talking about, digging his thumbs into the knots in Sam's shoulders just like he had since Sam was like, twelve.

Then out of nowhere Sam was swirling around, pissy and snapping and storming off before Dean could even lower his hands back to his sides, palms frozen in the air where Sam's shoulders had been and listening to the echoing vibration of the slammed door and wondering what the hell had just happened.

Things like that kept happening, Sam scooting subtly away from Dean's leg in a dinner booth, making sure their knees and elbows and shoulders didn't brush. Dean had never really consciously noticed how frequently he and Sam were physically connected until Sam started shoving space between them. Inches of space that felt foreign and weird and why in the world was Sam pulling away so hard? What was he pulling away from?

There had been a month back when Sammy was sixteen and Dean was...twenty, that it had been like this. He'd spent a whole week catching Sam's eyes on him, looking at Dean with an expression Dean had never seen before. Dean would raise his eyebrows at Sam, quietly asking what was up, but Sam would just flush and look away, look down. But Sam had been weird his whole life and just because he had one expression that was new and Dean hadn't figured out yet didn't mean anything was wrong. Well, that's what Dean told himself. He was going to find out anyways, he always did.

Until randomly a flip switched one day, Sam giving him that look Dean hadn't figured out yet in the morning and then when Sam came home that day it was permanently gone. See, that morning, Dean had made Sam a peanut butter banana sandwich - which are disgusting by the way - (but were Sam's favourite) because Sam had a major paper due 2nd period and Dean figured Sam could use a bit of a celebration after turning it in. Dean handed Sam his lunch, and Sam had looked back up at him with the Mystery Look. Dean's not sure why he even remembers the kind of damn sandwich he made that morning. Weird. But anyways, he'd given Sam the sandwich and he'd gotten the Mystery Look in return and then Sam had hustled off to school.

And when Sam got back home, he looked Dean and like...deflated. Like he was suddenly so upset, all brought on by just like. Seeing Dean. Like Dean had done something wrong. And then Sam hadn't looked at him, practically hadn't talked to him, for a whole month. And he'd been physically distant too, wouldn't let Dean touch him. Ruffle his hair, elbow him, brush shoulders when they walked. Hell, Sam refused to even wrestle with Dean for training during that entire month. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to break through the shell Sam had put up.

Eventually he warmed back up to Dean, moved on from whatever he was pissed at Dean for that Dean simply could not figure out. And Dean had never seen the Mystery Look again. Never figured out what was wrong. They went back to rough-housing and messing around and living in each other's pockets.

Until Sam was eighteen and Dean was twenty-two and Sam couldn't seem to get far enough away from Dean. And then he did, he really did, he finally got himself far enough away. The acceptance into Stanford...Dean had wanted nothing more than to be proud of Sam, to pick him up and sweep him into his arms like he used to, bury his overjoyed laugh in Sam's silky hair. Wanted to hold his baby brother and tell him how smart he was, how amazing he was, ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead and tell him Dean was so so proud, he was the proudest big brother in the world. Sammy had gotten into an ivy league, a thousand monkeys on this back and just got himself a damn full ride to one of the most prestigious places on the planet.

But Dean had just stared at Sam's big hazel eyes. Just stared, frozen. Because as proud as Dean wanted to be, as happy for Sammy as he wanted to feel, not an ounce of that could slip through or overspill into the realization. The realization that Sam was going. Sam was leaving. Leaving. His Sammy was leaving and Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't feel his lungs or his toes or any part of his body really. Except for his chest, he could feel that pretty damn well. And it felt like it was seizing. Like his heart had literally stopped beating. He was being constricted by an anaconda and ripped apart by a Wendigo at the same time.

Sam was staring right back, waiting for Dean to do something, say something.

If Dean moved an inch he was going to burst. If Dean even blinked he knew his body would lose control, he'd break down sobbing on the floor at Sam's feet or punch that young little face until it was unrecognizable because how could he leave Dean how?

Brother.

It meant so much. The word meant the world, more than the world. Dean would give, do, kill anything for Sam and Sam knew it and Dean had thought, he had thought. Just for a moment. That maybe Sam needed him back.

No, fuck that. Dean had convinced himself that Sam needed him for always, not for just some moment or just as a kid. Dean had never even imagined not being the biggest key factor in Sammy's life, on not looking out for him and being there at every step of the way.

But Sam had cut him out, had chosen this over Dean, and something broke so solid and resolute and earth-shattering that day that the Dean of now was pretty sure he still hadn't found all the pieces.

Sam was eighteen and Dean was twenty-two and he broke everything inside of Dean with just one hour. Screaming and Dad and Don't You Ever Come Back and so many tears and Dean couldn't feel it, couldn't feel a damn thing. Should've gotten down on his knees and begged. Should've punched Dad and hauled Sammy into his arms and whispered to him that they could figure this out, they could figure this out just please please don't leave me.

Please don't leave me.

Sam left.

Sam was eighteen and Dean was twenty-two and he realized he was probably in love with his baby brother. Dean cried more times in that first year when Sam was at Stanford then in the rest of his life combined. Except maybe the year Dean spent with Lisa, because he cried all the fucking time then too. But he'd had no idea of that kind of heartbreak, the kind of affect Sam's absence would have on his body.

His baby brother left and that shouldn't feel like he got his spinal chord ripped out of his body with a chainsaw but it did.

It was like he was a snail shell and someone had plucked the slimy, alive part right out of him, leaving him crushable and pointless on the ground to get stepped on. And Dean got stepped on, all the fucking time. Those four years apart were hands down the darkest four years in Dean's life and even now he didn't like to think about them.

He'd been stupid and lovesick and he'd hated himself so so much because he was fucking in love with his brother and what the fuck was wrong with him. Sam deserved to be gone, to be away from the sick fuck that Dean was. Dean, who dreamed about holding Sam tight and safe in his arms and woke up screaming. Dad had made sure they took separate hunting paths pretty quick after that, because even he couldn't stand how reckless and stupid and haunted Dean was.

Sam was gone and Dean was twenty-two and he broke mirrors on his fists. Learned to get a little addicted to the sound of shattering glass. Then that switched over pretty quick to the warmth of monster blood on his hands. The bloodier he could take 'em down, the better. He used to wince when it was a human-looking thing, used to be sorry and need a beer afterwords to go to sleep. Now he just slaughtered and drank things a hell of a lot heavier than beer and barely slept ever.

Except with girls. He had sex with half the planet and nothing made him warm again and saved him from the coldness of Sam's absence. He ended up at gunpoint a whole fucking lot, ended up thrown in jail a few times too. Drank himself to the hospital. Woke up most mornings and went straight to the bathroom to hurl.

Numb, all the time. Nothing could make him feel anything. Not drinking, not girls, not the money he hustled and won at pool tables. Salt and burns did nothing for him now. He couldn't even feel the flames on his face as he stood over a grave. Dripping blood over his hands, it was fascinating. But still nothing. Nothing.

He joined an underground fight club. Boxing, mostly, and people bet on him like crazy. It was probably one of the dumbest fucking decisions in Dean's life but he almost felt alive when the ring lights were on him, people cheering as the Pretty Boy took down guys three times his size, brutal and seemingly numb to every blow that hit him back. He didn't feel pain, they said. He's not even human, they said. Can you see the look in his eyes?

It was good money though. Well, decent money. And Dean almost always won. And he never ever ever let himself think about that time he hadn't. Not because he lost, but because of the afterwords...it was just a really dark time and a really stupid idea and Dean regretted it like hell. He'd been so bruised and so stupid and he'd gotten so high on the feeling of inflicting pain, on tearing into muscular bodies with his fists until the blood was staining his knuckles and he felt like he wasn't drowning for a few seconds.

Anything for a few seconds of feeling alive. Anything.

He may or may not have gone down the path of a few illegal substances. Dean would try anything once. Well, almost anything, he wasn't suicidal. Dad would kick his ass. But there were definitely a few blurry weeks here and there that Dean remembered waking up in dark, neon-lit places with a hole in his forearm or an empty pill bottle in his pocket. Or a half-smoked joint crumpled on the floor in his car.

Like he said, dark times.

But Dean couldn't breathe half the time. He had no idea who he was. What he was supposed to do with his life. When he'd ever get back on his feet. Everything was dark and stifling and it hurt to breathe. He couldn't think about Sam, couldn't look at Sam's shirt wadded in the bottom of his bag. Dean had lost the one person he was in love with.

And he didn't even know until Sam was gone and Dean was twenty-two.

.  
::  
.

It was probably only because Dean had been numb half his life, but he survived through the story. He made it through the whole thing, leaning against the guard rail and staring at road as Sam talked. It had been easier for Sam, falling so effortlessly for his brother like that.

But Sam knew Dean, and he knew he'd find a way to reroute the blame onto himself. Dean was going to blame himself for messing up his thirteen year old little brother and ruining whatever future he had. Dean would blame himself and he would hate himself and Sam couldn't imagine the kind of pain Dean was going to put himself through. Sam had never had the break-things time, had never had the heartbreak like Dean did. Sam had been just a kid. But to Dean, he got the brunt of both ends. He was old enough to know how much it hurt, and now he was taking on the burden of ruining little Sam too.

Sam would try to stop Dean from rerouting the blame, but it'd be pointless. So he told the story with as much truth as he could because Dean deserved at least that much. They could both die tonight and at least Dean would finally have the truth.

But the numbness only lasted so long. Because as soon as Sam was done, as soon as he fell into silence, Sam could see Dean start to feel again. He could see it like how you watch something thaw, slowly and little by little until all of a sudden it wasn't frozen numb anymore, it was collapsed on the ground.

Dean's back was still supported by the wooden rail and his knees were drawn into his chest, face buried in the space between as he shook and rocked, nearly perfectly silent save for the occasional wet sound.

Sam was at his side the moment Dean hit the ground, forgetting everything about not touching, stroking his brother's arms and trying to get at Dean's face, trying to unravel the curled up body. Dean shook and shook and Sam knew he wasn't breathing right, knew Dean was having a breakdown. Dean had had nightmares before, panic attacks that had him curling up in the corner of the room if Sam wasn't there. Thankfully, Sam almost always was. There to hold him and touch him and talk him down. Talk him okay again.

It felt like watching a movie through a screen filter. Like he wasn't really there, touching Dean and trying to draw him out. Telling him it was okay. He was okay. Sam was watching the two of them, curled up on a shoulder on a road five minutes drive from the house, five minutes drive from safety and a warm bed and everything that was theirs. Everything they'd earned.

Sam didn't love Dean any less. He'd never love Dean any less.

Eventually Dean started to breathe again, started maybe listening to Sam's mantra chants of Dean and it wasn't your fault and I love you I love you I love you over and over again until the words all blurred into one and Sam wasn't sure what he saying anymore, just that he meant it.

Sam had one hand placed protectively over Dean's ribs, feeling for every single expand or contract. Willing Dean to breathe with him, to sync their hearts back up. Breathe with him and just breathe, feel the life that they had. This vitality they shared, this codependent thing. Sam's fingers brushed through Dean's hair, fingernails scraping as he rearranged the short spikes over and over again.

They felt so young. Dean was scruffy with that red burn of Cain etched into his arm but Sam felt like they were maybe both 20. That's when they should've handled this. That's when they should've had this conversation. Not now, not after everything between them.

Because how were they supposed to turn away from each other now?

They knew they were supposed to be together, in a celestial sense. They knew how their bodies felt, the ultimate bliss of breathing from each other's mouths. They knew they beauty that they were when there was no Dean and Sam, just one soul split into two bodies, laying sweaty and soaked and smiling on ruined sheets.

They couldn't forget that. Just like they couldn't forget that they were brothers, that that was something they weren't supposed to have. Not when it meant people died. Not when it meant that they didn't trust each other.

Not when it meant they couldn't physically live without the other at their side.

Dean was breathing normally now. He was okay, he was fine. Embarrassed, maybe. His head was still tucked in between his knees but his hands didn't have a death grip anymore. Sam could hear him breathing, could feel him breathe. He kept his fingers smoothing through Dean's hair.

"Don't you get it?" Sam asked so softly. He wasn't sure when the I love you's stopped but it felt like they hadn't. Even if they weren't coming out of his mouth, they were all over Sam's fingertips. Over every single word out of his mouth. "Don't you get it, Dean?"

"Look at us, look at what its done to us." Another pause. It was a terrible moment to say this but if Sam didn't say it now, he never would. And he couldn't let more people die. He'd let so many die for this. For this cause, the cause of being way too in love with his brother. It barely came out as a whisper. "This is why we can't be brothers."

His words were only greeted with silence. Finally Dean turned his head, wiped his face against the inside crook of his own elbow. He still didn't look up, still didn't untuck himself from the ball he was curled in. Sam just waited, watching. Watching Dean, waiting.

"I'll walk home," Dean murmured, forehead resting against the forearm he had curved over the top of his knees. Sam withdrew his hands from Dean's hair and his ribs. Dean still hadn't lifted his head, hadn't looked at Sam. He had just had a panic attack, there was no way in hell Sam was letting Dean walk home after that.

"Dean, you just-- "

"I'm walking." Dean's voice was a fraction too loud. Gruff, mean. Like how he'd sounded before this whole thing started. Except a lot worse. Sam wasn't going to be able to get Dean in the car. Sam could camp out here next to Dean all night but it was pointless because that was the tone of voice that said Dean wasn't budging. He wasn't going to get up and he wasn't going to lift his head. He wouldn't look at Sam.

He'd stay curled up like that for forever if Sam didn't leave. Sam wasn't stupid, and he knew his brother. He didn't have any options left but to left Dean walk home by himself. Sam stayed crouched down by Dean for another moment. It was too dark too see clearly now but they were close enough that Dean was still in perfect detail. Sam knew he'd have this moment etched in him for eternity, that he'd see what a mess he'd made of his brother every time he closed his eyes.

Dean clumsily dug his fingers into his pocket, pulling out the car keys and dropping them down on the ground by Sam's foot. Sam stared at them. This whole thing felt surreal. But the sound of those car keys hitting the asphalt, that was familiar. That made this whole thing real, all of a sudden.

Sam couldn't move, he was stuck crouched by Dean's side, staring at those damn keys.

Dean's head lifted a fraction of an inch, eyes closed as he dug the heels of his hands into them, like he had the worst headache in the world. They stayed there like that, Sam looking at Dean and Dean's hands over his eyes. Then Dean took in a shaky breath, voice sounding wrecked as two more words left his mouth.

"Just go."

Sam took the keys after that. He picked them up and walked to the car, sliding into the seat that Dean had been in. It smelled like Dean. He started the engine, backing out into the road.

The headlights lit on Dean's crouched form, making his hair look like golden sunshine.

Then Sam drove.

And he watched as golden sunshine turned red from the glow of taillights.

He watched Dean's red-glowed body in the rearview mirror until he couldn't see him anymore.

And the rearview mirror was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> COMMENTS:
> 
> Dragonfli:
> 
> "Yet again, beautiful and heartbreaking. Great writing!"


	25. Aporetic (The Purge 09x13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depression, lots of language, mentions of rape and drugs, contemplating death scenarios but not truly suicidal

The walk home alone was definitely something he needed. Sometimes, Dean could control it like a switch. Other times, he needed a couple of minutes to get himself together, to suck down the pain and make himself okay. As much as certain people thought it was detrimental, Dean didn't see it that way. Burying his emotions and simply getting over all the shit that happened in his life was more than just a defense mechanism, it was the intelligent thing to do. With their job, with their lifestyle? It was just too much otherwise.

And honestly, it was a lot less pretending than Sam thought it was. It wasn't Dean shoving things down so he could pretend he was okay, it was a lot more like Dean shoving things down until he was okay. Until it was so far gone, even he was convinced. And 9/10 times that worked great, it really did. The scary part was the tenth time, when Dean thought he had a handle on something and then it blew up in his face.

But at least this one had already blown up. Nuke-sized blown up. He was pretty sure that having a panic attack on the side of the road and then walking home alone in the dark was a new low. Yeah, it'd never really been this bad before. Never been close to this bad.

He had his cellphone for light if he needed it, but he didn't. There was something weirdly peaceful about walking alone in the dark, just walking down an empty two-lane blacktop. The walk would take him an hour, which was fine with Dean. It was probably more time than he needed, but an extra cushion to think could never hurt.

There is a lot that can go through a mind in an hour. A lot of fixing, a lot of thinking. Dean got up off the ground probably five or ten minutes after the taillights of the car were no longer in sight. He was still shaking, so he tried to get homeostasis back in his body by doing mundane, simple things. Like brushing himself off from the ground, checking his pockets and weapons, noting the time on his cellphone. Just past 8:30. Kansas sunsets in January tended to be around 7:40ish and it had been getting darker since then.

Dean looked up at the sky, locating the moon and pretending he didn't see the pinpricks of stars overhead. Okay, it wasn't getting much darker. That was good. He peered over the edge of the wooden guard rail, looking down at the dried up creek. It was a shame there wasn't running water because Dean could definitely go for washing his face right now. Whatever, he'd clean up physically when he got back to the bunker.

He scrubbed a hand vigorously over his cheeks and eyes, just to get rid of at least a few of the tear tracks. They were still damp enough to probably blend all together and not make him look so obviously like he had been crying. His eyes were still puffy and he was still sniffling a bit, but all those symptoms would be gone by the time he got back to the bunker.

It was probably useless when he was out here with no resources or a mirror, but he could at least try to make himself look a little decent. If Dean were a girl or a makeup-wearing-guy, now would be that moment that he broke out the glittery eyeshadow and shit. Put on a perfect face and smile at it in the mirror, because looking awesome when you feel like shit is the first step to not feeling like shit. As it was, Dean at least could run his fingers through his hair.

He lifted up tentative fingers to it, feeling a piece or two that had fallen onto his forehead. He huffed in annoyance, trying to straighten them back up with the rest of his hair. It was from all that damn head-rubbing Sam's fingers had been doing earlier. When you run your fingers through someone's hair repeatedly for like ten minutes, of course any sort of product you had in it was going to stop working. Dean fluffed his hair back to the way it was supposed to be, or at least the best he could with all the gel-removal Sam had done. It probably looked ridiculous, but there wasn't much else he could do until he got home.

Right. He should start walking. Dean patted the guard rail once and then he was off in the direction of the bunker. He had lots of time all to himself to think, which was something he definitely needed before he saw Sam again. It all still felt a little surreal, and Dean wasn't sure he'd believe that all just happened except for the fact that there was no way he was dreaming. His head wasn't creative enough to make up the story Sam had told him. And he'd never flatter himself that much, especially in a dream.

Dean briefly considered the idea that he was in an alcohol-induced coma, that the whole thing with Garth and Sam had never happened at all. It would be just like him to have a coma that made friends into monsters (literally) and ended with him on his ass on the side of a road in Kansas. All the shitty things tended to happen in Kansas. Not particularly sure why that was, but...at least it wasn't the worst state. And there was always Miss Kitty.

But no, he couldn't be in a coma. Or dreaming. Because there was a wicked-ass splinter in his hand that hurt like a bitch. And Dean knew pain, could be a fucking college professor on the subject of pain, and this was the kind you only felt in real life. On earth. Maybe it was a terrible thing to be, a pain-expert, but at least it meant Dean could figure out what dimension he was in. Heaven or Hell, dreamworld, coma world, djinn-induced dream world, hallucinatory pain, memory pain, all those lovely different types and places to be. They were all different.

Dean glared a the piece of wood lodged in his palm. Damn splinter for making this whole thing real.

The road wasn't disappearing very quickly under his feet, or at least it didn't feel like it, but when he glanced over his shoulder the little bridge over the creek was off in the distance. Not very far away, but further than Dean thought his feet had taken him. Either that or his depth perception was off from all the damn crying he'd been doing.

He sucked in a breath, hated how shaky and unsupported it sounded. God, had he been embarrassing or what? Bawling like a baby. Crying, screaming. Or maybe the quiet, broken tears were worse. Either way it was a lot of crying and it was terribly embarrassing. In front of Sam, Sam seeing him like that. Fuck, Sam.

Dean scuffed his feet along the asphalt, dragging the heels slightly with each step just to hear the sound. They'd been trained so feverently to pick up their feet when they walked. There was power in someone who walked without dragging their feet, who walked with pious steps in perfect silence. Besides, boots were expensive and they wore out faster when you dragged them. Dean watched his feet, imagining the layers as they got ripped off the bottom, leaving behind a black, rubbery trail in his wake as he treaded over asphalt that felt cold even though he couldn't feel it through his boots.

Wouldn't that be just apt, if he actually did leave a black trail behind him when he walked. He did with his heart, he might as well with his damn shoes too. Staining the ground, poisoning every inch of soil with each step he took. It'd be fitting. Like all those princesses that had flowers grow behind them as they walked, Dean could have a trail of black, torched, deadness.

Sam said it wasn't his fault. Of course Sam said it wasn't Dean's fault, he knew exactly how Dean thought. How Dean would blame himself, point the failure of both of their lives as a whole on himself. Because it was. Dean wasn't some sadistic bastard who felt like just destroying himself for fun. He had reason, every time.

Except nothing he'd ever done felt like it really compared to this. He had ruined Sam's entire life. His only job had ever been to protect Sam and he thought he had, he thought he had. But all along he'd just fucked it up more, twisted his fists into the beautiful, sheer thing that was the veil of Sam's innocence and joy and potential for the future and ripped it into violent, angry, bleeding shreds.

How could it not be Dean's fault? Thirteen year olds don't fucking randomly fall in love with their older brothers. Dean must have done something to spark that, to confuse Sam's head. He didn't care what Sam compared him to, what he said about how it was easy falling in love with Dean. There was something that had started it, something that had gone wrong. Dean had to have done something. Something instigated that, that didn't just happen out of thin air.

Dean had somehow done something to fuck up the head of the one beautiful, precious thing the world had ever given him.

Maybe he shouldn't care, right? Because it hadn't stopped him from bending Sam over shit now, kissing those pretty lips barely a couple of years after Sam got back from college.

But they were consenting adults. They were older, they understood the consequences. Understood what it would mean if they went there, if they took that last step with each other. They both had known and they'd chosen it together. Sure, it felt right as hell, like they were supposed to have been doing that with each other their whole lives. Except that it didn't matter if it was "always gonna happen" or it had been engrained in them since before they were born or they shared a damn soul or whatever the hell else was the reason that it worked between them now.

Now was a whole different ball game than a thirteen year old, wanting something that should never have crossed his mind and too young to even understand what was happening, let alone what the hell to do about it. And god knows Dean hadn't helped dispel that any. He'd loved Sam's attention, soaked up every hug and shy smile like they were the goddamn golden light that graced the earth. He'd encouraged it, held Sam long past when he should have. Ruined things even more for them.

If Dean hadn't done whatever he did to make Sam fall in love with him, Sam might never have gone to Stanford. He might have anyways, but there was that minute possibility that he would have stayed with them instead. They would have been a family for longer. Maybe Dad wouldn't have died. Maybe they'd all be alive and kickin right now. Hell, Dean could just picture Dad in the bunker, the look on his face when Henry came tumbling through the damn closet. Finally getting all those answers, fixing everything.

They could have taken yellow eyes down together. Stopped the apocalypse together. Hell, the apocalypse never would have happened. Shit. What if all of that was just because somewhere along the line, way forever ago, Dean had let Sam fall in love with him when he was just a fucking kid?

As much as he hated the way he reacted Dean was pretty sure it wasn't an overreaction. Okay, maybe he'd crowded all up in Sam's space and like begged all over him to say it wasn't true, that Sam hadn't been so innocent when Dean had taken that from him too. How much had Dean taken from his brother? How long had he been the poison running through Sam's veins? How long had Sam been taking shots of Dean's sweet poison and getting them both drunk on it until it was too hard to tell them apart anymore?

Dean's step faltered. He shook his head, forced himself to keep walking. He wanted to stop, lay down right here in the road and wait until some beautiful tires came and ended him, flattened him into the earth until he was no longer a burden in Sam's life. The thing that had destroyed his brother.

Sam's entire life, every since he was a kid - wait, no scratch that. Ever since he was about thirteen. Ever since he fell in love with Dean. That couldn't fucking be a coincidence. But anyways, Sam's entire life all he'd wanted was normal. He'd always felt out of place and he only ever wanted to be normal and how the hell could he be normal when his big brother was dangled in front of him like some pretty, enticing piece of devil food? All that physical proximity from the job, from Dean not wanting to every let go of his little brother and let him grow up like a normal kid. The coddling, the sharing beds, the wrestling in the hot summer sun. The teasing, the adoration.

Dean had ruined Sam's chance at normal.

He hadn't even known, he swore if Sam had just told him, if he had just known, he could've stopped it. He could've stopped it before all of Sam's chances for a normal life were ripped apart with Dean's possessive claws. Dean had taken that away from Sam. Had taken away his normal since he was just a kid. How did Sam think this wasn't Dean's fault?

A shaky breath and a pause to wipe his face down again from the few escaping tears later, Dean was back to watching his feet, not skidding the heels of his boots anymore. Making his way silent, untraceable.

How hadn't he noticed?

Sure, there had been times that Dean figured something was up. But he'd always just assumed it was something with school, or some bone Sam had to pick with him. A bone that had nothing to do with getting boned. By your brother.

It made sense now, the Mystery Look and all that. It was the look of a little brother who found out he could never be normal because he was in love with his big brother, because his big brother was a deushbag enough to let it happen.

When Sam had told Dean he had gone to confessional before, when they were kids, Dean had spent the next few hours just wracking his brain, trying to figure out what the hell his sunflower baby brother could have possibly had wrong with him when he was so little. Dean, that's what was wrong with Sam. And Sam had seeked out a damn church. Tried to get fucking cured for his sins.

But that was the worst part. It had beaten up a teenage Sam, made him leave and run away from it. From Dean. And sure, technically it was a sin. It was illegal and immoral and all that terrible shit. It was wrong for a little kid to lust after his big brother. Dean got all that, he knew all that.

But it sure as hell didn't feel wrong with Sam's tongue in his mouth.

Dean paused again, glancing behind him. The bridge was out of sight now, gone past the curve of the road. He wasn't sure how long it'd been but he wasn't going to look up at the sky to find out because it was still blanketed in stars.

He couldn't deal with the stars on top of everything right now. That didn't stop his hand from coming up into sight, staring at the back of it before he could tell himself not to. Dean ran a tentative thumb over the skin on the back of his hand. It'd been a while ago now, but it still felt like the two marks were engrained in his skin.

Dean still knew exactly where Sam had traced the wunjo and ihwaz. Joy and an eternal bond. Forever etched into his hand, it felt like. Fuck that shit, Dean didn't need that to think about all that right now too.

He dropped his hand to his side, started walking forwards again. His face felt strangely tight, the way it always did when there were tears dried to his skin. If his body was annoying enough to make him cry again, he was going to tackle those tears so damn fast, wipe em away like crazy because he was pretty sure his body would get NaCl poisoning if he had more salt soaking into his skin.

He walked a bit in silence, not letting himself think about anything at all for a bit. He counted his steps instead. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

How long had he and Sam been together? Since the day after Sammy's 24th birthday. Well, that was when they first kissed. May 3rd, 2007. It was the beginning of 2014 now. Seven years.

They'd first slept together right before Sam jumped in the pit. It had been about comfort. About connecting them. About sealing that promise that they weren't going to leave each other ever.

There had been nothing that felt wrong then. It felt like Dean was finally fucking complete for the first time in his worthless life. Like he had a place and he wouldn't ever need anything else. Like he wasn't broken. Like he didn't need to be saved. He had Sam and it made Dean into the version of himself that he'd always wanted to be.

Maybe it was the soulmates thing. It felt like their bodies were pieces of the same puzzle or whatever poetic shit there was to explain how they needed to be connected that way. They both ached to be as close to each other as they could be, as close as humanly possible. Nestled inside each other, bodies pressed so tight and perfect and right that they melded into one and everything about them synced up and the stars fucking aligned or whatever.

It was wrong for baby Sam to lust after Dean like that. But the older versions of themselves, the ones with actually connected frontal cortexes that let them connect rationality to their decisions, it was the damnedest right thing in the world. They were more right for each other than anyone on the fucking planet.

But that was for now, when they could think for themselves about it. Make a conscious decision together. Chose each other with all the information on the table and knowing what it meant if they were lovers and brothers. That wasn't wrong, that was so fucking far from wrong that it made Dean's head ache. Made his entire body ache.

He could spout out all of this shit about their bodies being meant for each other, which was true, but in reality it wasn't even about that. This was about love and Dean knew that.

It was what Sam had been talking about earlier. That thing about loving Sam with the power of a brother combined with the power of a soulmate. Nothing on the planet could fucking beat that.

Actually, there were four different kinds of love. In Greek lore in the bible, if he remembered correctly. Dean knew them all the same way he knew everything else useful retaining to books - because Sam had tugged at Dean's hand and told him he had to learn these. At least study with him, please?

Four types of love. Philia, Agape, Storge, and Eros. They all were considered love, but were very different sides of the same dice. And the thing was, everyone only ever assigned each person one of the four. Well, occasionally Philia and Eros mixed, but those were really the only two.

Dean kicked at a rock with his toe and wondered if he and Sam had all four. Maybe.

Philia was friendship. The kind of love that had you picking up the phone at three in the morning to haul ass to whatever cold climate you were needed in so you could hand over a cooler full of blood bags to your idiot ass vampire friend who decided to take on half his kind because he was a fucking macho moron and underestimated the power of vampirates.

It was also the kind of friendship that had Dean staying up late at night to go over homework, even after he spent a twelve hour shift at the garage to try and get some extra cash to pay for those SAT Prep books Sam had been dreaming about. No, most brothers didn't do that. Only brothers that were friends, actually enjoyed each other's company and did simple shit like that because it was something you'd do for any friend.

Then there was storge. Now that was brotherly love. The kind of way you loved family. The way Dean used to ruffle Sam's hair and make him dinner and beat up any kid who lay a hand on Sam's sweet face. Sacrificing job money for food, watching each other's backs. That was family.

And then of course, eros had to come along and fuck everything up. That was the love that had Sam sinking in deep, had Dean getting high on the look on Sam's face when he came, that was pressing possessive fingerprint bruises into bodies. That was their bodies, that physical connection, the physical love between them that they couldn't fight. The need to kiss Sam, to inhale his air and treasure it in Dean's lungs. The need to hold Sam in the middle of the night, wrap his arms around Sam's naked, beautiful body and never let go of all of that sunshine.

Eros should have been what screwed them over. But it wasn't, not really. Sure, it was a problem. Sleeping with his brother should have ruined him but it didn't feel that way. It felt like maybe that's what saved them, that's what had helped fight the nightmares and the loneliness and the desperation. Only thing is, having Sam in every way...it made it somehow even harder to let him go. Dean never had been able to really let Sam go, but now? After he'd loved Sam in every sense of the word...it was like Sam was a solar eclipse that covered everything else in Dean's life. And maybe that had set off the rest of the problem. That forth kind of love. Because Sam seemed a lot less pissed about the eros thing as he was about that last kind of love, agape.

Agape was the ultimate love. That was the selfless, undying, soulmate, sacrificial, unconditional kind of love. That was Sam overtaking possession by an archangel and jumping into the worst place of existence to save Dean. That was Dean hacking and destroying his way through Purgatory so he didn't leave his brother alone out here. That was the problem. Their problem. All that agape love between them that had them doing the dumbest things, like letting angels possess their brother because Dean couldn't live without him. Dean physically could not live without Sam and he had to have Sam by his side. Sacrificial, unconditional.

And Sam didn't want that between them. Or he wanted it, but he thought it was wrong. Hurtful. Dean didn't get it.

What the fuck was wrong with loving Sam that deeply?

This would be so much easier if Sam was only pissed about them fucking. So much easier. Although he seemed kinda pissed about that, too. Because apparently, the incest thing was now an issue. Well, maybe it always had been. But it wasn't like Dean had lost sleep over it. Okay, not a lot of sleep. Not all the time. Just sometimes.

It was really dark out here. If he didn't have perfect vision then Dean wouldn't be able to see the asphalt under his boots. Ending up in a ditch by a corn field would not be a fun end to tonight. Like anything about tonight had been fun.

Holy fuck, they'd never fought like that.

It wasn't even a fight.

Not really.

Nobody even hit anybody or cursed anybody out. They just cried at each other. And broke each other's hearts with stories. Stories that Dean had never been planning on telling Sam. It was that part of him he'd had locked up his entire life...and now it was out.

Maybe everything would look different now. It felt darker than usual but Dean was pretty sure nothing that drastic was going to happen. Just this empty, empty feeling. He should feel lighter, having that off his chest. But telling Sam he'd fallen in love with him when he left for California was nothing compared to the weight of how Dean had ruined everything making Sam fall for him when he was still just a kid.

If Sam had just told him. Dean could've--could've done something. Anything. Something.

His feet faltered in their pace, nearly tripping and pausing for a moment as the thought dawned on him. What if...what if Sam had told him? What would Dean have done? He could never hate Sam for it. He may not have caved at first, but then again, maybe he would have picked up his sweet little Sammy and kissed him then and there, at thirteen.

What if they had wasted all of that yearning and pain? They could've...they could've been together since the start. Dean could've been Sam's first. Could've had that sweet innocence of Sam laid all out for him to take, just like every other piece of Sam. They would've waited til Sam was sixteen or seventeen, and then...they could have had each other every moment sense. Dean could've had Sam for a lifetime. Instead of just the past few years together, they could've spent all those hot summers as lovers instead of pent-up, wrestling partners.

Maybe if they'd been together as kids, maybe Sam wouldn't have left. Even if Dean had just kissed him that night, he could've made Sam stay. Jessica never would have had to die. Dad would've have left them. Sure, they'd have a tough time trying to keep in on the downlow around their father, but it'd be so worth it.

If Dean had just known, he could've made Sam stay. How much closer would they be now? With all those years of loving, knowledge, truth under their belts? If only he had picked up the signs. There had to have been signs. Looking back, Dean could see some of them, little things that should have set off red flags but didn't because Dean was so blind, so unobservant. God, his baby brother.

There were signs and Dean had been blind. If he had known, they could've been together way back when. They never would have had to face a cold night alone. All the pain, the internal hate Dean had inflicted on himself when Sam left...it was all for nothing.

Dean had been the shittiest big brother in the world.

He pulled in the edges of his jacket, wrapped it tighter around himself. It was getting just as cold as it was dark. He was probably a little more than halfway there. It was a lot of pondering, a lot of things to analyze.

But when it came down to it, there were really just a few key points that mattered. First, Sam didn't want then to be brothers. For whatever stupid reason. Like not being brothers would actually fix anything.

Secondly, Sam was a dick for dropping the whole thirteen thing on Dean like that. He knew Dean too well and he knew Dean would blame himself and that meant the blame wouldn't be on Sam at all, that this entire mess was just 100% Dean. Sam knew how to break him, and so he did.

Third, Dean had wasted a lot of time and a lot of tears and a lot of hate on unrequited love that was apparently requited the whole damn time. And they'd both wasted years and years of possible physical comfort. All the hearts Dean had broken, from random waitresses to Lisa and Ben, would never have happened. Jessica Moore would be alive out there somewhere. Dean probably wouldn't be an alcoholic. Or broken. Of self-loathing.

If Sam had been his all that time...almost everything wrong with Dean never would have gone wrong in the first place.

Or, the fourth thing, there was always the opposite of that. Which still somehow felt that'd it'd be better. If Sam had told him Dean might have been able to find a way to help Sam past it. (If that was possible - they shared a soul.) And then they would have always been just brothers and as much as the thought of that sucked more than most of the thoughts Dean could entertain, at least they'd avoid oodles of pain and heartbreak.

And then there was that fifth thing that Dean didn't even want to think about. But it's not like he was going to be in any more pain tonight he'd basically reached his max. What if...what if Sam had told him, at thirteen, and Dean had flipped? What if it had ruined them? It could have made them hate each other. Could have turned them into just any other family, with siblings who fought and hated each other. Dean couldn't even imagine...growing up without his Sammy plastered to his side? He'd have no reason, no purpose. He'd be fucking pointless.

It could have broken them. This - that underage life-destroyed-since-13 thing that was between them now - could still break them.

But god, when Dean thought of the alternative? Hell, Sam could have jumped off a fucking building, skipped out of Dean's life at 13 instead of 18. So much could have gone wrong. But it hadn't. Somehow, they were here. True, they were fighting, and yes, tonight was the worst night of Dean's life. Not counting every time Sam died obviously. And Stanford too. Now this one got to go on that list.

But all that pain, everything tonight, they still had had so much good and perfect and surreally amazing over the past few years...

Dean wouldn't trade it. Not for a minute. He'd take the heartache of tonight if he got to have the past few years as Sam's boyfriend. Lover. He'd take it all, all that hurt, for them to have this ending.

And okay, yeah. Dean had corrupted his little brother. They were both involved in a homosexual, incestuous relationship. There. Dean said it. Well, thought it.

"Incest," Dean murmured to himself, looking up from the ground and out over the darkness that had settled on the road. The corn rustled softly in response. And lightning didn't come out of the sky and smite him. The earth didn't shake and no big circle of light announced the re-arrival of Lucifer to take him and his brother back to hell.

He was in a homosexual incestuous relationship with his baby brother and apparently the world didn't care. Not like Dean thought it would. He hadn't been smited with lightning yet.

So maybe it wasn't such a damn big deal. Okay, it was a big deal. But it didn't have to be the end of them. They could talk it out. Kiss it out. Fuck it out. Whatever. They could get through this if Sam just gave them a chance. They could do whatever they needed to and finally really address the incest thing in a positive, okay light.

Or, you know, they could kiss then break each other's hearts in the middle of the road in Kansas. God, that kiss. It had been so long - weeks - and Dean hadn't had that mouth on his and then it was back, all at once. All Sam. 100% angel free and just his beautiful, perfect sunflower of a little brother.

They were too damn made for each other for that to feel wrong. How could Sam fight that? How could Sam deny the way it felt when their bodies were connected, when they were as physically close as two people could be? They both needed it. Dean knew that. He might be insecure and self loathing but he knew Sam needed it just as much as he did. Needed them. Dean, in Sam's arms. Or Sam buried deep inside him, breathing hot and heavy and so so perfect. Sam needed that too. As much as he was fighting all of this - because he was pissed - he still needed it. Needed Dean.

So he couldn't let go of the physical comfort and the sex. Instead, he threw out the much more important aspect of their relationship. Just for that reason too, because it was the part that mattered the most.

Couldn't be brothers. Sam didn't want to be brothers.

What. The. Hell.

Not being brothers wasn't going to fix this. Their brotherhood was what got them through shit like this. So not being brothers was going to rip Dean up into shreds. That was all he had, really. Everything else in his entire life was temporary. The only solid, permanent thing in Dean's entire livelihood was being Sam's brother. That was the only thing Dean had really owned and Sam ripped it away from him.

That brings number six. Dean's chest physically ached. Maybe from all the crying. Maybe one of the damn werewolves crushed his thoracic cavity. Whatever it was, he hurt a lot. It was like the early stages of heartbreak. Not as much a shatter as it was cracks that were oozing liquids. His brain hurt more than his heart did because he was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of Sam being in love with him for almost twenty years. Dean was pushing 12.

But the last thing, the most important thing, was that Dean wasn't going to let this end them. Sam still loved him. Dean was pretty sure of that.

So he'd lock down the heartache and all those weakass tears he'd been crying earlier. He'd numb himself off with his own personal anesthetic and he'd walk into that bunker and look okay. He wasn't going to shed another tear tonight.

Hell, he'd pretend he hadn't shed a tear at all. He'd see Sam and he'd act like that breakdown in the middle of the road had never happened. Like everything hadn't suddenly just changed. Like Dean hadn't just become the monster who corrupted the beautiful innocence of Sam Winchester.

Dean seriously regretted pulling over to talk.

It wasn't even something he usually instigated - talking, that is - but he'd thought it would make everything better for goodness sakes.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, pulling away a little startled as his hand scraped over something bristly. He had forgotten about not shaving. It was kind of strange, every time he realized he actually had stubble and hadn't shaved. He just didn't have the heart for it anymore. There had been too many times that Sam had set him up on the sink, lathering cream over Dean's face and shaving him so so carefully, razor angled just perfectly over Dean's skin. Dean would close his eyes, hum at the intimacy and tenderness of it all. He'd wrap his ankles loose over Sam's hips, hands propped on the counter on either side of where he was sitting, letting Sam adjust his head how he wanted. It felt so vulnerable and so childish, having Sam shave him, but Dean secretly loved it and Sam totally knew that.

So yeah, excuse Dean if he wasn't going to stare his dead, guilty eyes in the mirror and make the same strokes over his cheeks that much more graceful, long-fingered hands used to.

 

By the time the bunker door rounded into sight, Dean was totally worn out from walking. But he was more okay than he thought he'd be. Well, not okay as much as just not panic-attacking or crying-his-eyes-out. As okay as he could be when his entire world was shattered and Sam had said they couldn't be brothers.

But he was too tired to cry, his body didn't have it in him anymore. It'd be too much. Too painful. There wasn't enough liquid left in his dried out, dusty body to produce saliva for his paper-feeling mouth, let alone tears to cry.

The sight of that bunker door (home) gave his body a run for its money though. He might not have the physical ability to cry but his chest was doing it's damn best to close up and choke him to death anyways. God, he was home. It'd only been a few weeks but it had felt like years since he'd been home. He was home and Sam was inside and yeah, things were way fucked up right now, but Dean was home. They could figure more out after that. After he slept. Goodness, he could so go for that warm, memory foam mattress right now. After all those motel beds? Their bed sounded like heav-

Their.

Shit, Dean wasn't getting an ounce of sleep tonight.

Fuck if Dean was going to sleep in the room he and Sam had shared for a year. The memory foam probably still had their damn imprint on it. Dean could yank back the covers and there would be the silhouette of Sam's body wrapped around his. It would still smell like Sam. The whole room would just be a loud, shouting reminder of you made love here. Like, 800+ times. They screwed and fucked each other in there too and that would rip at Dean's psyche but not nearly as bad in comparison to the way Sam would rock into him, deep and slow and just their shared breath and Dean's hands wrapped too tight in Sam's hair. Watching Sam's face as he came inside Dean, feeling the shudder rip through their conjoined bodies.

There was no way in hell Dean was sleeping in that bed. Alone. That bed, that one. Nope.

Hell, Dean was probably never going to go to sleep again ever. He'd barely gotten an hour of quality shut eye since the breakup. If that's what it had been. Had Sam been sleeping fine? Had he had nightmares? What did he do if he woke up screaming and didn't have Dean's warmth to bury himself in and ground himself back to reality from whatever hell had taken over his mind?

Dean really did not like the thought of Sam having a nightmare and being alone. Dean didn't like any of this. Could Sam be pissed at him and still sleep wrapped up close? He doubted it. It probably wouldn't be worth the humiliation of a no by asking.

Each step closer to the bunker door made it harder and harder to breathe. Finally Dean was standing right in front of the cold metal. His fingers reached out, watching himself in slow motion as he turned the handle. Shit, that was cold.

The door creaked, loud and familiar. Like Baby's doors. Not the same sound and not as loud, but still sounding like home. Then the wave of warmth hit him. Polar opposite to the cold handle, Sam must have turned up the temperature in here because it felt downright cozy. Dean stepped inside, closing the door behind him and reaching for the next one that would open up to the balcony above the map table.

The lights were out, but the stairway lit up dimly when Dean flicked a switch. Falling down the stairs on his face would be the terrible ending to a terrible night that Dean would really like to avoid. It smelled like Sam in here. Or maybe Dean was just going crazy. Both were equally possible at this point.

Okay, he needed a plan. He was okay enough now that he was pretty sure he could see Sam's face without crying. Speaking of faces, his was still probably a tear-streaked mess. That was step one, then. Cleanup.

He may be numb enough now not to cry again but he could definitely go without Sam seeing the wreck he looked like. So beeline for a bathroom, because the sink in the computer room was loud and had negative privacy. Dean wasn't planning on punching any mirrors but having a shut door between him and Sam while he washed his face off sounded like a solid plan.

If it had been anyone else, Dean's extensive training to be silent in the dark would have made him entirely undetectable. But, obviously, Sam was trained by the exact same person he was. So Dean had barely just turned into the hallway of the bedroom - because the closest bathroom was the one right next to his room - when soft footsteps entered the hallway behind him.

"Dean?" Sam's voice broke the silence. Groggy like he'd been sleeping, but missing the gruffness it would have if he actually had been asleep. After all this time, Dean was pretty sure he could tell when Sam was faking having been asleep.

Question was, why fake it? Maybe to make it look like he hadn't cared about Dean, had just left him in the road and went to bed. But Dean could hear it in the slight strain in Sam's voice. Sam had been up waiting for him. Dean didn't let himself feel anything close to joy at that. Appreciation, maybe. Just a little.

"Yeah." Dean gruffed out in answer, not turning around. It was probably too dark to see Sam but Dean could really go without having the image of ruffled hair and pajama pants right now.

A moment of silence passed. Dean had his head down, shoulders raised subconsciously and head tilted just a little so Sam could see the barest glimpse of his profile. Acknowledging Sam, but not letting Sam see his face.

"Are you, uh. Are you alri-" Sam finally started to stammer out. Like he was afraid to ask but more afraid not to know.

"I'm fine, Sam. Go back to bed." Dean said the last words softer than he wanted to. Endearing, almost. Not exactly what he was aiming for (he was aiming for empty with a side of "I'm not broken" but for some reason he just wasn't really nailing that this time around) but it was late and he hadn't used his voice in a bit. Not since he was muttering incest to himself walking down an empty road. This was what he'd become, apparently.

Another beat of silence as Sam didn't move to go back to wherever he was sleeping. Probably Sam's room, obviously. That hardass rock bed in the hospital-blank room with white walls and papers strewn everywhere. Dean didn't feel the least bit sorry for Sam because at least he didn't get the fucking memories to haunt him every time he layed down.

Then Sam cleared his throat, soft. Any illusion that he might have been sleeping earlier had been forgotten by Sam by now. He sounded regular as ever, except a little more worried than usual. So Dean had been right about Sam wanting to know how he was before he went to sleep. That was basically a good thing.

"Okay," Sam finally said, sounding more like a death sentence than an agreement. Then his words steeled up a bit, matching to Dean's I'm-totally-okay-and-not-falling-apart attitude. "I'll see you in the morning."

Carefully chosen words. It wasn't a goodnight or a goodbye. Or a "you get sleep too." But it was still a reassurance of sorts. Sam was going to be here in the morning and he was expecting Dean to be too. Sam didn't want him to split in the middle of the night. Not like Dean was going to, he was finally home. He wanted to just crawl into bed with his Sammy and get the sleep he'd been craving since Kevin died.

Dean just nodded in response. A final pause and then Sam's quiet footsteps were retreating. Dean stayed frozen in place in the hallway for a bit. Just breathing in the silence, the Sam-shaped empty space behind him. Sam hadn't gotten anywhere near close enough for Dean to feel his warmth, but Dean could close his eyes and picture what it would feel like. Sam's arms wrapped around his waist from behind, unable to stop the happy sound escaping Dean's throat as he tilted his head back to kiss the underside of Sam's jaw.

Yeah, he could picture it just fine. He shook his head and stepped into the bathroom, carefully not slamming the door behind him. He flipped on the light switch, finally getting a chance to check out the damage done. Okay, he'd definitely greeted the mirror with worse. Way worse. Dean could work with this.

He grabbed a towel, wetting it under the faucet and bringing it up to rub over his eyes and forehead. He could splash his face with water but he totally wasn't looking for clarity of thoughts right now. That always made him think better and honestly he didn't want to think at all.

Except maybe about that tone of voice Sam had last had. It'd been so dull, so unlike Sam. Like he was trying way to hard to make it sound like he didn't care. He was trying to beat Dean at his own game. Well they were going to get nowhere fast if both of them pretended nothing had happened. At this rate, Sam would come bounding into wherever Dean will be tomorrow morning with a phony grin acting like everything was great and why would Dean have pulled an allnighter?

He'd lost his brother. His best friend. His boyfriend. Lover. His whole world.

Hmm, wonder why Dean didn't get any sleep.

The hours ticked by slow, slow enough to make Dean feel like maybe he should go to sleep so he at least had something to do. He watched this show for a long time, not registering an ounce of what was going on on the screen. Eventually he couldn't take the voices and faces and pointless plot lines, so he turned that off. It was late but not late enough. Dean would really like for it just to be tomorrow morning already because there wasn't much else left to do. Besides work. He could always work.

Which is how he ended up researching the night away at the kitchen table. It was the least of the evils around the house. Bedroom was definitely too haunted with memories, as was the couch. And the map table. And obviously the library's table they played cards at. The storage rooms were tainted - the dungeon wasn't but he wasn't chilling in there - and so was the garage. So that left the kitchen table, which they'd kissed and fed each other chocolate on, but compared to the other memories in the bunker Dean could handle the tugging hand of those.

At some point the words on his screen just blended together and Dean's brain was working on auto. He'd type something and not register what he was looking for until he'd clicked on three different result pages later. It was the most inefficent research ever but he had way too much on his mind. At least it gave him something to do, somewhere to be as the sun came up and the bunker lit up with the natural light of day. Morningtime. That had taken years too long.

He was still sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, when Sam came in.

"Hey," Sam bounded into the kitchen, breezing in and out of Dean's peripheral vision. Dean barely looked up from where he had his head propped on his hand, staring at the screen. The twisted, sadistic part of him really wanted Sam to see what a wreck he was, but the rest of him just wanted the ground to swallow him up right now.

"Hey," Dean responded, voice sounding raspy as hell. All-nighters really were not the best look on him. Dean was staring at the screen but every nerve in his body was focused on Sam, tracing his path and what he was doing. Currently, looking for bowls or something. Then he turned around, barely glancing at Dean as he breezed past him again.

"You go to bed last night?" Sam's question caught him off guard. The words implied caring but the tone was as dead and nonchalant as if he had asked Dean where the cereal was. No, deader than that. Like he was so anti-caring about Dean right now that he didn't even want an answer. But as terribly upsetting as the tone was, Sam still asked. So maybe he did care.

"What?" Dean's surprise spoke for him first. His head lifted too, eyes following Sam as he walked to the other side of the kitchen. Then he cleared his throat, trying to be a least a portion of the chill Sam had brought to the room. "Uh, no. No, "Rudy" was on. "Unforgiven," and then I was too jacked to sleep, so...research."

The old Sam, the one that had been Dean's boyfriend (brother, lover) would have pitched a damn bitch fit. Would have gone of on some schpeel about how Dean had to take care of himself and his body and his mind. He'd scold Dean and use his lips to reinforce the points, kissing Dean breathless until Dean promised him he'd get a good night's sleep tonight or take a damn nap or something.

This Sam just kept making breakfast, didn't even flinch or hesitate or look at Dean. Like Dean's sleeping habits and/or health had suddenly meant nothing to him. So if it was a little early for Dean to be picking up his shot glass and rolling around the diluted contents at the bottom, at least he had a reason. Or eight hundred reasons, really.

"Gadreel?" Sam asked through all his breakfast-making rummaging. Not one word about the sleep. It shouldn't hurt that he didn't say anything but everything hurt right now. Especially pertaining to Sam.

"And Metatron and the mark of Cain and..." Dean trailed off, looking up. Sam was pouring himself a coffee and paying exactly 0 attention to what Dean was saying. Okay, ow. Being entirely ignored with the cold shoulder and everything was better than this half-interested ask-questions-but-don't-want-answers thing because this kept making Dean think Sam cared for like .3 seconds and then it was ripped away again. Like Dean was picking a damn flower and ripping off the petals. He cares, he cares about me not. He cares, he cares about me not.

"...Crickets." Dean finished, just to make a point. Maybe make himself feel better. It didn't. Sam didn't so much as notice, which proved he had been listening to Dean negative amounts. The word fell flat, Dean's entire voice fell flat. Dean was off telling Sam about his night, about his research, and Sam wasn't even bothering to pretend to listen. Just kept twisting and twisting the knife he'd stabbed into Dean's gut. Dean shouldn't give him the damn opportunity, but he still wasn't as locked up as he'd like himself to be.

He hadn't been able to entirely save himself during the walk home. How could he? He'd let down his barriers, he'd given Sam his everything. Dean had unlocked his heart and you couldn't just form a new bolt after that. Sam had the key and Sam could weasel his damn way in and it was going to take a lot to close Sam off from that. But Dean didn't want to lock himself back up. He wanted Sam back. He wanted Sam to just come back and love Dean again so that Dean didn't have to lock himself away and hide in the shadows he'd familiared half his life.

"I did find us a case, though," Dean said a little louder, so Sam would have to listen to that part. Sam turned around with his mug, vaguely facing in Dean's direction now.

"Oh, yeah?" Sam's steps wandered in his direction, stopping a few feet past comfortable into the awkward-distance-away zone. Dean took the excuse of looking at his computer screen so he didn't have to watch Sam.

"Yeah, was a strange death in Stillwater, Minnesota. A competitive eater died after a hot dog-eating contest." Dean's voice sounded broken over, even to him. He sounded like a total mess, actually. It was kind of nice, in a way. That Sam was forced to see that. That Sam had the vaguest idea of how not-okay Dean was. Once upon a time Dean hadn't wanted anyone ot know what a mess he was but that was before he'd given himself over to Sam completely. Now he wanted Sam to see it, to see the damage he'd done. But not sleeping and a raspy voice was never going to cover a fraction of the way Dean was feeling. He wanted to tell Sam (which was a lot for him - Dean usually hated sharing feelings) about his insides, about everything that he'd been thinking on the way home. He wanted to hold Sam and tell him everything in the dark, warm safety of their shared bed.

"So, what? Death by tube steak?" Sam suggested, clanking a bowl down a little loudly on the table. Dean was a little surprised Sam was eating. Especially breakfast. That was always the hardest meal to convince Sam to have. Unless Dean made something wonderful and home-cooked. When they used to live on the road, though, Sam would take orange juice or occasionally toast. He was probably just eating now to spite Dean but that wasn't going to work because Dean was thrilled (as close to the emotion thrilled a very broken man could be) that Sam was eating.

"If only. He got attacked in his car, but, uh, get this -- he shrunk from 300 pounds to 90 pounds." Sam came over to the table bearing milk, the kind that Dean liked. Sam probably just hadn't noticed. He didn't seem to be noticing anything that had something to do with Dean this morning. Just the case seemed fascinating enough for Sam's attention.

Was this how it was gonna be? Was this how they were gonna be? The morning after the biggest fight of their lives and they're pretending not to know each other? Like the other person wasn't even there, let alone the same person that had been rocking in the dust as Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair and whispered how much he still loved him. The words might just have been the ones Dean had needed to hear, and he'd realized that at the time, but the possibility was getting more and more likely that Sam hadn't meant it at all.

"Witchcraft?" Sam suggested, sitting his milk on the table.

"Or a heavy-duty laxative." Dean paused for a moment, almost afraid to ask the question. There was so much running through his head right now that odds out it wouldn't even come out right. "You game?"

"Yeah," Sam replied smoothly, like the past few days, the past month, the past year had never happened.

"Good," Dean said back, ignoring the ache in his chest.

Sam sat down across from Dean. Dean couldn't take any more of the I'm-avoiding-you conversation right now. He had hit his peak and he was way done with that. So he popped out of his chair before Sam's knees could brush against his. He couldn't do this this morning, he wasn't ready for a sit-down breakfast with the man who was doing his best to continuously make Dean feel like shit.

"Looks like it's a whore's bath for me. I'll be ready in five." Dean headed for the door, the warmth of a shower in mind, when Sam's voice stopped him cold in his tracks, halfway through the doorway.

"You sure you're okay, Dean?" It sounded more obligatory than concerned but Dean turned around anyways because he was a total sucker.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean asked, like Sam had just asked the stupidest question on the planet. His heart was pounding though. That stupid other petal, the one that gave him just enough hope to feel like his heart was breaking all over again when it got dashed.

"'Cause -- I don't know, you... This isn't about what I said yesterday, is it?" Sam's eyes fixed intensely on Dean's with his last sentence. His expression was one of Seriously, it isn't, right? Like Dean would be some kind of sentimental crazy person to be even remotely upset about what Sam said last night. Dean wasn't sure if Sam was referring to the thirteen-year-old thing or the WE CAN'T BE FAMILY thing but Dean was going to assume it was the brothers thing Sam was talking about, because that was what Dean was upset about and Sam knew that. He was just being a dick and asking anyways. But Dean could play it off, he could pretend he didn't care just like Sam was.

"Oh, about that we're not supposed to be brothers?" They were actually talking about this, but this was not the conversation Dean had wanted them to be having. This was not how this was supposed to go and Sam had the upperhand here. Dean may be a wreck but he did not go down without a fight. And he wasn't letting Sam win this one because he already had intrinsically. He'd destroyed Dean's insides and Dean couldn't give him the satisfaction of verbal confirmation of that. So instead he lied like hell, lied so obviously that Sam had to know it was a lie.

"No, don't flatter yourself. I don't break that easy." Dean said the words but Sam had been there, Sam had been with him in that road when Dean had broken. Sam had been there and Dean had broken so fast and hard that he still had no idea where half the pieces of him were.

And the don't flatter yourself? Thrown in their purely in contempt for all the pain Sam had caused him for being a total dick. Because don't flatter yourself was bringing up the relationship again. Like it was supposed to be so obvious that Dean didn't want to be with Sam anymore. Don't flatter yourself, why would you think I still want you? Because of course I do and you know that and you keep pushing anyways you fucking cock.

"Oh, good, 'cause I was just being honest." Sam said all innocent.

Just being honest. That wasn't twisting the knife in Dean's stomach, that was stabbing him open with like 9 more. Dean couldn't stand and look at Sam's innocent, just-being-honest face and listen to him throw everything they had into the trash and just be honest about it. Because of course that's exactly how Sam felt and how Sam still feels and he doesn't want them to be brothers, he took away the only real thing Dean has ever had, and dammit he was just being honest.

Dean spun around and his words were sarcastic enough to give him away but he didn't give a damn right now because fuck Sam and his stupid mind games.

"Oh, yeah. No, I got that loud and clear." Dean let his walking-away footsteps accent the words, let the silence Sam was left with hopefully make him feel guilty as hell for ruining Dean like this. Knowing Sam, at least the new dickwad Sam that was so nonchalant about this whole thing, he wasn't feeling guilty at all. Hell, he was probably pleased with himself for shaking Dean so bad.

Dean would think Sam was possessed if there wasn't that voice in his mind that told him he deserved all of this.

Well, maybe not the brothers thing. Dean had fucked up - recently found out that he'd been fucking up since Sam was thirteen - but he was pretty sure he hadn't made a mistake big enough to have himself orphaned to someone entirely family-less. He had nothing if he didn't have his brother and that had to be why Sam did it. He wanted to ruin Dean's life and this was how he saw fit because this was the fastest, most brutal and effiencient way to make Dean mean nothing. To make him have nothing.

Nothing.

~*~*~*~*~

"I don't mean to be rude, uh... But how is it that Wayne McNut is your type? I mean, you're married to a man who's barely a buck -- wet."

They were sitting on the edges of their respective, separate beds. Admittedly, as close to falling off as possible with the propensity towards a juxtaposition. It felt poignant to be sitting so far away but close enough to touch. Like the space between their beds was a big neon sign reminding Dean of the compendium of things wrong between them right now.

And to top it off, they were talking about love and marriage and cheating and lying and all sorts of really sensitive topics. First case together after The Confessions and they were already cringing at the road bumps.

"What can I say?" Mala shrugged. "Sometimes it's nice to feel a little give..."

"Oh," Dean said awkwardly. "Yeah, I get that -- a little extra cushion for the, uh..."

The words died in Dean's throat as Sam shot him an intense bitchface. Okay, Dean should stop talking and being awkward. But there was a lot of weight in that glare.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Obviously, Dean had not been talking about Sam with the words "extra cushion." Sam was 100% muscle, not an ounce of fat on that gorgeous, tight body. Which Dean really didn't want to be thinking about. Sam was tantalizing enough as it was without his Abercrombie model looks on top.

So what was with the bitchface? Unless, of course, Sam was peeved that Dean was talking about someone besides Sam. What, so he's decided to be an active participant now and actually get jealous of the metaphorical statement Dean was making? But that didn't even make any sense because wasn't Sam the one who was shoving all that unwanted space between them?

Okay, Dean was just perplexed. Again. He couldn't read Sam in the least and it was terribly upsetting. There was basically negative sense in any of this and Dean had no grasp of anything running through Sam's head. Frustrating was the mildest word he could think of for it.

"Help me understand something." Sam swerved the conversation from awkward to useful information, his shoulders still rigid with the discomfort he was feeling. Dean did his best impression of avoiding looking at Sam that he could muster. "If you loved Wayne, why did you put a curse on him?"

"It wasn't a curse. Putsi bags are also used for blessings. I wanted Wayne to win. Plan was, take the prize money, get a quickie divorce, and then tie the knot in Orlando." Mala looked positively devastated. She'd planned on getting married and now her future had been entirely upturned because the man she loved had died.

Dean shot the tiniest glance at Sam. Wasn't that half of their problem? They were both fucking dying all the time. It made each other's presence seem almost unreal at times.

And it made Dean desperate enough to do anything not to lose Sam. Not again. Dean couldn't live without Sam at his side, as terribly cliché and puke-worthy-teenage-novel that sounded. Dean simply couldn't imagine being in Mala's position again. He'd done that once and it nearly had killed him. And it'd caused plenty of collateral damage too.

Mala sniffed, looking down as the next words came out of her mouth in a quiet, private confession. "Wayne used to call me his 'Princess Jasmine.'"

A wistful smile hesitantly curled up the edges of Dean's mouth. She'd been somebody's princess. She'd been loved and reminded of it and god Dean knew what that was like.

He knew what is what like to have someone press soft, affectionate kisses to your cheek and call you baby and mine. Mala had had a chance at that too and the soft way she confessed it was nearly as sweet as it was heartbreaking.

Then Dean's body lit up with the sudden awareness that Sam's eyes were on him. He shut down his smile so fast he could physically feel the corners of his mouth dropping. Right now, that wistful feeling was one Dean definitely did not want to open up to Sam. He hid it surreptitiously and waited for the time to pass and for Sam to look away again. It felt like they were playing cat and mouse and Dean had that terrible feeling he was the mouse.

Well, that had to change. If they were supposed to be fighting Dean couldn't let Sam just run him over repetitively with his glares and comments. He'd stuck enough knives in Dean's stomach lately and he'd made a point to twist at all of them.

If they were going to play cat and mouse Dean at least had to bite back sometimes. He wasn't going to roll over and play dead. Sam couldn't just walk all over him. Well, he was trying, but Dean wasn't going to let him.

A terribly lonely, cold, and awkward night later - spent in very separate beds with shallow breathing and basically zero sleep between the two of them - and they were kneeling beside another body, examining victim number two of the crazy sucker-killer.

Sam's knee brushed Dean's and Dean surprised himself with his self-control to fight the jerk-away his body tried to do. Even the slightest touch and Dean was basically guaranteed to be going out of his mind, but he somehow held off the oncoming storm. He held his breath and stared at the victim harder like if he focused enough on the raisin of a body in front of him, his heart might not be pounding so loudly in his chest.

"What is that? A birthmark?" Dean lifted the edge of the Vic's shirt, bringing the ugly reddish circle scar into view. It was bright enough and big enough to serve as minor, basic distraction to how close Sam's body was and how off limits it was for Dean's touching. Aaand he was thinking about Sam like that again dammit.

"Huh. So the weight had to come off somehow, right? What if it's a suction mark?" The case talk seemed to flow so easily off Sam's tongue. Did he not notice how close they were? Or did he just not care? Dean didn't like the thought of that. Of Sam being so nonchalant internally about this that he didn't even care when they were sidled up all close and nearly touching.

This would be easier if Dean at least knew what was going on in that freaky head of Sam's. Normally Dean could read him down to the tiny footnotes in his brain but ever since... It'd just all been so confusing lately. Couldn't figure out which way was up and which way was already-out-the-door.

"A suction mark?" Dean managed to repeat dumbly. His brain was barely on this. Sam was just so in the upper hand right now and Dean hated feeling so damn powerless. Like, entirely powerless. But he could do small talk case talk too, that was at least something he could still fake. "Okay. Uh, changeling?"

"Yeah, but changelings only take over kids. Neither of the vics had any." Very legitimate logic. Speaking of collateral damage when Sam died, Dean quite remembered their last encounter with changelings. He'd really appreciate not to take that trip down memory lane.

Funny, though, in a way. Lisa and Ben were still a terribly painful memory but somehow it felt pale in comparison to being slammed in the gut with "no longer brothers" and 13 and "just being honest."

Dean had to nearly shake his head to clear it. Case, they were on a case.

"And we don't know if Wayne McNut had a suction mark," Dean pointed out.

"Unless we missed it," Sam agreed. They had both straightened up by now but were still standing altogether too close and a million miles too far from where Dean wanted to be. So he could so go for a distraction right now. And it was only because he was actively seeking out one that he even noticed the chick.

She'd walked in at just the right time and she was just blonde and cute enough to look like Dean had simply noticed her automatically instead of seeking out something, anything to get a reprieve of the terrible frustration and pain in his stomach.

"Yeah. Well, we should, uh, split up." Dean had to physically try at making himself sound distracted. Maybe he was being ridiculous but this was so not an opportunity he was going to pass up. If he played this right he might finally have a shot at upper-handing Sam.

"One of us should hit the morgue. The other should stay here and question the staff." Dean laid on the innuendo so thick there was no way Sam didn't pick up on it. Dean watched a little triumphantly as Sam registered the words, looked confused for a few seconds, then followed Dean's gaze to the moderately cute girl standing a ways off. She was too tiny and too blonde and too not-Sam for Dean's taste but she was perfect for sticking a screw in Sam's side.

Sam practically bristled when he saw her. For somebody who had been such a dick lately and stomped entirely on Dean's heart and crushed Dean's resolve with his bare hands, Sam looked fairly put off that Dean was eyeing somebody else. He glared at the girl with unguarded annoyance and jealousy for approximately two seconds, then he turned back to Dean with his expression smoothed over and his words twisting and shoving to gain back that upper hand.

"I'll stay." Sam basically commanded. Well, they weren't in bed right now, and Dean was pretty sure he was still the older brother even if he had a submissive streak a mile wide. So basically Dean didn't have to go for Sam's shit if he didn't want to.

"Ain't gonna happen," Dean said flat out, big brother tone peeking in and more than hinting at who had more power here. Sam looked more than a little surprised at Dean's bluntness.

"Why?" Sam asked, coming across as more you-can't-control-me than Dean would like for Sam to have. Apparently gaining back an ounce of Dean's authoritative dignity was going to be hard. But Dean was upset and hurt, which meant he was also deadly and dangerous. To anyone but Sam. To Sam, though, Dean had no qualms with being cruel and capricious.

"Because you're weird around girls," Dean shot back. Sam's self-control and squashing hand lifted and faltered a little as a funny expression came over his face. Dean managed to hold in a triumphant shout at Sam's offended befuddlement.

"What does that mean, weird?" Sam asked, opening up a thousand more doors for Dean to take the upper hand. Just that one phrase and now Sam was nervously asking questions, trying to get back on his feet from Dean's accusations.

And okay, Sam unfortunately had a valid point with the word "weird." Because as much as it would make Dean's life 800 times easier, Sam wasn't really “weird” around women at all.

Dean could go all the way back, but even post-Stanford had a decent swath of examples. Those first two years back on the road together Sam had been heartbroken about Jess and Dean had been heartbroken about Sam and Sam still had had 0 problem attracting women. It was upsetting. Actually, letting them down seemed to be more of an issue at the time. And Dean had encouraged Sam to get back out there, enjoy the company of the chicks and everything. Because that's the big brother thing to do and Dean had been doing his best to overcompensate for the fact that he wanted Sam to take him to bed instead.

But Sam had never really seemed all that interested in the women that threw themselves his way.

Then Sam and Dean had kissed and everything got complicated to all hell. Dean slept with half the planet because he was going to hell and he was trying not to drag his little brother with him. He managed to keep his hands off Sam for the most part, even if he couldn't keep his mouth off him. And Sam had never shown an interest in anybody but Dean. And for some reason, after that first kiss, Dean couldn't bring himself to shove Sam at girls. He was pretty sure he hadn't suggested Sam should hook up with chicks ever since the first time their mouths connected. Dean didn't want anyone else on that mouth, it was that simple. And Sam seemed too dead set on Dean somehow to even look at other people.

Until Ruby, of course. The lying, manipulative bitch that Dean couldn't even pretend he wasn't jealous of. A pretty distinct pattern emerged at that point. Sam didn't hook up often but when he did Dean normally exploded and freak out. Like that one doctor that Dean had thought was a siren. Or that chick who's kissed Sam in the sanitarium they'd been committed to. Or the waitress that had just landed in Sam's lap in that one bar in Ohio. That one did not end well for the waitress.

And then there was the version of Sam that was soulless. And that was basically the opposite of "weird." It was Sam having superhuman abilities to pick up chicks. Which happened to make Dean ragingly jealous at the time, no surprise there. And not of the chick-pick-up moves, either.

But when he got back from the cage, Sam didn't show the slightest interest in anyone besides Dean. Didn't have a single awkward moment with a waitress or a witness. Just came across as politely occupied and happy to be at Dean's side. Even through the hallucinations, Sam never wanted anything but to curl around Dean. He wasn't weird around women then, just quite taken. And pleased to be claimed. Officially Dean's boyfriend. He wasn't looking for a sense of mute companionship as much as he was looking for a stable sense of reality. Dean could give him both.

Then there was Purgatory. And Sam settled down. The settling down was weird, but the girl Sam had been with wasn't exactly an awkward thing at all. Quite the contrary, and that had been the biggest problem there. Sam had moved on from him and he wasn't being weird around girls. He was settling down which mostly just unsettled Dean's stomach contents. But eventually that problem resolved and Sam chose him over his girl. Chose an unhealthy incestuous relationship over a stable, sweet thing down in Texas. Dean shook off that thought.

And after that, it had all just evened out. They'd chosen each other. Found a home. Asked to go steady. Chosen each other again, in a church. And accidentally got married. Then unmarried. Then had tons of crazy, happy sex. Then Gadreel killed Kevin and everything went to hell and they broke up on that bridge. Then they broke up again in the middle of the road. But not a single ounce of that included a girl.

There were no girls, not really. Not anymore. And yeah, okay. Sam had never been weird around girls. Maybe when Sam was just a kid -- strike that, Dean was not going to think about Sam being just a kid. He was going to entirely ignore that part of their lives because if he started looking back on memories now the only thing he was going to see was all the signs he missed. All the times Sam had looked at him like that and Dean had been too dense to realize. Yep Dean was definitely not going to think about that time period in their lives at all for the time being.

So yeah, maybe Sam wasn't weird around girls. Maybe Sam was really great around girls and it drove Dean insane. Maybe Dean was a jealous bastard and couldn't stand the thought of Sam chatting up some girl and flashing those precious dimples at her.

Maybe the only thing weird about Sam and girls was the way Dean reacted.

But hell if he was saying that.

"You're awkward," Dean fibbed instead. "You know, weird -- Sam Weird."

Because that make approximately zero sense. It seemed to be pretty efficient in effect though. Sam's face screwed up in confusion and offense. The argument was a little suggestive at things Dean didn't want to suggest (like Sam you only belong with me) but hopefully Sam wasn't reading the truth hiding behind the thrown out words. "Sorry, man."

He had the upper hand right now, he really did. And then suddenly the most brilliantly terrible idea he could picture crossed his mind. His instincts told him it was probably either childish or too cold but his body could already feel the rush of victory at the idea of the words. So he took a step forward, brushing past Sam with his face set to as dead-serious and entirely-bitchy as possible.

"I'm just being honest."

Dean kept walking. And it felt fucking great. Slamming that phrase back in Sam's face. Fucking take that motherfucker. Just being honest. Sam had stabbed him with the words earlier and Dean shot them back, obvious and clear in intent and perfectly rational. Dean heard the defeated sounding sigh behind him and something terribly wicked rushed through his veins in his triumph. The upper hand had never felt so deliciously wonderful and terribly guilty at once.

He didn't even end up flirting with the girl. There was no reason to, it wasn't like Dean was interested in her.

It wasn't like Dean was interested in anyone besides Sam.

And that was the most honest thing either of them could admit. Or well, not admit to apparently. Leave it to the universe to point it out for them. And rub it all in Dean's face.

Seriously, he might have been fine.

He could have kept the upper hand and survived this whole stupid undercover thing if it weren't for the stupid fucking yoga uniform.

They'd been quiet the entire drive up here - which was a couple of hours - but it was a silence that just meant nothing to say more than it was awkward or upset. Nothing to say was definitely not a good thing, but honestly what were they supposed to be talking about? Dean already felt like his insides had been sucked dry a few nights back. He didn't have anything else to confess. Nothing Sam didn't know about him now.

Okay, well, not nothing. But nothing that was like important...

Okay, fine. Nothing that was important and pertaining to Sam. There. That one actually fit.

Dean had nothing left to say about himself that was important and pertaining to Sam. Sam already knew all of it. Sure, there was plenty Dean had never said, but that didn't mean Sam didn't know. Dean had never said...that whole "love" thing but Sam knew that. Dean had never told Sam why he couldn't live without Sam at his side but Sam knew that too. Sam knew everything about the way Dean felt about him and so yeah, Dean felt sucked dry. He had nothing left to give.

Except apparently a hell of a lot of stares.

He had been innocently doing something behind the serving counter of his new job, fuck if he knew what, when suddenly a movement caught his eye and he looked up. And up and up. In disbelief.

And then had to look all the way back down again, his eyes settling on certain parts of attire as his tongue self consciously wet his lips. Hot damn. Dean was banging that?

His eye scan was way too obvious and the sharp realization that he may get an exasperated snarky comment from Sam made Dean harshly scold himself. Even if he still hadn't been able to take his eyes off...that. That being the gorgeous, unbelievable sex god that was Sam Winchester. In shorts. And a tanktop. A gray, barely-covering tanktop that stretched tightly over his well-defined chest that made a surprisingly good pillow for how muscular he was. Although, Dean mused, that was coming from someone used to sleeping against car windows and on lumpy motel mattresses.

But the best part about that shirt - or lack of, mostly - was the way it cut off at the shoulders, revealing an expanse of Sam's sexy, crazily defined arms. Ripples of tight biceps and triceps that flexed as they held Dean up against the wall to fuck him senseless. God, those arms.

Sam's hair was curled behind his ears but curved in a graceful, voluminous arc over his head. Framing his sharp jawline and bright, intelligent eyes perfectly.

Then, of course, there were the shorts. Tinier than anything Sam owned that wasn't underwear. Revealing the defined muscles of his calves, and just hinting at the rock solid ones that Dean knew first hand laced their way through Sam's thighs. Dean had seen Sam way more naked before, but never in public. Never like this, where he was so far away and not allowed to touch.

Teasing and gorgeous and just sauntering his way towards Dean like he was the king of the world. He certainly ruled Dean's world, anyway.

"Nice shorts," Dean smirked, sounding perhaps a little bit more enthusiastic about it than he should have, abandoning his forgotten task to approach Sam, forcing his eyes upwards off that body, those amazing clothes that outlined the flawless, delicious...okay yeah he should stop. His words weren't exactly eloquent, but it was the best thing he could think of, given the circumstances that his brain had short circuited when all of the available blood pumping in his body traveled down instead of up.

Once, a long long tone ago, Sam had said those exact same two words to Dean. They'd been at one of their old high schools and Dean had been playing the PE coach, red shorts and all. Sam had pulled him aside, checking him out with feral eyes that made Dean hot all over, wanting to blush from head to toe but terrified to show an ounce of how deeply the look Sam had on had affected him. Instead he'd made some snide joke about Sam checking him out, sauntering a ways away before turning around to catch Sam staring at his ass. The first time, actually, Dean had caught Sam staring at his ass. So Dean had winked and blown a kiss - obviously getting the bird in return - but it was all to cover the hot spark of heated, self conscious flattering.

Now their positions were reversed and Dean seriously wished Sam would kiss the smirk off his face the way Dean had wanted to way back then. Sam stepped in close, as close as the bar between them would allow. There was a grin - a legitimate grin that Dean hadn't seen in weeks - wedged into the corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking about.

"Nice hairnet," Sam responded quickly, his smile and eyes bright enough to absolutely be flirting. Wow, when was the last time they flirted? Like, seriously teased and flirted with each other in public?

It was disturbing to think about how long it had been since that warm tingle of flirting-with-your-crush had settled in Dean's chest. But it made no sense to start again now. They were fighting, weren't they? Sam was still being pissy and Dean was still slightly not over the ache of sleeping alone and Sam thinking they shouldn't be brothers because of the relationship between them.

So why the flirting now? Unless...unless it was because they weren't brothers. Unless Sam had come to some conclusion that they could flirt and sleep together now because he'd revoked their family status. Traded one for the other. That didn't sound like Sam at all, not after everything they'd been through. Family always came first, even if that meant they were in an incestuous relationship. So was that Sam's plan, then? Destroy their family link to make their relationship socially acceptable?

Suddenly Dean didn't feel like flirting anymore. You have to be in the mood for those things.

"Yeah, why do I got to be the lunch lady?" He complained, looking away from Sam and that godlike physique. The universe really did hate him.

"Since when have you ever complained about being around food?" Sam leaned in over the counter and screw subtle flirting, he was being obvious as hell. He was practically batting his eyes at Dean, what with the way he was leaning towards him all close and teasing. It was all happening way faster in Dean's brain than he'd like, but he still managed to shoot back an answer.

"Okay, this is not food." Dean beckoned at the weird, mashy stuff that he was pretty sure would be too earthy even for rabbits. Sam's eyebrows went up, like he was going to say something really cute, when a whiny, loud voice suddenly interrupted that thought.

"Hey, new guy. Quit flirtin' with the trainer and keep scoopin', huh?"

Okay, totally not cool. Dean shot death glares at the guy, his boss, and could just picture him dissipating into the ground from the heat of it.

Just cause-- but they - it wasn't that obvious they were flirting, was it? God. Dean glared at him.

The worst part was, even if they had been (okay, they definitely had been), that's not one of those things you say out loud. They were in a very fragile place in their relationship right now and if some snotty guy fucked it all up just by saying the wrong thing and making Sam clam up...

Before Dean could even finish that thought and fully worry about how Sam might react, Sam was talking again.

"It's all right. My, uh...Ashtanga yoga class starts in five minutes." Sam's eyebrows did go up now, sexy as hell on that Ashta-word or whatever. God. This wasn't even right. But Sam had shrugged off the flirting comment, just brushing it aside with an it's all right. Or maybe the "it's all right" was referring to Dean having to work. Maybe Sam wasn't denying the fact that they were flirting at all. In fact, he didn't even seem the slightest bit put off by it. Hell, he was shooting an even more flirty glance at Dean right now.

"How the hell do you know anything about yoga?" Dean asked a little sharply, just to have something to say. Well, that and he was genuinely curious. It wasn't like Sam did sun salutations every morning when he climbed out of bed.

"You're not the only one who's ever dated someone...bendy." Sam's face quirked up in a very suggestive, very flirtatious smirk. Dean was kind of just stuck in disbelief, body pooling with heat as Sam whisked off with that mysterious-ass sentence and those gorgeous shorts that fit in all the right places, accenting the curve of everything and good lord, Dean seriously needed to take those yoga classes or something just to stare at Sam. At all of that...that.

Once Sam disappeared around the corner, Dean was left with just the echoes of his last sentence ricocheting in Dean's head. Sam had dated someone bendy? Obviously that was a shot at Lisa, the yoga teacher, that Dean had definitely dated. But Sam, who the hell had he dated that was bendy?

Dean knew first hand that Sam was pretty damn bendy himself, but he'd thought that was all just dexterity he'd gotten from fighting and working out all the damn time. Although apparently, he'd dated someone like that. Maybe learned it from them.

Wait.

Someone.

Woah ho ho, hold on a second. Sam had the vocabulary of a god and the articulation of someone who creates gods. Everything that left his mouth was fully intentional, especially prepositions. Okay. Sam had specifically said someone. That meant it might not have been a chick.

Dean's mouth went dry at the thought of Sam dating a guy who wasn't...well, Dean. Of Sam doing things - god, bendy things - with someone else who had a dick and Dean really didn't see the point in getting jealous over past relationships it was pointless as hell but holy fuck he was about to break that rule because goddammit had Sam dated other guys before Dean? What, in college? Gone to some frat party and realized that maybe he wasn't as straight as he thought he was? Done that whole "college experimentation" thing? Dean had never even fathomed -

But seriously, if it had been a girl, Sam probably would have said girl. Right? That would be a Sam thing to do. A normal person thing to do. Because Sam had to know that Dean was going to overanalyze this. Seriously, though, at Stanford? Dean had had his share of terrible stories from those years apart that he'd never told Sam but he didn't think Sam had any. Not any that serious. Serious like, you know, sexual exploration with other males. Kind of a big deal. Especially when this whole time Dean had been under the impression that he was Sam's first. First guy, anyways.

Hell, he thought Sam hadn't dated anyone but Jess at Stanford. It had been four years, why the hell had Dean just assumed...of course there were other people. There were other people, people who had slept with Sam, and Dean had never even heard their names.

He was kind of blinking in shock, staring after where his very flirty brother had just disappeared to. And highly considering high-tailing it after Sam, even if just to watch him for a bit before he cornered Sam and got him to fess up all this "bendy someone" talk because otherwise Dean just might -

"Hey, you have any oatmeal?" a voice interrupted. Dean shot a vaguely surprised look over to the random person standing in line. Right. Yeah, he was supposed to be working. Hell.

"Yeah, I wish," Dean laughed, some of the shock of earlier lingering in the tones. Then he straightened out his voice, stepping up to the counter to serve the guy properly. "No, but we have, uh, something that's tofu over there. I -- what is that? It's a pancake. It's tofu."

~*~*~*~*~

He had a lot of things he'd wanted to call Sam for, but this was definitely not one of them. Funny, though, he couldn't exactly remember what any of them were, just that Sam, Sam he should get to Sam. If only his head was pounding and his stomach wasn't in knots and his body just generally wasn't responding to what little function he had running through his brain.

Later, looking back on the memory of it, Dean was surprised he even managed to hold down the button for Sam on speed dial.

"Yeah?" A tinny voice sounded over the line. There was some sort of emotion in it but Dean couldn't place it. He couldn't place anything. Was that his hand right there? There was something trying to wrap his head up in wool and it wasn't very nice.

"Sammy," Dean slurred out automatically. He was achy and black was creeping into the edges of his vision. If he blinked long enough he could just drift off...

"Dean? What's wrong with you?" Dean forced his eyes back open, staring at the blinky little box in his hand.

"I need your help." He said. Or, well, that's what his brain was trying to say. It probably didn't come out quite clear. Or really clear at all, but Dean's ears were all cottony and he wasn't very sure.

"Where are you? Dean?!" Sam's voice got louder at the end and Dean wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. Something about caring, maybe. Or maybe he was trying to keep Dean awake? He was going to have to try a lot harder because mmm dark was warmm. But Sammy needed him, and Dean blinked his eyes again against the imposing unconsciousness. He squinted at the world around him, trying to figure out some way to get his location to Sam. Wait, there were letters there, a word...

"Sweet potatoes!!" Dean managed triumphantly. He went to repeat himself, then. "Sw..."

Then everything went black again.

Until there was a distinct, loud syllable pulling at his head. Why did that sound so familiar? What in the world was that and why wasn't it letting him sleep in peace? That was...oh, that was Sam!

"Sammy," Dean called out kind of pathetically.

Then there was a very large, warm, pushy thing on him, trying to pull him out of what tiny bit of comfort he had. But Dean's brain was smarter than his decisions to sleep apparently because it recognized Sam and now he was blinking open his eyes. Why was Sam hitting him? He was fine, just sleepy, and fine, okay, he could stop tugging at Dean anytime now. Dean was vaguely aware Sam was shouting something too, but he wasn't sure what.

"What took you so long?" Dean managed, groaning at the weight on his head. He shifted his shoulders a little, trying to show Sam he was okay, but there was no way in hell his head was leaving this sack of potatoes. It was way too damn heavy and Sam didn't look like he was volunteering to be a pillow anytime soon. Shame, Sam was a great pillow.

"What the hell happened?!" Sam kind of shouted. Way too loud. But that could have possibly been the drugs too. Honestly everything was still pretty swimmy and weird feeling. But Sam was here now, he might be okay. He shifted back a little further, his shoulders actually cooperating with his brain signals this time. He kind of rolled up on his side as he spoke, facing Sam and forcing his eyes to stay open after each blink.

"I was drugged," Dean said. Well, somebody's voice said. Dean had wanted to say it and he was pretty sure he opened his mouth to, but that didn't sound anything like his voice. Or maybe that was the pressure on his ears making everything sound weird.

"Dru-- what?" Sam was leaning in all close and Dean looked up at him for a second but Sam was too pretty so he looked back away, settling into his new position and kind of gesturing to the empty-ish container off to the side.

"Pudding," he explained. His head hurt but he was getting his brain back a little bit, it felt like. But he was feeling a lot right now so Dean wasn't sure which parts were real and which parts - wow, he could really use some sleep. "It was supposed to be for the clients, but I couldn't resist."

There was a moment of silence and a strange sound, then Sam was talking again. "What, salted caramel?"

"Yeah, man. The best of both worlds -- salty and sweet." Dean's lips felt cold, but he sucked air in them anyways. His body was aching ridiculously and Sam wasn't helping much. Just flipping out. Why was he flipping out? He wasn't the one who had a sack of sand covering his body and a tide pulling him back into unconsciousness.

"Right," Sam said, clearly not convinced. It was a shame. That pudding really was good. Well, right up until the point that it had knocked Dean to the floor. "Uh...All right, you stay here."

"No, no, I'm gonna come with you." He made a very valid attempt at getting up, right until his head and his body agreed that that wasn't happening any time soon. His head fell back to the lumpy pillow, words tumbling out of his lips as he slipped back into the darkness. "Go ahead, man. I'll catch up."

He was pretty sure he'd only had his eyes closed for a second but then Sam was back, his hands on Dean's waist as he rolled him over onto his side again.

"Hey, hey. Dean! Hey. Let's get you sitting up, yeah?" Sam tugged at Dean's arms, pulling him upright by his biceps. Dean groaned, his head rolling to the side, but Sam propped him up anyways. Blinking himself back into some form of consciousness, Dean straightened his head back out and managed not to slid down onto the ground again. Wow, it was bright in here.

He ducked his head in his hands, trying to block out all that light. And the sand that was raking over him. And Sam, who was apparently still trying to talk to him. Just sitting up was effort, he was supposed to listen too?

God, his head was killing him. He'd had hangovers before that were total shit, but this one ranked way up there. There was only one other time Dean could even remember feeling this totally shitty, and that had been quite different circumstances.

"So the chef said they put supplements in the pudding," Sam started again, apparently catching on to the fact that Dean had been listening to him zero. Dean shivered and groaned, fingers curling tighter in his hair like he could claw his brain out of his skull and just get rid of that damned headache.

"What kind of supplements?" Dean groaned out, wishing Sam had just left him to sleep goddammit. This sitting up thing was wretched.

Something cold and mean tapped against his hand. He lifted his head slightly, aggravated, but seeing the energy drink decided to not be so annoyed. Energy sounded great right now. Anything besides the feeling of someone carving an axe into his brain sounded great right now.

"Here. Hey." Dean opened the top and tipped back a shot. It tasted like pure metal but whatever, at least it might unfuzz his brain. Maybe. Fuck, everything was still swimming like crazy. Sam reached out something to him, and it took Dean a second to get a decent enough distance perception to take it from his hand. "To boost metabolism, per Larry and Maritza."

Dean lifted the supplement bottle to his eye, peering in it. His head was seriously not even giving him a break at all, was it? Okay, those were...little, white circles. With a cross in the middle. The four sections, divided...yeah, Dean had seen those before.

He entirely withdraws his comment from earlier about that other monster headache being under different circumstances. That would explain at least why he recognized the feeling of what his body was doing. It wasn't the first time and if it had been, he'd probably be flipping out a lot more. But there had been something familiar, and -

"These aren't "supplements", they're roofies." Dean held the bottle out to Sam, kind of haphazardly knocking Sam's arm in the process. Sam didn't take them, just got this weird look on his face.

Wow, he was crouched really close to Dean. Why was he so close? But not close enough that Dean could rest his head on him?

"What? How do you know what roofies look like?" Sam accused, sounding terrified and shocked and lots of other things that Dean's brain wouldn't - couldn't - process right now.

"How do you not know? You think I want to end up in a hotel bathtub with my kidney carved out? In Chechnya?" Dean took a sip of the drink Sam had brought him so he didn't have to try to look Sam in the eyes. The world was still swimming, fading in and out of focus around his eyes. Then Sam was talking again and Dean tried to focus back on him.

"Wait, Dean. Seriously, Dad never taught us that. How do you know?" Sam's words were too loud and Dean cringed away from the way they were piercing his brain. He'd been fine a few seconds ago but now Sam was freaking out and that was making Dean's heart pound and the roofies circulate back through his system at a higher rate and this was definitely not good. He closed his eyes against the way Sam was peering at him. Like he was actually worried or something.

"I dunno what you're talking about Sammy," Dean said, still sounding a little disoriented. God, his head hurt something terrible. The darkness of his eyelids was so nice and if Sam would just let him go back to sleep, the sack of sweet potatoes hadn't been half bad as a pillow.

"Dean." Sam's voice was all stern-like and then his big hands were on Dean's biceps. The drugs in his body still had him buzzed enough that the sudden grab sent off a thousand triggers to get away get away. A mix of memories and instinct had him jerking away from the touch, trying to squirm indignantly out of the hands pinning him.

"No, no, I don't wanna talk about this," Dean tried protesting, hoping all the words came out in the right order. His head was pounding now from the movement of trying to thrash away from his captor. But the grip just tightened, fingers digging in and Dean did not have enough energy for this right now.

"Dean, calm down." Sam's face came swimmingly into focus for a moment, much closer than Dean remembered Sam being. He could just lean forward and his mouth might land on Sam's. But there was also the possibility his mouth would land on the floor and that would be painful and humiliating so Dean was going to stay right here. And keep trying to break Sam's hands on him. "What is it?"

"Nothing nothing. It was only once, okay? Leave me alone." Dean mumbled quickly, his head spinning something wicked as his vision blurred in and out of normalcy. Sam was making him dizzy, the way he kept shaking Dean.

Now Sam was frozen stiff, staring at Dean with eyes so wide it had to be painful. Dean ducked his head away from Sam's big eyes, studying Sam's shoes as they jumped around his vision and trying to control the urge to hurl everywhere.

"It was-- what? Dean? Dean! Is...is this not the first time you've been roofied?" The raised voice was not helping Dean's head at all. He really just wanted to lay down. Would Sam let Dean use him as a pillow? That'd be so great Sam was the best pillow in the world.

Dean might have told Sam that too, if Sam's hands on his shoulders hadn't suddenly tried to shake him back to life. Dean could feel his brain rattling inside his skull, a new wave of nausea pushing over him as the lights in the room became blindingly bright.

A hurt and complaining groan escaped Dean's throat as he brought both his hands up to his eyes, digging his palms into his brow bone and trying to stop the stupid ass headache and swirling and all around suckiness. And to hide his eyes, that was a major benefit.

Sam stopped shaking him at the pained groan, his hands suddenly apologetic on Dean's arms. Dean wasn't sure how hands could be apologetic but Sam's totally were right now.

"Did you find anything out in the yoga?" Dean managed out, words coming out a little pained. But if he didn't change the subject then Sam would keep shaking him and Dean was way too disoriented to make any serious decisions right now anyways.

"Dean. Please." Sam was pleading. Dean hadn't heard Sam beg him for something in a long long time. He really wanted to sleep. "I need to know. I need you to talk to me."

"No," Dean replied, as solid as he could with his head pounding and body tugging towards the gravity of the floor. Dean opened his eyes and lifted his hands away, blinking at his brother. Sam bristled like he was going to push more, like he wasn't going to stop until he grabbed onto this string and pulled it out of Dean's body. Dean had to stop him.

"No, Sam," Dean repeated. His voice was shaky but he wasn't sure he remembered how to steady it. Sam wasn't budging a bit, looking at Dean like Dean had smashed him over the head with a frying pan. Dean darted his eyes away, looking at the bags of sweet potatoes instead. "Not here, okay? I can't--I can't even feel my tongue. J-just...tell me about your yoga class."

Dean hated the way he sounded so broken. But apparently he also sounded desperate enough to scare Sam into agreement because Sam tentatively started talking about his yoga class. His words were fairly regular but his tone only said worried to hell.

"Yeah. Um, yeah. Okay. "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." Every single person in class had one of those freaky-ass suction marks."

Suction marks and roofies? It sounded like the beginning to a really terribly depressing rape poem.

"What the hell's goin' on here?" Dean mumbled, picking his energy drink back up and downing what was left of it. The sleepy qualities of the roofies were battling against the chemicals in the energy drink and his body was majorly complaining.

Sam was quiet for a moment or two, eyes unreadable as he watched Dean. Dean wanted to squirm away from the penetrative gaze.

"Do you need help standing?" Sam finally asked, getting up from his crouch. He didn't offer Dean a hand, just the question. Yeah, like Dean was going to let Dam pick him up to his feet right now. He still had a smidgen of pride in him.

He didn't answer Sam, just braced a hand on the sweet potatoes and pushed himself up to his feet. He wobbled a bit and Sam's hands twitched like he wanted to reach our and steady Dean but he just curled them into tighter fists at his side.

Dean shut his eyes for a moment against the merry go round of saturated brightness in front of him. He took a tentative step forward and his knee threatened to give, his body tipping forward dangerously. His arms flailed out but he was suddenly stopped with a big hand in the center of his chest.

After a few moments Dean opened his eyes and regained his balance with the world. Sam's hand left his chest the same moment Dean moved to shake it off.

Hell, he was surprised Sam even touched him at all.

"There's somebody we should go interview," Sam said too quietly, sounding fairly distraught. Dean ignored the messages Sam was sending. Mostly because they were mixed as hell and Dean had enough confusing swirling going around in his head right now to add Sam on top of that.

So he just grudgingly followed Sam, stumbling just a little. The energy drink was really starting to kick in and the roofies were wearing off and this is why drugs should never have been invented like damn.

~*~*~*~*~

 

He'd saved Sam at the last moment, with that creep Alonso and his creepy tongue about to put a suction mark on Sam's neck (he wouldn't have been the first - but Dean was absolutely not thinking about that) and Dean had managed to get there and save Sam. Alonso had fallen off to the side, leaving Sam on his back, breathing heavy and looking up at Dean with wide eyes and adrenaline rushing through their veins. The rush of the hunt, the thrill of spilt blood shifting up through Dean's body, adrenaline and that look from Sam making his heart pound.

It was one of those moments that defined them, one of those moments that had led them to falling into each other's bed. That deep rush of need, of near-loss, of the high after the hunt that had almost gone sideways. It was saving each other, loving each other so completely and absolutely in that brief second.

Sometimes they kissed then, if you could even call it a kiss, it was so passionately intense. So not exactly a kiss, then, more like sometimes they flew to each other, near-shaking with relief as their mouths collided and hands claimed, running over as much body as possible just to know, be sure in this moment right now that they were alive and safe, and god, they had been so in love.

This time, Dean had stuck out his hand for Sam and Sam had let Dean haul him to his feet, then Sam was turning away from him and nudging Alonso with his foot, shoulders slowing back down to normal breathing as the moment flew by them, ignored. Their first moment back and Sam had pushed Dean aside. Dean wasn't particularly surprised, but it still cut down deep like shotgun splatter in the ounce of hope he'd stupidly let himself have.

Now, the moment was long gone. Silence stifled its way between them now, stuffy in the space between the driver and passenger seats that had never felt further away. Dean could just barely see Sam's split lip out of the corner of his eye. Sam hadn't split his lip in a while. Last time he had, Dean could remember the way he'd pushed Sam up against the sink, licking a gentle caress over the bloody split as Sam held onto Dean's biceps with too-tight hands, making a quiet noise of needy hurt. Dean was pretty damn sure that wasn't what was going to happen this time.

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, rolling the leather under his palms. It didn't make him feel any calmer, any better about any of this. He was pretty sure he was never going to feel any better about any of this. How could he?

Dean was a lot more vulnerable now than he'd ever wanted himself to be. He'd been in some terrible, awful compromising positions but he'd never felt weaker than he did sitting here in this car right now, Sam fuming and steamy beside him and everything Dean had never told Sam lying in between them. For the longest time, his biggest secret, that epitome of his guilt - it all lay in falling for his brother when they were so young. Well, he'd thought it was young but compared to Sam...

Why did he let himself keep thinking about this? God, he thought he'd gotten over it. There was a shitton of things Dean could have done about it at the time but he didn't and so there, look where they ended up. Now was what mattered, if he could just get Sam back now.

"Sam?" Dean asked, the word out of his mouth before he realized he'd decided he was going to say anything. His jaw snapped shut almost comically fast - if any of this was funny, which it wasn't - and he was looking back out the windshield by the time Sam's gaze turned on him. Dean didn't know what he was going to say next.

Although apparently it didn't matter because just that one word was the brick that took down Jericho. Dean may be at a lost for words but Sam apparently had a mountain.

"Why didn't you tell me? What the fuck happened? All this time, we were supposed to be close, supposed to be together and you didn't even say a word. Didn't so much as hint. Even if we weren't sleeping together, you'd think you'd tell your fucking brother that you got roofied before!"

Oh. So that's what this was about.

Honestly, Dean couldn't remember a lot of the after-conversation he had with Sam when Sam found him. He just remembered feeling like shit and everything being blurry and Sam kind of yelling at him and him trying to get Sam to stop, telling him it wasn't Dean's first time, he'd be okay. Right, yeah, the brilliant plans of the drugged.

"What was it? Did you get...did you get...Dean," Sam's voice cut through Dean's numbed haze, so fucking pained and desperate on Dean's name, making his eyes snap over from the windshield to where Sam was looking at him. God, Sam looked torn up. Dean was just frozen. Honestly, he was so fucking detached from this conversation, he might as well be high.

Hmm, that was another thing Sam could rant about. While they were on the topic of drugs, might as well bring up the rest of the substance abuse from Dean's past, right? How about that bottle of pills in the bottom of Dean's duffel? Would Sam react like this if he knew about those?

It wasn't that Dean was a junkie. He wasn't, really. There had just been some times in the past. And more recently too. Nothing too fucked up though, nothing that took away all of his control. That was the one catch - Dean couldn't stand the idea of completely losing his control. Not after that one time...which, yeah, that's right. Sam knew about now.

And he was looking at Dean like Dean was going to be the one to say it out loud. Right, yeah, no.

Dean realized, probably pretty belatedly, that he should probably look at the road if he was driving. He snapped his head back to the road. The car was halfway in the other lane but they were in the middle of nowhere so it wasn't like it mattered. He guided the wheel back with a curse anyways, straightening the car out in between the lines and focusing on slowing down the acceleration a bit.

Silence followed Dean's curse, for a while. Sam was still looking at him, Dean could feel it. Sam's pretty sunflower eyes, sucking up every ounce of Dean's features, doing everything in his power to read it all, to take in every ounce of Dean like he'd get all of his nosy answers he was looking for off of Dean's cheekbones. Right. Sam wasn't Sherlock Holmes, and Dean didn't have Sherlock's cheekbones either.

"Dean," Sam said again, the word just a repetition of sound like neither of them knew what Sam was talking about anymore. Dean didn't turn his head this time. Flicked his eyes at Sam for just a second and looked back at the road, focusing on not letting the car drift again. He could stop and pull over but based on what happened last time he stopped and pulled over, he wasn't stopping for anything.

"D-did...were...were you raped?" The last word was quiet, barely above a whisper, like a tiny admission that Sam had never wanted to say out loud. Dean didn't particularly want Sam to say that either but he didn't have control over anything that mouth did, so. But he did have control over his own, and he wasn't going to flip out or make the silence sit heavy and knowing between them because that was ridiculous.

"No," Dean said, counting the yellow lines as they disappeared under the headlights. The syllable sounded unconvincing even to his numb ears. It sounded like an outright lie, which is wasn't really. Not really. Sam was still staring at him, hovering like he was on the edge of a cliff and just waiting for Dean to push him over with the tip of his finger.

"Not like that," Dean amended.

Sam sat back in his seat then, shoulders relaxing barely in Dean's peripherals. He was still tense then, still wanted more out of Dean. Dean didn't even tighten his fingers on the steering wheel, because that was acknowledging this. He wasn't doing that.

"Like how?" Sam's voice shook into Dean's brain.

Like how. Dean had blocked out the memory of that particular drunken, roofie-hazed night from his memory. But there had been moments, times that his brain hadn't let him forget. He got reminders of it all the time. But he sure as hell wasn't going to think about it now. Not when he was over it. In all seriousness, nothing terrible had happened. Dean hadn't gotten screwed, just felt up and pushed around and had come really really close --

But it hadn't happened. That bartender had intervened and Dean had been spared of everything except a crashing headache and the total embarrassment and a couple of bruises and not being able to look in a mirror for a few days because of his stupid mouth...it had all been more humiliating than anything. And it didn't bother Dean anymore because he didn't let himself think of what could have happened.

Dean was an attractive person and he knew that, he did. He had stupid feminine features and DSL and fascinating eyes and a decent body and he knew all that. He also knew it wasn't his fault that some people were fucking deuschbags and had no idea how to behave like human beings. It wasn't his fault, and he didn't blame his looks or the situation or whatever. Well, being less drunk probably would have been a good idea but that could also be a blanket statement for all the years Sam was at Stanford.

Instead of fretting over it, he'd drowned it out. Most people couldn't stand to be touched after getting drugged and unwillingly...touched, but Dean wasn't going to let that be a weakness. He'd drowned himself in women, slept with everything that looked his way until the memory had vanished and the shame had gone with it, the flinching and the shying away had disappeared into nonexistence.

"Like, I don't want to talk about it. But you don't need to worry about it." Sam's first reaction to I don't wanna talk about it was basically guaranteed he was going to think Dean was burying it and hurting in secret. But it totally wasn't like that.

"I'm not scarred or broken or whatever so you can stop with the coddling that you obviously don't mean if everything's supposed to be strictly business right now anyway, right?" Dean bit out the last words with enough venom and brutal honesty that hopefully it would shut Sam's mouth. And clear his mind from the fact that they ever even had this conversation.

The lack of a response had Dean turning his gaze back on Sam again. Sam was staring at him incredulously, like he could barely believe Dean had even brought that up right now. Well why the hell not, it was Sam who had instigated it in the first place. He couldn't run around sprouting off we can't be brothers and then just pretend he cared about some forever-ago thing that happened in Dean's life that Sam hadn't been there for. That wasn't fair.

With a disbelieving huff, Sam turned back to the window, staring out it bitchily and rising his shoulders up in a clear message of general pissiness. At Dean not telling him or at the whole brothers thing or at Dean in general for everything he'd ever done to piss Sam off. Probably all of them. Not like it mattered, Sam was super mad and Dean was not drunk enough or stable enough or desperate enough right now to try to fix any of it.

And it was just like the old days, that they refused to talk about anything that really mattered. Ignored the problem and each other and let it all slide by because that felt easier and safer. And apparently Sam was too mad at him to be desperate enough to ask more questions anyways. Which was just as well because Dean wasn't exactly in the mood to hash anything out right now.

 

But later, stepping into his dark, cold, bedroom and staring at the still unused memory-foam mattress that probably smelled like Sam and them...that was definitely desperate enough.

Dean couldn't sleep in that thing alone.

Okay, all this shit was ridiculous. What was their longest fight? A couple weeks? There was no way Dean was going to let this go that long.

Yeah, he'd messed up with Gadreel. Yeah, he'd messed up with whatever he'd done to make his baby brother fall in love with him. Yeah, he'd crushed Sam's hopes at normal before his voice even dropped.

But seriously, they had each other. They'd proven to the world and to themselves that the love between them was what mattered the most, right? What mattered above everything? That was how they survived. They needed each other, to hold in the darkness and to bitch at over morning coffee and to comfort from nightmares and to cry on and kiss on and everything else that came from their fucked up, twisted, crazy thing they had.

They had each other and it was perfect, more than Dean ever deserved. But he couldn't let go of that now. He wasn't giving up without a fight. He wasn't giving Sam up without a fight.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Since when was Dean Winchester a pushover? Hell if he was sleeping in that bed alone, ever. This fight was fucking ridiculous and he was going to make Sam see that, dammit.

He stomped back out of his room with a renewed sense of energy and purpose he hadn't had in days, feet taking him all the way to Sam's room. Knocking on the closed door, pushing it open without a response. Questioning Sam's name to the empty, cold room. Okay, so Sam wasn't in here. Fine.

Dean couldn't say why his feet took him inside anyways. Just, one moment he was there and ready to talk to Sam and then the next he was shutting the door behind him and inching forward into the recently-lived-in space. Sam had slept in here, while Dean was gone. Dean couldn't recall if Sam had ever slept in here previous to that. Probably not, or he would have complained about how the bed was a rock. No, they'd always shared a bed since the discovery of the bunker.

It smelled kind of like Sam in here, as creepy as that sounded. Dean sunk down - okay, sunk is not the proper word, Dean is still standing by the fact that Sam's bed is made of pure brick - Dean sat down on the edge of Sam's bed, fingers reaching out to trace of the indent of Sam's head in the pillow. If smelling Sam's room wasn't creepy enough...

Dean lifted his eyes, taking in the rest of the room too. It was so unfamiliar and cold in here, nothing like the home Dean had come to know. It felt like just everything was unfamiliar and cold lately.

God, he needed a drink.

 

He was only an inch of the way through a bottle of scotch when Sam finally appeared, tall frame taking up the kitchen doorway as he nearly breezed past.

"I'm hitting it," Sam said dismissively, already turning to go to his bleak, empty room by himself. Dean didn't want either of them to have to go back to that tonight. True, last time he initiated conversation it was a disaster. The worst disaster ever. But clearly, Sam wasn't going to say anything and Dean couldn't do this whole silence thing anymore.

"Yeah...hey," he interjected before Sam could really walk away. Seriously, one second Sam was pissed at him and then the next he was concerned and then he was flirting and then he was all strictly business. Dean had to do something about this before it tore them apart because that's what it was doing and he wasn't going to let go of Sam that easy.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, stopping, taking a few steps into the doorway to lean against it. Dean wasn't the courageous type, not when it came to the emotional things. Not when it came to him and Sam, to this whole mess. The incest, that thing. But love was more important than some stupid societal label. Sam had to know that. So if he was pissed about the sacrificial stuff, they could work through that too. They could work through anything, that's what they did.

"About what you said the other day." Dean was staring at the grains of the table, tracing them with his eyes through the refractions off the bottom of his glass.

"I thought it didn't bother you," Sam countered. Right, yeah. Dean had walked home with dirt and tears streaking his face and he was totally not bothered. He hadn't slept since and he was totally not bothered. Right. No, Sam knew how much this hurt him, he just liked rubbing it in because Dean was in love with a total dickhead.

So he decided he was going to ignore that entire comment. And the snide look on Sam's face when Dean glanced up.

Instead, he softened his voice a little. A lot. Because he didn't want to fight, that's not what this was about. Of course it bothered him. This whole situation bothered him because it was Sam. Sam had almost died and Dean had saved him because dammit Dean was desperately in love with his little brother.

And Dean was 100% sure Sam knew that. Dean may have never said it with the words "I love you" but he'd screamed it with more powerful ones. Ones like don't leave me and I can't survive without you and don't you dare think there's anything past or present I would put in front of you.

If Sam didn't get "I am desperately in love with you" out of that then he clearly wasn't listening hard enough.

"You know, Sam, I saved your hide back there." Sam nearly snorted at that. But this wasn't some hunt Dean was talking about, he was talking about their lives. His job. His identity. He saved Sam, he protected his little brother. He saved the love of his life. So he kept going, once again ignoring the skeptical look on Sam's features. "And I saved your hide at that church... And the hospital. I may not think things all the way through. Okay? But what I do, I do because it's the right thing." (for you. for us.) "I'd do it again."

Dean took a sip of his whiskey, letting the burn edge at the corners of his vision. Part of him didn't want Sam to see him like this, all a wreck just sitting at the table with nothing but a bottle and a glass. His two closest friends as of late. He focused on the whiskey on his tongue, swirling it around in his mouth like the flavor actually mattered or something. You know what, screw that Sam saw him like this. Sam deserved it, deserved any ounce of guilt he was feeling right now. Sam was the reason why Dean was like this right now, so he could see the mess. Let Sam look disapprovingly at the scuff lining Dean's jaw, let him watch how much of a mess Dean had made of himself and his life. Let Sam see.

"And that... is the problem." Dean's eyes flicked up at that, curiosity getting the better of him. His eyes still didn't go to Sam though, just to the coffeemaker on the cabinet. But still higher than the table, acknowledging. Listening. Because Dean really wasn't seeing the problem in doing it again. He was being honest, and wasn't that the whole theme for this fight? But he waited anyways, waited for Sam to explain.

"You think you're my savior, my brother - the hero. You swoop in, and even when you mess up, you think what you're doing is worth it because you've convinced yourself you're doing more good than bad... But you're not."

Dean's eyes landed on Sam this time, entirely aware of how blank and dead he probably looked. He could repeat the words in his head, mull them over but he heard them just fine and sharp enough the first time. So instead he just stared at Sam. Waiting to be condemned again.

"I mean, Kevin's dead, Crowley's in the wind. We're no closer to beating this angel thing." Everything so far were things Dean really never wanted to hear out loud - not from Sam - but so far it could all settle for him. He could accept that, he could accept not being good enough. He could accept failing at saving Sam. He could accept that Sam was acknowledging the mess he made this time, with Kev and Crowley and the angels. But the next few words out of Sam's mouth were so ludicrous Dean couldn't even take him seriously anymore.

"Please tell me, what is the upside of me being alive?"

Shocked would be the understatement. It was one of those moments, where someone says something so beyond ridiculous that you just sit there like did those words actually just come out of your mouth or am I hallucinating. That moment when you can't even fathom to begin a conversation because how could someone be so blatantly wrong.

In his shock his hands went up, whiskey ignored as he just stared at Sam in shock. What the fuck kind of question was that? Sam knew the answer to that. What, was he trying to be suicidal again or something or was he just that completely daft?

"You kidding me?" Dean asked, not hiding an ounce of the shock or disbelief in his voice. "You and me."

Sam didn't budge an inch, didn't even blink. Dean could not word that more obviously to be about their relationship, all of it. Beyond just brothers. You and me. But Sam didn't move, still waiting. Like that was apparently not a reason. So Dean tacked on an ending, one that gave it a bit more purpose than just sleeping with his brother because apparently that wasn't a reason enough to stay alive.

"Fighting the good fight together," Dean clarified. Because just being with Dean wasn't enough, apparently. Although from the look on Sam's face, saving people, hunting things, they weren't good enough either. He looked so exasperated like somehow Dean was being the ridiculous one. Dean wasn't the one who just asked the most pointless, ridiculous question on the planet. Was Sam seriously having doubts about Dean after everything Dean had done? Clearly, Dean had made it pretty obvious that he needed Sam in his life. In case letting him get possessed to save his life wasn't clue enough.

Sam sighed in frustration, turning to just walk away. Great, brilliant talk. He paused though, looked over his shoulder, then he came rushing into the kitchen and sliding into the seat across from Dean, leaning forward with his forearms on the table and an intensity in his face that could only belong to Sam Winchester. It was the way he got on a particularly crazy case, all intense focus and seriousness. Now all aimed at Dean, steady, focused. So Sam that it hurt. Dean didn't even notice himself draw back, put some distance between them. It was all just too real with Sam looking at him like that.

"Okay. Just once, be honest with me." If he had a sense of humour at all right now, Dean would nickname this the Honesty-Fight in his head because that's how this had started and it just kept going and going on the honesty thing. Apparently, all the things they had never said to each other over the past fifteen plus years were all just being pored out now, throwing every ounce of tucked-away-thing on the table until they had nothing left but raw truth and too much of it. So Dean was already cringing from the honesty thing before Sam even opened his mouth again.

"You didn't save me for me. You did it for you."

Okay, now Dean was just totally confused. He couldn't have meant what that sounded like. In the face of all this honesty, Dean still found himself entirely disbelieving. Of course Dean saved Sam for Sam, how the fuck else did that work? What is Sam implying about our kind of love? Is he saying....what the fuck is he saying?

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, because he honestly had no idea what Sam was trying to get across. He was just confused and Sam was looking like he'd just solved the answers of the world and presented them on a plate to show Dean. Dean didn't get it.

"I was ready to die. I was ready. I should have died, but you..." Dean's eyes were darting back and forth over Sam's face, soaking up as much information as he possibly could. Reading every ounce of Sam, seeing all that raw honesty and trying to understand what Sam was trying to tell him. And he was entirely unprepared for the violent punch to the gut. "...You didn't want to be alone."

That one took a few seconds to settle in. The first reaction Dean drew back like he'd touched fire with his fingertip, the words "wait, what?" going through his head for a millisecond before he was really drawing back, before it was sinking in. His lips parted in shock, his jaw slack as the words really sunk in. As what Sam was accusing him of - what Sam thought - settled down deep inside Dean's brain. And then his eyebrows shot straight up, the moment slipping into something surreal. This was disbelief, the stunted ability to even grasp this moment because was this even real? Disbelief and pain, all over his face.

"And that's what all this boils down to," he continued. Then Sam's voice went up a volume level, emotional, nearly out of control. So convinced he was basically shouting it in Dean's face. "You can't stand the thought of being alone."

"All right," Dean said in what felt like another universe, drawing back away from Sam like an animal stuck in a cage. Drawing back and up and away, his face crinkling in a sadistic, aporetic smile. It was so surreal he couldn't even breathe. He'd never felt exposed like this, stripped raw. It was worse than being strung up naked on Alistair's rack, more vulnerable than crying on the side of a road over things he'd never get.

This was raw and this was real. Dean couldn't breathe but he sure as hell could get the fuck out of here because suddenly, he doesn't know how or remember deciding to do so - his body was standing, drawing away from Sam like that caged animal, like Sam was wielding a real gun instead of just his burning, smoked words. Like gravel being rubbed into open cuts.

This was the core of Dean and Sam was slaughtering it. Dean had never taken the moment to sit down and figure himself out, figure out why he was so fucked up and why his life was so fucked up and why so much was wrong with him. He'd never wanted to know - had never known there was even an answer to that question. It was good enough for Dean to look in the mirror and hate himself and his life choices for all of the things he'd done and all the things he was. He'd never needed more than that, never needed a motive. Never looked for one.

Well, Sam had, and Sam found one. It wasn't like it was entirely news to Dean, but it was. He'd never thought of it like that, never had boiled down his every, terrible, nightmarish problem down to those eight words. You can't stand the thought of being alone.

He'd been ripped out, dissected, and now the last piece of him was slaughtered.

He could look at all the reasons why, could validate himself if the thought ever even crossed his mind. But it didn't, he just stood there numbly.

Dean Winchester had more than enough reason to be terrified of being alone. If you looked at the numbers, it was plain as day.  
His mother: killed.  
Father: killed.  
Brother: killed twice, once by suicide.  
Surrogate father: killed.  
Best friend: killed by not being able to trust Dean.  
Next best friend: killed by Dean's own hand, then brought back to life only to go back to Purgatory to get killed all over again.  
Any hunting buddies he'd had: killed.  
Any friends he'd made over the years: killed.  
Time spent in hell alone with his torturer: 30 years.

And that's not counting the number of times he's been left. Dad left him. Mom left him. Just Sam alone had left Dean over and over and over, countless number of times. People leave Dean, that's what they do.

That's what Dean makes them do.

But Dean didn't think about any of that, not right now. He'd think of it later, too much, and he'd blame himself for every single one of those deaths. And every single time someone left him.

 

But right now the only thing Dean could think about was that Sam thought Dean only saved Sam because he was terrified of being alone.

He was also thinking how this moment couldn't get any darker. Then Sam's voice came again.

"I'll give you this much. You are certainly willing to do the sacrificing as long as you're not the one being hurt."

Sam's words just kept coming behind him. It was the physically worst possible thing he could say to Dean. Dean set his glass down on the counter, controlled and calculated. So long as he's not the one being hurt. Right, because he wasn't the one hurt when he sold his soul and got raped, ruined, and tortured in hell. So heavily that he turned to it himself, becoming the monster. Right, he didn't get hurt out of that. But screw that. Screw all that, so long as Dean wasn't the one getting hurt, right?

He turned around then, spinning on his heel, calculating and cold. Eyes icy as he looked at Sam, frost hanging in the air between them. He wasn't going to stand there and get ran over.

"All right, you want to be honest?" Dean spit out. He wasn't sure how he even had the energy or willpower to speak right now. With those waves crashing down on him, the waves of Sam's disdain and Dean's self-hatred and so much truth that he could break. But looking down at Sam, the two of them in this place - in their home - he had a brief moment of perspective.

The world, zooming out from this very moment, to the entire room with the two of them fuming in the middle, then the bunker, then this spot in Kansas. Then the whole state, then the south, then the US, then the world, then the milky way and the universe. And here they were, in this moment that felt like it was the end of all of it. The make or break of all of it. Because Sam may be throwing knives into him, but there was so much more to this.

There was more than Dean's insecurities and his fuckups and how terrible and awful Dean Winchester was. This was about them and the fact that

They.  
Were.  
In.  
Love.

Dean looked down at his little brother, glaring up at him from the table.

And for just one moment, he looks just like Dean's petulant little brother again. Not like the man who just broke Dean's heart, but the stubborn, spiteful little kid who glared at Dean for dodging questions, for not talking about mom. Honesty, right. They'd had way to much of that lately but this was what it all "boiled down to," dammit. This was the whole point. Yeah, Dean may have fucked up a lot. Dean may be fucked up. But dammit, this was not a one way street. This Was Not A One Way Street. Sam had made a huge number of mistakes too. Sam had his problems, his own reasons for doing things. Sam was just as fucked up as Dean.

Sam was just as in love with Dean as Dean was with Sam. Dean wasn't sure about much in his life, or anything in his life actually. It had taken years and years to finally accept it, but for once, Dean was positive in something. Positive in himself, because no matter how fucked up all this was, Sam loved him. Admitting to himself that he was loved, that he was worthy to be loved, had happened at some point and Dean hadn't noticed it but standing here, in front of Sam, in this room, he knew it had happened and he knew it was true. Somewhere along the line, whether it had been when Sam was buried deep inside him, connecting them as closely as two human beings could be connected or whether it was one of the nights that they lay under the stars or maybe one of the times that Sam kissed his cheek in thank you for breakfast. But somewhere along the line of the miserable, terrible lives Dean had finally realized it. He'd admitted it to himself.

Sam loved him.

Sam loved him, dammit, and this was a two way street. For the first time in his life, Dean wasn't alone. He was loved. Sam loved him, just as much as Dean did. They were besotted with each other and terribly terribly reckless because of it but they loved each other. And Dean knew that, the way he didn't know anything else in the world. It was the one solid, serious fact Dean could actually hold onto.

Dean had probably never said a confident thing in his life that he meant, but he meant every single ounce of his being in the next words he shot at Sam.

"If the situation were reversed and I was dying, you'd do the same thing."

It was the singular most bold, non-self-loathing thing Dean had ever said in his life. It was in one moment, admitting that he was worth loving and that Sam was in love with him and that Dean knew that. That in the face of all of this, Dean had somehow come out with the knowledge that Sam loved him just as much. Sam loved him just as much.

Sam's eyes cast away from Dean's, looking down. He stared at the table for a moment, his vocal chords making his next words as soft as summer's rose petals.

"No, Dean. I wouldn't." Sam shook his head from side to side in a slow, steady no.

Dean's eyebrows just went up because there was no other reaction to that. It wasn't possible that Dean had heard that correctly.

Sam looked up, souls meeting somewhere in the middle the same time their eyes did. Dean's eyes were just full of shock but he couldn't even recognize that. He recognized, though, that Sam was still doing that same slow, steady shake of his head.

"Same circumstances...I wouldn't."

Dean was mastered in the art of masking his reactions and controlling himself. He could win an Olympian gold medal for the amount of control he had over his body, over his reactions to things. But in this moment the sheer shock that ran through his body ran rampant. Dean's entire body jerked back and his head shot to the side in a recoil, something like whiplash from a car crash. And then he was looking back at Sam again, two distinctive big wide-eyed blinks, lips parted in some default state.

Sam looked at him for a moment, seemed to take in the lack of control and reaction - so flamboyent, so unguarded for Dean - then dark eyes parted from Dean's, glancing off to the side and down. Maybe guilt, maybe understanding. Maybe still just anger. Then a few finalized words, the double bar line at the end of a masterpiece. "I'm gonna get to bed."

Sam's clothes rustled loudly like the leaves of that September as he slid away from the table, standing up and walking out of the room without even turning over his shoulder once.

Dean could do nothing but blink at Sam's retreating back then blink then blink, like his eyes were trying to reset the scene into a world where that hadn't just happened. But then Sam disappeared from sight and Dean didn't blink again, he couldn't risk shutting his eyelids for a single moment in case Sam turned around and came running back in, taking all of his words back.

Sam was only gone for a few seconds before Dean realized he didn't have the power left to lie to himself anymore. He didn't have the power to hide from himself anymore. He didn't have anything. Sam wasn't walking back through that door, that had just happened, and Sam had just said that he would let Dean die if Dean was dying. It changed everything and there was no point in denying it now, in denying anything actually.

He was acutely aware of the liquid in his eyes. In fact, he was acutely aware of everything right now. Every single ounce of his body, aware of every inch of skin and muscle and hollow bone. His pinky curled slightly, brushed up against his fourth finger like one could protect the other. His toes pressed together inside his shoes, which tightened with just a bit of pressure around his ankles. The slight space between his jeans and his legs around the bottom hem, the brush of his calf muscles and knees against the denim. The way they hung on his hips, the button pressing cold above the waistband of his boxer briefs. His shirt, loose over his stomach but heavy on his shoulders, the cut of the sleeves on his arms. The muscles in his neck, working easily to keep his head upright. The brush of his hair over the skin on his neck.

And he was aware of how alone he was. Terrified of being alone, and here was his worst nightmare come true. No, Dean had never had a nightmare as terrible as this. Even in hell, he'd never once fathomed the idea that he could be this alone.

That he could be this wrong. All this time, he'd been wrong.

He'd let himself believe that Sam loved him and he'd been wrong.

He'd been wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all dearly for reading. I know I introduced a ton of arcs in this chapter, but I've actually been quietly integrating them into the story for quite some time now and I promise I will elaborate on them all. This is not the end of the roofies conversation, or any of the other crazy ridiculous things going on between the boys right now.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading my loves xx


	26. Inane (Captives 09x14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor eating disorders and general melancholiness

Dean didn't come out of his room for two days. Sam got to the point that he started worrying about dehydration. Rushing Dean to the ER because he managed to nearly kill himself from a lack of liquids in his body was not something they needed right now. And whiskey didn't count as a viable liquid. 

He would check on Dean except that there wasn't a window in the locked bedroom, so it wasn't like he snuck out on Sam. And he hadn't left his room either because the fine line of powder salt Sam had lain as an indicator outside Dean's door was still untouched.

The morning of the third day, the fine powder line of salt had been redrawn, slightly to the left of where Sam's had been. So Dean had been out, noticed the trip, and reset it. Haphazardly, because one end was a little jagged. Sam toed at the line with his boot, making the powder scatter into dust to float the hallways. It was a stupid idea in the first place.

That afternoon Sam walked into the kitchen and nearly dropped the water glass he was carrying. Dean was standing there, back to Sam, one hand propped on the counter and the other wrapped around a glass. 

"Hey," Sam said, alerting Dean to his presence while trying to cover his shock. Dean wasn't just out of his room, he was in the _kitchen_. Standing in the same spot Sam had seen him last.

Dean's pretty freckled shoulders - currently hidden under a black flannel - tensed up a bit at Sam's words. He grunted a nondescript noise in response, not turning to look at Sam. Okay, fine, if Dean didn't want to talk to him Sam wasn't going to push. 

But he'd been in his room for _days_. 

Sam fidgeted, shifting his weight on his feet. Dean was still standing, frozen with his back to Sam, just waiting for Sam to leave. He really should, just make this easier on all of them. He was still pissed and he meant every word he'd told Dean. But how long was Dean just going to mope? They had things to do, monastery's to kill, people to save. 

"I found a case in Louisiana, swamp monster taking out the locals. If you're interested." Sam almost didn't say it at all, but at least the words came out sounding as emotionless and flat as Sam meant them. 

Dean spun around, breezing past Sam before he could barely see Dean's face. Scruffy cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, lips redder and pudgier than usual. Just a glimpse, then Dean had shot past him, heading for the kitchen doorway. 

"Not interested," Dean replied, his voice sounding like it was pure gravel. Scratchy and deep, like he hadn't spoken in days. Or like he'd just been crying. Sam doubted the crying thing because he would have heard Dean if he was crying, wouldn't he have? 

And he'd been making a bit of a point to listen. That first day he hadn't paid attention to Dean at all, but the past two he hasn't heard any tears or bawling sessions. Which was good, but...

But now Dean was stalking off, shoulders high and body tense. The echo of his gravely, pissed words rang in the room as he turned the corner of the hallway, disappearing out of sight. Sam stood and listened as Dean's boots echoed down the hallway. Apparently, they weren't going to hunt. Fine. Whatever. There was plenty of research to be done in the meantime. However long this "meantime" lasted.

Sam had known Dean wouldn't be able to take the truth, but he guessed he hadn't really figured in to account how badly Dean was going to react. Hell, Dean had reacted better when Sam had admitted his underaged incestuous feelings. Apparently those paled in comparison to the outright truth about Dean and his stupid decisions. 

For the first time in a couple of years, Sam wasn't sure exactly what Dean thought about all this. All he had was a plate full of initial reactions and no idea what conclusions Dean had come to. Did he get it? Did he get why Sam was doing all of this? 

Sam sighed heavily, threading a hand of fingers through his hair. This whole thing was just so messy.

Part of him wanted to be there for Dean - he'd never seen his brother in this state of shambles. Dean was a fucking wreck and Sam wanted to be there for him, help him through it. Explain it in a way that was less painful. But no matter what he said, Dean wasn't going to get it, not really. So there maintained that bigger part of Sam, the one that was pissed at Dean and at himself and the mess they'd gotten themselves into. He couldn't just forget that. They couldn't just push all of the shit they'd done to the side because it was easier that way. If they never faced up to the truth of what they'd become, how much more were they going to destroy? 

Dean didn't get it like Sam did. Somehow Dean could block it out. He'd blinded himself to the amount of damage they'd done. They'd destroyed the world because they loved each other too much. At one point, hadn't the point been to save it? To sacrifice each other and themselves to save the planet? Once upon a time, they'd been able to do that. But now, Sam had been talked out of, he'd been convinced --

He'd been _cheated_ into destroying the world instead of saving it. Dean, his own brother, and made Sam not close the gates. And no matter how much Dean tried to blow that off, brush it aside - it _mattered_. Sam Winchester had the chance to save everyone, for good. There would be no more evil, no more battles. They'd never have to save anyone from another demon or monster again. The world would be safe, he would save millions and millions, hundreds of years into the future. 

Instead he'd damned them all. He'd been unable to go through with it because Dean had tugged at his heart strings. Sam had a defining moment that could have protected families, children, soldiers... and he'd chosen his brother. He'd chosen Dean over saving everyone because he was so goddamn selfish. They both were. 

And if they weren't saving people, what were they? Sam's entire purpose - their entire purpose - was to save people, wasn't it? That's what this was all about, that's what Sam's existence was about. If you took out the saving, what were they then? 

Without that purpose (which they had lost the moment they had abandoned it in favor of each other), the answer was a terrifying one. If they were no longer saving people like they were supposed to be, Sam and Dean were disastrous and dangerous. Homosexual incestuous drifting serial killers with PTSD and abusive childhoods all followed by a lifetime of bad decisions, inflated egos, and a plethora of deadly enemies. 

They had somehow become those people and Sam had just let it happen. He'd let Dean convince him to forego their only real duty. The one job they had and they'd blown it so far to hell. 

How the _hell_ did Dean not see that?

Probably because it was never him. It never happened to Dean, not really. Dean was always the one there to pick up the pieces, straighten out the messes. It was Sam who was cursed, Sam who had a monkey on his back that he had to overcome. 

He'd been corrupted since he was six months old and he'd been fighting himself ever since. And he had been ready, he was supposed to die. All of this, his curse, was going to finally come to an end and Dean hadn't let it. Dean couldn't because he was helplessly in love with Sam and it fucked them both over so much that they had taken the world down with them. 

This time Dean hadn't picked up any pieces of Sam's mess - he'd been the one who instigated it, knocked the tower over and then tried to drag Sam out from under it with the dumbest thing he could have done and now Kevin was dead, the king of hell was free, and angels were going rampant trying to kill each other. 

And Dean somehow _still_ didn't get it. 

Most of the time Sam wanted to scream. Dean was so blind to the damage that they'd done that he said he'd do it _again_. He'd learned nothing from all of this and it was so infuriating. So if Sam was faced with the same situation, was he really to blame if he'd do it differently from Dean?

If Dean had accepted it and was ready and okay to die, Sam would let him go. If it was what Dean wanted, Sam would do that for him. Sam wouldn't take away Dean's free will because that was their _purpose_ that was what they _fought for_. They saved people so they could have free will and Dean had ran over both of those concepts in a 24 hour period.

Sam had wanted to die, had been ready and okay and content with it. If Dean ever got to that point, ever wanted that? Sam loved him enough _to_ let him go.

Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean even loved him at all. If you love someone then you do what is best for them. Even if it hurts you, you give them what is best for them. Dean didn't do that for Sam. Dean couldn't do that for Sam. 

It wasn't even about Sam anymore. It was about Dean not wanting to be on his own. And not loving Sam enough to let him go. 

It hurt, realizing that. That Sam was just a pillow for Dean to hold, a warm body at his side in the car putting up with his loud music. That what Sam wanted didn't matter. Sam's opinion, Sam's brain, none of that mattered. Only what Dean wanted, not what Sam wanted.

That wasn't love. That was obsession or possession or something else nasty of the sort. It wasn't love and realizing that Dean didn't love him was what had made Sam lash out. Dean didn't really love him, not the true kind of love that Sam had thought was between them. Dean was afraid of life without Sam and that wasn't love.

Dean didn't love him the way Sam loved Dean and maybe that's why they both had broken hearts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The soft light on his closed eyelids was what woke him. It was silent and still, not a single sound to jolt him awake. Not a single ache or pain in his body to groan at consciousness. Just a soft gold surrounding him as Dean fluttered open his eyelids. The sense of peace and completion was strangely welcoming. He didn't feel restless, or tired, or pissed. But it didn't feel fake either, not djinn-induced or anything. 

The room around him was softly lit too, the light and stillness of early morning. Dean let himself slowly slip back into full awareness, taking a slow and easy count of where he was, his body, his clothes. Boxers and a tshirt, his room in the bunker. His hair still felt a little stiff - unwashed gel from yesterday probably spiking it higher and crazier than it usually was. He drew an easy, warm breath into his lungs, feeling his chest expand. Nothing complained, nothing creaked. 

Dean crinkled the sheet up in his fists, drawing it up an inch higher on his chest. It tugged slightly in complaint on his left and Dean rolled his head over on his pillow to face that side of the bed. Sam was curled towards him, long hair spread out over the pillow under his head. A strand of it crossed over his forehead, which was smooth and worry-free. Dean's lips curled into a small smile as he took in Sam's state. His crazy hair, barely-parted lips and softened, closed eyes. Sam's right shoulder flexed minutely as his fingers curled around the blanket half-covering his naked torso, like he could feel Dean's eyes on him in his sleep. 

The smile on Dean's mouth curled up a little more, the overwhelming sense of peace and beauty making him feel like he was standing in the middle of a patch of sunshine. Sam's bare shoulders and chest rose and fell against the sheets as he breathed, slow and deep. Dean would reach over and touch but he didn't want to break the beauty of the moment. Besides, Sam didn't get nearly enough sleep half the time. At least he was healthy, that's all that really mattered.

An hour slipped by and Dean just watched, his lips curled slightly up in a serene smile as he looked over his sleeping Sam. Eventually Sam started to stir ever so slightly, his shoulders shifting again and his mouth closing the last centimeter. His breathing got a little shallower, body waking up slow and easy like Dean's had. 

Dean rolled up on his side slowly, letting the slide of the cool sheets across his skin rustle quietly. He reached out a warm palm, running it gently over the smooth curve of Sam's shoulder, tracing all the way down his arm to his wrist. Sam's fingers twitched, reaching for Dean's even as he slipped into wakefulness. Dean scooted forward, letting their fingers entwine the same time he tangled his legs up with Sam's. Sam was warm and not quite awake yet, but his body reacted to Dean's anyways, pulling him closer in the soft light of the morning. 

He tucked his nose against Sam's tattoo, ducking his head under Sam's and flattening his chest to his brother's. The warmth of Sam's bare skin bled through Dean's tshirt, making his entire body sink into comfort. Dean could feel Sam's breath on the top of his head and he tightened an arm around Sam's middle, holding him infinitely closer. 

_You've always had a home, Dean._ Sam's words from the night before echoed through Dean's mind and he let his closed eyes relax at the memory of the words. Sam had taken his hand, entwining their fingers as Dean looked around his new room in the bunker, taking in everything that was his now. He'd pulled Dean in close, Dean's back to Sam's chest, pressing his palm over Dean's heart as he whispered those words in Dean's ear. 

And here, now, pressed to Sam's body, Dean knew exactly what Sam had meant. They were each other's home, even more than this new place got to be. 

Dean tilted his head forward slightly, pressing a soft, dry kiss to Sam's chest. Sam's hands ran down Dean's back over his tshirt, smoothing at the material. He had a feeling Sam's eyes were still closed, just holding Dean before waking up and having to face the day. And in the soft morning stillness they were both home. 

Sam's mouth brushed lower, over Dean's ear. He kissed the tip of Dean's ear, then again to Dean's earlobe. Dean just breathed into Sam's chest, breathed into Sam's arms. Then the mouth against his ear spoke, words quiet and soft and the first thing Dean heard that morning. 

"I love you." 

 

He shot awake so fast he was scrambling for the gun under his pillow, thinking something had to have waken him. It was only a few seconds later, sitting up in bed, pistol drawn and looking around the room, that he realized nothing had woken him in his room. Nothing was in his room, he was starkly, coldly alone. Dean rubbed a tired hand over his face, used to the feel of the scruff under his palm now. Then his eyes looked over to the other half of his bed. The empty half. 

It was cold and dark and basically the opposite of Dean's dream in reality. The room was too dark to see much, the only things that had a bit of light were the sharp, pointy things, not like the golden sunshine he'd had in his head a few seconds ago. Dean's dream. 

That's why he had to have woken up. A gasp of air sucked into his lungs at the realization. He'd been dreaming about a morning nearly a year ago, a few days before the first trial, and he'd woken up because...

Because Sam had said that. The three words he used to say to Dean so easily. The three words Dean had eventually come to believe. 

And now, in the harsh, inane darkness - Dean remembered he'd been wrong. 

_No, I wouldn't_. 

I don't love you. 

_Everything that has gone wrong between us has been **because** we're family_. 

(We never should have slept together - all of our problems in our relationship have been because we're brothers)

(Incest - bad - wrong - everything's that gone wrong - because we're family)

I don't love you.

He stared numbly into the cold darkness for only a few seconds longer, then he was fumbling for the bottle of whiskey he was sure was on the bedside table. He'd drink until he couldn't feel anymore, until he was guaranteed to sleep without dreaming. He couldn't survive another dream like that tonight. Or ever, really. 

He wasn't sure how long it'd been since Sam had confirmed Dean's worst fear because the days all bled together like this, just an empty room that still smelled like Sam and a growing collection of empty bottles. 

Dean swirled the liquid around in the bottle of the glass, squinting at it and trying to figure out when he'd become worse than Dad. At least Dad had lost Mom when she still loved him. He never had to go through the pain of having that taken away. 

His eyes cut to the photograph on his dresser. He could see from here the photograph of Mom he had propped against his lamp. Sam had returned it after the last trial, setting it gently back in place one morning while Dean had gotten dressed. 

There was just enough alcohol in his system to let his thoughts wander into dangerous territory but not enough so that he didn't have a sense of consciousness. It was something he'd never let himself entertain before now, nipping it at the bud before a full sentence could even form in his head. 

But hey, this was the Fight of Honesty, right? No more lies, no more hiding. No more avoiding talking about things they should have talked about a decade ago. 

So Dean tightened his grip on the bottle, staring at that photograph. He needed more whiskey but for some reason his brain wasn't connecting to his body. 

What would Mom think? 

If she knew, if she had any idea of all the dirty things Dean and Sam had done between the sheets... How disappointed would she be? Would she be mad? Would she cry? Would she just say nothing, pack up and leave? 

None of the scenarios Dean ran through his head came out with positive endings. He couldn't figure out a way that Mom could possibly approve of her only two sons fucking each other senseless. 

What about the soulmate thing? What would she say to that? Would it matter? Would she be like Dad was at one point, just thankful that they had each other to rely on? 

Towards the end before they ran into Azazel, those few brief days hunting with Dad before the car crash, Dad had pulled Dean aside. Issued him a warning of sorts: don't go blurring the lines between you and your brother right now. Your job is to protect him, not to get so damn close. 

Or well, something like that. Too much whiskey to remember. 

Henry had been okay with it. Some people that knew thought it was special or beautiful or whatever. Cas did. Most of the Angels, once they got past the fact that Sam and Dean had fucked up the apocalypse. But Cas said it was an incomparable love. Thy was Sam and Dean had was the most powerful thing he'd ever seen in his existence. 

Ha, right. Maybe it used to be, when Dam actually loved him back. 

The photograph on his dresser yay stared back at him. She was right there, watching the bed. If she could see through the eyes of her photograph shed see every fight, early morning kiss, and sweet loving they had done between these sheets. Suddenly Dean really wished he knew what Mom would think. 

Would she hold him right now, kiss the top of his head and pull him into a hug and make him pie to warm his heart, pulling up a chair next to him and saying "Tell me about your broken heart, sweetie. We'll get through it together." 

Would she be there when Sam wasn't? If she was still alive, would they all have family dinners with Sam and Dean holding hands and Mom and Dad laughing at their cheesiness? Even in a djinn-induced fantasy, Dean was pretty sure that was too unrealistic to imagine. 

But what would Mom approve of in his life anyways? Would she approve of the drinking? The swearing, the drugs. The self-hatred. The job, the hunt, the way Dean craved the dripping blood across his palms. Would she approve of the lies, the reckless way Dean lived to die? 

What would she say about Gadreel? Had Dean been as selfish as Sam said he was? Was Dean really just alone and scared? 

Dean would never know. It didn't matter, what Mom thought, because she'd never have a chance to say. 

Because Dean _was_ alone. And he was unloved. And he was going to keep drinking until there wasn't a drop left to swirl in the bottom of the glass container.

He hated this.

What did Sam want from him? What, did Sam want Dean to just not love him anymore? For Dean to let go of the one beautiful, perfect thing in their lives? Sam deserved the world, he was the most important part of this entire damn universe...

Dean groaned in frustration, dropping his head in his hands. He couldn't just let his baby brother die. He couldn't. He didn't have it in him. And he told Sam that, Sam _knew_ that. 

They had brought up "the church" in between them enough times to undermine any meaning it once had, now just a symbol for a commitment they made. But Dean had meant every word...everything he'd said in that church Sam had just forgotten, or decided wasn't good enough anymore. That is was more bad that good.

 _I am willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches who killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think there is anything past or present I would put in front of you._ And just for a moment, Dean thought that Sam finally got a grasp on how much Dean loved him. For just a moment the weight of those words had settled in Sam's eyes and he'd realized the expanse of Dean's love. He'd understood, even if only for a few seconds. 

And now Sam was rejecting that, claiming it wasn't for him. He didn't get it, he didn't understand anymore. He thought Dean was just afraid of being alone. There was a big difference between being alone and living in a Sam-less world. The former was what Dean couldn't do. Fuck the gates of hell, fuck Crowley and all the rest of the shit that had been dumped in their laps without their consent. Fuck saving the world, because Sam was bigger than the world. Sam was more important than the world. 

That's how much Dean loved Sam and it didn't matter anymore because Sam didn't love him back. Sam wouldn't care if Dean died. He'd just let Dean kill himself in the trials if that situation had been reversed. 

And Dean had actually been foolish enough to believe that someone had loved him. That he had been _worthy_ \--

He choked back a sob because he wasn't crying, not again. He lifted his head, looking around the empty room for anything to distract him. A chord on top of his dresser caught his eye. Well, that would make him at least not cry. 

He could go for a drive, except that Sam would think he was bolting or running away and Dean really didn't have it in him to leave his room right now, let alone the bunker. But he could definitely go for some way-too-loud drowning music right now. If he listened to music so loud he couldn't think, at least it'd stave off the impending tears.

True, it was basically the middle of the night. But going to sleep into another dream like that sounded like hell, so. Honestly Dean was just proud that he even got the nerve to sleep in here, on this bed. It seemed like his heart couldn't break anymore though, so what were a couple thousand memories on top of that? 

Even if as Dean broke out his headphones, leaning back against his pillow again in the dark, his mind started to wander. He had so many memories of laying in this exact spot...how many of them had Dean seen with rose-colored glasses?

When had Sam stopped loving him?

Had Dean just missed the signs? He sighed at that, scrubbing his hand over his face again and shutting his eyes. So many signs he'd missed in his life apparently. Signs when Sam was a kid, signs now. It wasn't like Sam had just stopped loving him overnight, had it been? Or...or maybe he'd never loved Dean. 

But that didn't make sense because why would he have stopped the trials if he didn't return at least some of that love? 

So it was some time between the coma and now. Which was more than half a year of memories to sift through. It was sadistic and cruel but he needed to know, needed to know when the looks and the touching had all become first. Needed to know the moment that it turned from mutual to "No, same circumstances, I wouldn't."

Dean lie in the dark with Physical Graffiti playing in the background as he tried to pinpoint the moment he lost the brightest thing he'd ever had. 

He was asleep halfway through Ten Years Gone and didn't that just fit perfectly anyways?

~*~*~*~*~

Consciousness came back during Whitesnake, the first few loud guitar chords and drum hits startling Dean's eyes open. His ceiling glared back at him as his brain caught up to his body. 

_...with the thoughts of retribution_  
But, a man starts weeping  
When he's sick and tired of life 

The pain of Sam's recent declaration hit him all over again, coiling and curdling his insides as he sunk back into this terrible rereality. It would probably be that way for a while, waking up vaguely disoriented and getting slammed in the face with _he doesn't love you_ instead of good morning. 

Dean glared numbly back at his ceiling, taking a mental note that it was light enough out to see his room now. He'd slept for a few hours which was a damn miracle in itself. So were his headphones, which had managed to stay on his ears all night. Led Zeppelin long since gone, the familiar shouty words of David Coverdale filling his brain instead. 

_I know where I'm going_  
 _There's no hope of absolution_  
 _I can't seem to separate_  
 _The good times from the bad_

He could really use a shower. He'd only been out of his room twice in the past couple of days, once to piss and once go stock back up on more whiskey. The first time he'd left his room his socked foot had brushed something crystally and sharp, which had been a bit surprising. 

Sam had set an information snare, a fine line of salt just past Dean's door that would have been undetectable if Dean was wearing boots. But he didn't want Sam to hear him so he was just in his socks, consequently enabled to feel the crystal salt line he'd just destroyed.

Apparently, Sam was keeping tabs on him. Wanted to know when Dean had left his room. It was a weird thing to do for someone who supposedly didn't care about Dean at all. But then again, Sam always liked having the upper hand and knowledge is power. So it wasn't all that surprising that he was keeping lockdown tabs on Dean. 

Dean had taken care of his business and redrawn the fine salt line, so Sam wouldn't know Dean had smudged it. Two could play at that game. It wasn't like cared that Sam knew he left his room, it was just re idea of giving Sam the upper hand again and making him think he's pulled one over on Dean. So he made another line. 

Unfortunately, the second time Dean left his room on his whiskey run, Sam had made a guest appearance, popping up behind Dean and suggesting they go hunting together. 

He didn't have the physical or mental strength to leave the bunker right now, let alone go hunt down a swamp monster with the leech of his energy and life force sitting shotgun. 

So he'd cut out of the kitchen as fast as possible, locking his bedroom door behind him again. And had eventually fallen asleep, dreamed about Sam, woken up and put on headphones and here he was, still staring at the ceiling and taking vague note of the lyrics pounding his ears. 

_No one understands the heartache. No one ever feels the pain. No one ever sees the tears when you're crying in the rain._

Dean pulled the headphones off his ears, tossing them and his iPod haphazardly aside. He was going for a shower. And wearing his socks again on the way there so Sam didn't hear him clanking around like he had on the whiskey run. 

He snuck out of his room and made it to the bathroom without any encounters, feeling a little like a petulant teen who'd missed curfew. But not wanting to face Sam didn't seem all that ridiculous, given the circumstances. 

Clothes came off perfunctorily, turning the water all the way too hot as Dean stepped into the small space. It was nothing like the shower room they'd frequented so much, which was definitely a good thing. This was clearly a one person shower, no where near big enough for both him and Sam, but still featuring that incredible water pressure. 

The water almost stung as Dean tilted his face up into the spray, eyes closed as the water ran over his face. 

He could feel the ghost of Sam's arms snaking around his waist, tilting Dean slightly more in the spray as a hand came up and scratched through his wet hair, a temporary head massage while Sam kissed his way down the side of Dean's neck. 

He might never touch Dean again. 

Dean choked back a sob, one arm shooting forward to brace on the wall in front of him, fingers splayed against the cold tiles as he braced himself. His knees felt weak like he might collapse if he didn't hold himself up. 

That warmth, the comfort of Sam's body against his. The peace of mind that only came with being so sure of Sam's safety, something he only ever had when his arms were wrapped around that gorgeous body. So many terrible things had happened to Sam and Dean had to have physical reassurance of Sam's wellbeing sometimes. 

Never again. If Sam didn't love him, what was the point? If Sam didn't love him...

Standing under the spray those words felt even heavier than they had in Dean's room. It was like reality was out here, cold and inescapable. No sheets to wrap around himself, pretending they were Sam's arms. No smells to surround him and send his mind back in time to when the source of that familiar scent was actually on the other half of his bed. 

Dean hadn't let himself cry. He'd been too numb to cry. It was too real, too unbelievable. He'd laid in his room and stared at the ceiling and refused to feel. He'd broken out in dry sobs a few times anyways, but he managed not to let any tears slip. For some reason it felt worse that way, penting up all of that emotion and not letting it out, not letting himself grieve. 

He was just terrified that if he cried, it would all be too real. And he may never stop crying. Not to mention that he didn't want Sam to hear. It would be fueling the fire, which was something Dean was always fine with before. For the most part, he let Sam see him at his worse. He let Sam see him cry or pull allnighters or any of those things. Because he'd thought it'd evoke emotion in Sam, make him comfort Dean out of guilt. 

That part of Dean's life had slipped by. Dean wasn't going to let himself open even the slightest in front of Sam. It'd be pitiful, especially now that Dean knew Sam had no emotions for him to evoke. Sam didn't care anymore. So Sam didn't get to see him cry, or hear him cry. And Dean had had his suspicions that Sam might be keeping tabs on him - confirmed by the salt line booby trap - so if he started crying in his room, Sam would hear him. There would be nothing to drown out the tears and Dean wouldn't give Sam that satisfaction. 

But now Dean was standing in the spray of the shower, feeling exposed in his nakedness the way he hadn't for a long time and even more exposed mentally without the safety of his familiar room. And the water was loud, gushing over his face and soaking his body and smacking the shower floor in its pattering dance. 

It didn't feel like shower water anymore, it felt like the skies had opened up and it was raining down on Dean from above, hiding him and masking him in a place that didn't feel safe but would still shield him if he let go.

Dean cried. One moment he was thinking about how the sound would be block and the next, salty droplets were streaking down his face. With the shower water to mix in over his tears, the feeling was more surreal and less scary than Dean had pictured it would be. The sound of the shower covered the sobs in between the spouts of tears and Dean ducked his head down, the hand braced on the wall the only thing holding him up now. 

And he cried and he cried, every single bit of his hidden broken heart pouring down his face in streams of salt. The shower water washed them away and Dean's whole body trembled with the pain of release. His knees wanted to give but somehow didn't. It wasn't ugly bawling with loud sounds, just endless tears and quiet, broken noises. 

Dean cried and cried and cried because no one ever sees the tears when you're crying in the rain.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He wouldn't have known what day it was of the calendar on his phone hadn't flashed a huge reminder across the home screen, requiring to be closed before he could check his messages. It took him a second to figure out why his phone was making a big deal out of February 14, then his brain kicked in and he was left just kind of staring at his phone. Valentine's Day. 

Had Sam even noticed? Last year he'd totally forgotten. Dean shook off that thought because he was not going to even think the slightest bit about last year's Valentine's, focusing instead on navigating to his messages - there were none - then tossing his phone on his nightstand. He should get up, go to the shooting range or something. Just _do_ something, anything. 

He stared at the door and what it would mean to open it. He wasn't ready. He couldn't do that yet. So maybe he had locked himself into solitary confinement. (Although not actually locked - the stupid part of him had kept the door unlocked just on the minuscule chance that Sam might come in.) But his mind and his body just hadn't been able to accept it yet. 

He'd spent his entire time with Sam thinking it had been mutual and all of a sudden it _wasn't_ so if Dean had to have a few days to re cooperate, that seemed entirely rational. Besides, it was only day 5. 

_And Valentine's Day,_ his brain supplied helpfully. Dean groaned at that thought, reaching for the glass on his bedside table. Not thinking about it. Although the only thing to block out the encroaching thoughts would be to drown himself again. Some girls used chocolate or ice cream to get over their breakups, but Dean used blasting, consuming rock  & roll. It took his mind off Sam. Mostly. 

He lay back on his pillow, noting how much lower it felt now. Yesterday he'd cleaned up his room, purged the whole place of everything Sam related. Sam's pillow and favorite blanket got thrown on the floor of the linen closet, replaced by unscented, generic ones. The clothes Sam left in Dean's room went to the laundry room. The bottle of lube they kept on Dean's bedside table went in the bottom of some drawer and Sam's copy of Catcher In The Rye Sam used to read while Dean slept with his head in Sam's lap went on some random shelf in the library. 

He wouldn't have bothered, except he woke up the morning of the first day wrapped up in Sam's favorite blanket with his face stuffed in Sam's pillow. And he'd been disoriented (and maybe drunk or hungover) enough to think for just a few seconds that Sam was lying beside him. Then the truth hit like a hurricane and Dean suddenly had to get rid of it all. 

Every time he left his room to go put things back, he was careful and swift. He didn't want to run into Sam with an armful of Sam's pillow and blankets. Somehow, he hadn't run in to Sam on any of his fast trips out of his room. By the time he'd shut the door again behind himself, room purged, Dean had been about to break a sweat from moving so fast. And quiet. That took a lot of energy. 

But now here he was, laying back on pillows that felt a bit stiffer than what he was used to. In a room that didn't constantly remind him of Sam anymore. Well, it did, but at least there was no more physical proof. Dean didn't even have a bruise on his body that was Sam shaped. Nothing but scars in his mind. 

Well, there was the carved _SW_ in the back of his hip but that had been a long time ago. It was probably long gone now. Although Sam had cut him up pretty damn deep... Not that Dean was going to look. He couldn't bring himself to turn his head over his shoulder and traced the skin, trying to find the white lines of Sam's initials on his skin. He wasn't sure what he'd do if they were still there. And he was even less sure what he's do if they weren't. 

Dean closed his eyes, shivering a bit. He could get under the covers, curl up in the minuscule warmth and let sleep eventually take over his body and eventually heal his heart. But he wanted to feel the cold, feel the chill seeping into his bones like he deserved it. 

Eyes closed and lying down in the cold with familiar music in his ears, it was only another three minutes before his brain gave up fighting and the memories came flooding in like a tsunami wave, scooping Dean up and dragging him under. 

Last Valentine's. It had been roughly a week after they'd first found the bunker, and roughly a week before the first trial. So in that new, blissful, still a little disbelieving time period when they had finally gotten a home but before Sam got sick. It had been two weeks chocked full of invigorated Men of Letter's research, all homeade meals from Dean, lots of sex, and constant fifties music playing over the record needle. 

Sam hadn't been possessed, or sick, or dying. Dean hadn't been worried, or upset, or lying. The last case they'd been on they'd ganked a couple of Nazi deusches, met a golem, and officially declared Sam as a men of letters. So they took some time off and spent two weeks riding that high and getting a better feel for the bunker, just starting in on the research that filled the place so they could be more informed for their next cases. And, of course, celebrating Valentine's Day.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Dean cooed playfully from behind Sam's chair, reaching around to peck Sam's cheek as he sat down a plate on the table next to the open book Sam had been scanning. 

Sam had lifted his head from the book, taken one look at the plate, and started laughing fullheartedly. His silky hair brushed against Dean as Sam tilted his head back against the chair, the loud sounds escaping his mouth. It was beautiful laughter, even if it was aimed at Dean. Dean could pretend to be offended or he could just kiss Sam's upside down, open mouth instead. 

The laughter didn't stop as abruptly as Dean would have thought when he sealed his lips over Sam's; instead he was licking the last few giggles out of Sam's mouth even as he pulled away. Dean couldn't fight the grin that broke out in his face at that - laughing and kissing at the same time tickled in the most incredibly extraordinary way. 

Wow, he really was a sap, wasn't he? It was Sam's fault, Dean was sure of it. 

Once they stopped kissing they were both grinning like idiots and Sam straightened his head back out, getting a better look at the breakfast Dean had made him. Dean couldn't help it, he placed another kiss to the top of Sam's head, hands massaging casually at Sam's shoulders from his spot behind Sam's chair. 

"You are a girl," Sam informed him, glancing up with an amused look before sliding his abandoned book across the table and scooting the plate Dean brought closer in front of him. 

"Hmm, I think your ass begs to differ. What, with my cock and all pounding into it last night." 

"Deaaaan, I'm hungry. I want to eat breakfast not get dirty talked by you until we end up screwing on the floor before I get a bite in," Sam whined, faking a scowl. Dean moved out from behind Sam's chair, bending over with a hand braced on the table to kiss the scowl off Sam's face. They kissed a lot on the domestic days, interrupting each other's sentences sometimes just to press their lips together. For some reason all the domesticity felt like a new spark in their relationship and they were in the honey moon stage all over again. Although the level of lovey dovey this morning was at was quite a bit more cheesy and romantic than they'd had in their relationship yet. 

"Are you going to eat with me?" Sam asked as they pulled away, his thumb smoothing a circle over Dean's hip. Dean smiled and headed back for the kitchen, grabbing his own plate. Which was considerably less laughable than Sam's. 

Sam eyed Dean's bacon and eggs with vague approval as Dean slid into the chair beside him. He speared one of his strawberries, lifting it up for inspection before he popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

"So what's with the cheesiness?" Sam asked between strawberries. Dean looked up from where he'd been smearing his eggs in bacon grease, noting the confusion on Sam's face and ducking away with a smile.

"Oh, c'mon. You know," Dean stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth so he didn't have to say anything else. Being overly romantic was one thing but talking about it was something else entirely. 

"Um, no. I don't. For some reason my brain just can't come up with a reason why you'd make me toast covered in strawberry halves cut into hearts and then call me sweetheart as you give it to me. That one didn't exactly come in the Dating Dean Winchester manual."

"I don't have a manual," Dean complained. Sam just raised an eyebrow at him, poking another strawberry heart with his fork and holding it up as evidence. Okay, strawberry halves were basically hearts anyways all you had to do was just cut a deeper v in the top, not like it was rocket science. Dean sighed, caught out. Sam was gonna make him say it. "Well, you know. For Valentine's Day." 

The look that went across Sam's features would have been hilarious if it weren't aimed at Dean. His eyebrows shot up on his forehead and his jaw dropped, looking at Dean like he'd just lit on fire or something. Dean crinkled his nose in feign annoyance. 

"You really _are_ a girl," Sam said in awe. Dean would have thrown his piece of bacon at him if it didn't mean he'd have to clean it up. The one downside to the bunker. 

"Shut up," he retorted back instead, glaring at Sam's strawberry heart toast before flicking his eyes up to meet Sam's. 

The look on Sam's face had taken a complete 360, now completely filled with endearing affection. But not the cheesy, fake kind. Just 100% _you are such an idiot and I am so goddamn in love with you_. It was Dean's favorite face on Sam. 

Dean couldn't help it, his mouth broke out in a grin too, eyes crinkling as both of their smiles quickly took way to laughter. Just one look and now they were in peels, Dean's face buried in the arm he had resting on the table as his body shook with the loud sounds leaving his throat. Sam was laughing just as hard, head probably tipped back like it had been earlier. 

They both laughed and laughed until their sides hurt, then Dean was gasping and lifting his head, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as a few escaped noises still slipped past his lips. 

"Oh my god," Dean managed, still out of breath as his side cramped and his arm braced over his stomach. 

"Your f-face," Sam pointed at him and nearly broke into another round of crazy laughter. Eventually the sounds died down between them and they were both left in happy, charged up quiet with ridiculous smiles on their faces. 

Dean mindlessly took another bite of his breakfast, chewing the eggs as he looked over at Sam. Sam was watching him, a slightly altered and more tamed version of his previous affectionate face on. Dean swallowed and Sam held up his fork again, sticking the heart-shaped strawberry on the end of it out towards Dean. 

"Want one?" Sam offered, his hand making no move to scrape the strawberry off onto Dean's plate. That was fine with Dean. 

He leaned forward, closing his lips around the strawberry half and pulling it off Sam's fork. It was slightly sweetened by the maple syrup Dean had drizzled over the toast and it actually tasted pretty good. Although Dean was willing to bet it'd taste even better licked out of Sam's mouth. 

"Mmm," Dean hummed, just a little sexually, only enough to make it look unintentional. It worked perfectly, because Sam's pupils dilated slightly and he adjusted in his chair, eyes darting down to Dean's lips. Tiny, slight things that wouldn't have been noticeable at all if Sam wasn't still staring at his mouth. 

The tip of Dean's tongue darted out to lick imaginary syrup from the corner of his mouth and that was all it took. He barely had the warning sound of the scrape of Sam's chair before he was being lifted out of his own, Sam's hands tightly wound in fists in the front of Dean's shirt as their mouths collided. 

It was only a few moments more before Dean was on his back on the floor, a stack of books pushed to the side to make room for them both as Sam stripped off their clothes and tossed them God knows where. 

Twenty minutes and some sweating and swearing later, Dean was trying to get his breath back as Sam reached for the closest shirt to wipe them both clean. 

God, Sam was good at that. Dean didn't even mind that his back ached right now for being relentlessly drilled into the hard wood floors. He's probably be complaining later (maybe he'd make Sam give him a back massage to make up for it) but for now he was content to just lie here on the floor with his aching back and fucked out body and sensitive ass. 

And he'd been right, Sam _did_ taste like strawberries. 

Deeming them sufficiently clean enough, Sam collapsed down on the floor next to Dean, scooting another book aside to make room for his head. They laid there side by side on the floor for a few moments as Dean inwardly snorted at Sam's comment from earlier. He'd been the one complaining about them screwing on the floor before he finished his breakfast and look how that turned out. 

Although, really, Dean was quite glad it did. 

"Did you really not know it was Valentine's Day?" Dean asked, breaking the blissful silence that had settled over them as he turned his head to look at Sam where he was laying. 

Sam huffed a laugh, turning his head to look at Dean too. "I'm surprised _you_ knew. It's not exactly like we celebrate holidays." 

"You are a terrible boyfriend," Dean informed him. 

Sam reached over and flicked Dean's bicep, eliciting a higher-pitched-than-he'd-like-to-admit "ow!" 

"You love me," Sam declared, like it was a challenge. Dean broke out in another one of those damned grins he couldn't seem to hold back today. 

"I do," Dean confirmed.

"You looove meee," Sam sing-songed, turning his head back to look up at the ceiling. Dean kept watching Sam, his grin getting wider and cheesier. 

"Yes," Dean said again, his smile practically shining in his tone. 

"You love me," Sam said again, like he was confirming a question this time. He turned his head to face Dean, eyes searching out the answer on Dean's face as if he really wasn't sure. Sam's smile didn't falter a bit, but his eyes showed a little insecurity that meant he actually needed it confirmed right now, needed to be sure. 

"Til the stars come crashing down around us," Dean promised, his words suddenly serious as the smile slipped from his mouth.

Sam's grin faded too, both of them just looking at each other now as the weight of Dean's words sunk in. 

After a few more seconds of staring at each other's eyes, Sam's hand came up and cupped Dean's jaw, thumb stroking over his cheekbone as Dean looked back at Sam with emotions racing over his face. The depth of this, of what they had between them...

"Til the stars come crashing down around us," Sam promised back, words barely more than a whisper. 

The memory started to flicker as scenes cut from that moment to the kiss afterwards, to Dean jumping up and Sam's eyes trained on his ass as he ran back to the kitchen stark naked, shouting back at Sam 

"Do you want me to make chocolate cake?" 

And Sam following after him with their clothes because no way in hell was he going to let Dean cook naked. He'd be using the oven and if he burnt any of that precious, perfect skin... 

Eventually the memory slipped away entirely and the cold, aloneness of reality slipped back in. 

One year later and things couldn't be more different between them. 

Sam sighed, setting down his book on the little table beside him. Two fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose as Sam closed his eyes against the oncoming headache. 

Was Dean thinking about that same memory too? 

Wouldn't that be ironic, for the two of them to be in opposite ends of the bunker, both haunted by the memories of this exact day a year ago. They could have both been going over that same scene in their heads at the same time, Sam in his reading chair with a pointless book clenched in his hands and Dean in his room, doing whatever the hell he'd been doing lately to entertain himself. 

Or maybe Dean was replaying the later part of that day, the afternoon they spent eating homeade cake in front of Sam's laptop while they watched that Valentine's horror flick Dean loved, some 3D bloody thing. 

Then there was that evening, when Sam had convinced Dean to go on a walk with him to burn off the calories they'd just consumed. Dean had bundled up in Sam's old gray hoodie, the one that didn't even fit Sam anymore, and they'd just walked along the road for a bit, probably halfway to the bridge before Dean started complaining about his hands going numb. Sam had been more than willing to help remedy that with a hot shower and the back rub Dean had been trying to weasel out of Sam all day. 

Of course, rubbing the knots out of Dean gorgeous, freckled back led to other things that definitely still included rubbing. 

Was Dean thinking about any of that? Was his mind just trapped on the fantastic sex they'd had after that back rub or was he thinking of the little things too, like the quiet word Dean had whispered into Sam's skin as they fell asleep curled around each other that night? _Mine_.

Had Dean even remembered today was Valentine's at all?

Part of Sam just want to go look, go check on him. But he couldn't. Not when Dean would read too much into it. Not when Dean didn't love Sam, not really. 

_Til the stars come crashing down around us._

Sam looked at the back of his hand, tracing his fingers over the symbol invisible to his eyes but not to his skin. He could still feel it, that mark they'd made on each other. Sowilo, Dean had given him. _The sun_. 

They'd stood under the stars together, tracing one of the symbols on Dean's hand into the sky, their personal constellation. Rewind a few months and they're under the same sky somewhere else and the stars _were_ crashing down around them. In the form of flaming, broken angels. 

So had that been where it all ended? Where that love had stopped? When the stars came crashing down around them?

A quiet sound made Sam snap out of it, something like a soft thump. His head shot up, ears tuned in to catch anything else. There was no follow-up sound. 

He couldn't really explain why he shot out of his chair, except that he hadn't seen Dean since that time in the kitchen two days ago and Sam was honestly worried about him. He'd never seen Dean shut out the world like that and it was terrible. And definitely worrisome.

Sam slowed once he landed in front of Dean's door, though. He hesitated, because what if it was nothing? What if he went barging in there and Dean was fine? Or pissed that Sam came to check on him? That thump could have been a lot of things. It could have been...

He wracked his brain, trying to think of anything that would be a reason for him to turn around and go back to his reading chair, find a book that would actually keep his mind of everything. He couldn't think of a single explanation. 

Sam turned the knob, opening the door just slightly. "Dean?" He called out softly, inching the door open bit by bit. Dean's room ( ~~their room~~ ) unfolded into view but there was no verbal response. Sam didn't see him at first, not til the door was more than halfway open.

There were a few seconds that went by so fast Sam's not sure they even happened; one second he was standing in the doorway, pushing the door open slowly and the next he was on his knees on the ground next to Dean's body. 

Dean was on his stomach a few inches away from his dresser, head turned slightly to the side so his nose wasn't squashed into the floor. One arm was crumpled and pinned underneath his body and the other was splayed out like he'd been flailing as he fell. His ankles were crossed, feet overlapping each other and generally just looking tangled up. 

"Dean!" Sam heard his voice, sounding as wrecked as he felt, echo around the room again. He wrapped a hand over Dean's closest shoulder, the normally strong and beautiful muscle feeling weak and small in his hands. The other hand went to Dean's hip, thumb pressing in to the same spot Sam always did, realizing belatedly that Dean wasn't going to have Sam shaped bruises there anymore. 

Dean's body felt frail and so breakable as Sam rolled him over onto his back, having to half-lift and scoot Dean further away from the dresser as he rolled. Once Dean was on his back, Sam's eyes took inventory of his body again, checking for any obvious outward damage. His ankles didn't looked twisted or out of place, which was Sam's first guess. Legs looked fine from what Sam could see. Dean's shirt had ridden up some, exposing his lower stomach and hip bones. 

Sam's eyes couldn't leave Dean's hips for a moment. They were jutting out from his body, looking sharp enough to cut the paper-thin skin stretched over them. Dean had lost weight, weight he couldn't afford to lose. True, Dean's stomach wasn't sculpted like Sam's, but his slight softness around his torso was healthy and perfect and made Dean feel about 9 times more real and human. All of that was gone. He was a little afraid to look, but Sam's fingers pushed up Dean's tshirt anyways. (Why was he only wearing a tshirt? It was freezing.) Dean's ribs were all outlined, heavy and obvious against his pale torso. Sam traced tentative fingers over them, sucking in a breath at how much weight Dean had lost. 

When had Dean stopped eating? No, more importantly, when was the last time Dean _ate_? As in a healthy, nutritious meal. Sam was always getting on to Dean about healthiness, but even a hamburger at a diner was better than living on whiskey and pretzels. So had Dean just stopped caring for his body the moment Sam wasn't there to pester him about it? 

It might have seemed strange for Sam to currently be tracing the outlines of his brother's bare rib cage but this was the man who Sam had slept with for years now and slept beside his entire life. Sam knew Dean's body. He could tell everything about it, down to whether Dean had decided on an extra slice of pie at the diner. Dean was never fat, never even close, despite his occasional self consciousness. He wasn't built like Sam but he still had a unique set of muscles carving out his stomach. And occasionally an inch of plushness around his hips that Sam had always secretly loved seeing because it meant had eaten enough, was nourished and not hungry for once. Because Sam had seen Dean go hungry before, more times than he ever should have had to, and it was absolutely terrible. This time, the state of Dean's malnourished body ranked right up there with that time in Eagleton. Except it was _preventable_ now.

This much damage couldn't have been just from the past 5 days. Well, maybe, but he still would have had to be at least unhealthy to begin with. Sam ducked his head down and ran frustrated fingers through his hair. Why, Dean, why? Sam had so much to worry about and now he had to add this to the list. Whether or not his brother was malnourished enough to get himself killed unsuspectedly on some hunt. 

Okay, he still hadn't finished checking over Dean's body. He had to get back to that. Sam lifted his head and followed his gaze up from Dean's chest to his arms - which were fine - and his neck, which looked like it was holding zero of the weight of his head. Dean's lips were dry and paler than usual, and Sam was proud of himself for repressing the urge to run his thumb over them. His eyes were still closed, hair crazily mused - 

Sam's entire body went cold as his eyes fell on the matted hair on the side of Dean's head. He hadn't seen it earlier because it was the side closest to the dresser then, the side pressed to the floor, but now that Dean was rolled over, there it was. Bright and shiny and red, matted in the hair at his hairline. The tip of the gash peeked onto Dean's forehead, looking more like a split on his skin than a cut. 

Everything went in slow motion again as Sam sunk from his knees to sitting cross legged on the ground by Dean's head, carefully pulling Dean's head and shoulders into his lap as his fingers tentatively skirted over the wound. Dean had hit his head on the dresser, that was the only thing that would cause a gash like this and the angle was just right. He'd stumbled somehow, fallen and hit his head on the dresser and promptly passed out cold. That was the thump Sam had heard: Dean hitting the ground. 

"Dean? Dean, c'mon, answer me. Dean!" Sam was afraid to shake Dean's shoulders, just in case he had a concussion. God, that gash looked awful. Sam had patched Dean up from a lot more serious injuries than a bleeding head bash, but concussions were never good. Neither was walking into your brother's room to find him passed out on the floor and weighing a quarter less than the last time you'd seen him shirtless. 

Sam's fingers probed gently around the cut, looking for swelling. It was hot and hard to the touch, a smaller sized lump already forming under his fingertips. Sam wasn't sure why Dean had fallen but if it had been because of the drinking Sam was just going to _slaughter_ him. 

"Sammy?" Dean croaked out, making Sam's eyes shoot from the bloody bump on Dean's head to his open eyes, which were looking up at him confusedly and a little glassed over. He had to have fallen because of the alcohol; Sam could still see the remnants of the poison in Dean's eyes. Half drunk and probably concussed, propped up in Sam's arms as Sam fretted over the minor wound to Dean's head. 

Not exactly the Valentine's Day they had last year. 

"What happened?" Sam demanded, sounding a little pissed but dammit he was. Dean was making stupid fucking decisions and it was going to end him a lot sooner than Dean thought. Dean winced at Sam's tone of voice, or maybe at the throbbing his head was probably feeling. 

"I dunno, I was just walkin' towards the door when everything got fuzzy and turny and then the dresser was in my face and then...you're here." Dean blinked confusedly up at Sam like he couldn't figure out why Sam was here. Yeah, Sam didn't really know either. 

"Okay, do you think you can sit up?" Sam's voice was barely gentler, but he was pissed that he'd been right about blaming the whiskey for Dean's fall. Dean struggled to lift his upper half into a sitting position. From where Dean's shirt was still lifted, Sam could see his ab muscles straining and too weak to make sitting up easy. Not that it mattered, because the second Dean's center of gravity shifted, a few inches off Sam's lap, he let out a cry of pain and fell back down onto Sam's thigh, hand flying to his head and drawing away with blood on his fingertips. 

"Ow?" Dean managed weakly, staring at the blood on his hand. His eyes were fluttering like the world was still spinning, looking more glassy than ever. 

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Sam asked, sticking a hand in front of Dean's face. Dean's eyes were closed now, like the spin of the room was too much. He didn't open them to look at Sam's fingers, he just responded. 

"The last three on your right hand." Well, screw him. Sam switched his finger position, huffing at Dean's annoying and accurate prediction. He didn't even _look_. 

"How about now?"

"Four," Dean replied without opening his eyes. Again. Just because he knew Sam didn't mean he didn't have to take the damn concussion test. Sam wanted to punch his shoulder playfully, shoot a _fine, smartass_ at him and kiss that pretty mouth until Dean listened to him and stopped being so recklessly stupid. 

"Well let's just _hope_ you don't have a concussion then." Sam spat out, definitely at the point of annoyed here. He was trying to make sure Dean was okay and Dean wasn't cooperating with Sam's help at all. 

"What would you care if I did?" Dean shot back, eyes screwing tighter shut defiantly. 

Sam just looked at him incredulously for a moment. Really? Really, Dean was going to bring that up now? When Sam was trying to help him? Sam hardened his face up to stone, uncaring and kind of glaring, the moment before Dean opened his eyes back up. 

"Let's move you to the bed," Sam said flatly. "You'd be complaining more if you had a concussion." 

Dean just snorted humorlessly. But he at least grabbed onto the dresser and aided Sam in lifting Dean off the floor. Sam should half just left after that comment, left Dean drunk and bleeding on the floor. But this was Dean and Sam couldn't do that. Besides, clearly Dean had been rushing out of his room in a hurry. Sam would definitely like to know why. 

Together they hobbled a groaning Dean to his bed. ~~Sam's~~ side of the bed was closer but Dean refused to walk that way, insisting they take the long way around to Dean's side of the bed. 

Dean's weight was mostly propped on Sam, but he looked like he'd rather be back on the floor than carried by the little brother he apparently hated right now. 

As soon as Dean was situated on the mattress - Sam fought the urge to prop both pillows up under him and tuck blankets around his body like a caterpillar - Sam sat down by his feet, hands in tight fists in his lap. 

Dean lifted his eyes to Sam's face, looking more than a little shocked that Sam was still in the same room as him. And sitting on thei- _Dean's_ bed. Dean blinked like maybe he was hallucinating, but Sam didn't move. 

"What happened?" Sam asked, sounding more scolding than the dying curiousity he was actually feeling. 

"I told you, I-"

"No, I mean why were you leaving your room fast enough that the booze got to your head and knocked you over?" Sam's voice was colder than he felt and Dean bristled at it, at what Sam said. "I mean, it's not like leaving your room is a regular thing for you anymore." 

"The _booze_ did not get to me, thank you, I wa-"

"Cut the crap." Dean froze again, his glare melting a little as Sam pinned him with a serious look. "What was going on?"

Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, trying to find a motive probably. He wanted to know why Sam cared, why Sam was curious, but Sam just stared blankly back at him. Dean sighed and looked away, deflating in his surrender as he winced slightly and touched his fingers to his head again.

"I haven't eaten in a few days and I was really craving strawberries..." Dean trailed off and paled, slowly looking up to meet Sam's eyes. The realization hit them both as they looked at each other, Dean's worried features matching Sam's _oh_ face. 

So Dean had remembered then. He's been thinking about it. And now he knew Sam had too, he could probably read it all over Sam's face or in the surprised quiet sound he'd made at the mention of strawberries. 

And now this awkward silence had fallen between them because the weight of what was before crushed over on top of the weight of what was now and it was all just too much at once. Not when all these wounds between them were still so fresh. 

"But I'm fine now," Dean croaked out, turning his head to the side and not looking at Sam anymore. It looked almost painful for him to say the next part. "You can go." 

It wasn't the you _should_ go that Sam was expecting. It was an open invitation instead. The "can" implied with the voice that said Dean really hoped Sam's wouldn't. A hopeful, pained gesture that had to rip Dean up inside to say, just for the fear that Sam might actually listen to him and go. 

"Okay," Sam said, standing back up and feeling like he was watching himself leave again from another perspective. He watched his long strides take him to the door, hesitate, then walk past the threshold and close the door behind him. 

He didn't look back and he didn't see the flood of despair and disappointment that crossed Dean's face. It was Valentine's Day and Sam had left Dean all alone with a bleeding head. Had left them both alone. 

If only this didn't have to be done. If only Dean hadn't made this Sam's only choice. If only it had been easier, less painful. If only they hadn't been so blinded by each other that they lost themselves and destroyed the world. 

If only. So it goes. 

Sam's feet steered him numbly towards the bookshelf of novels, in particular the shelf of classics. "So it goes" had reminded him he'd been on a classics kick lately and could definitely go for losing himself in the distractions of New York, Holden Caulfield style. 

He froze then, looking back over his shoulder. Shit. He'd left his Catcher in the Rye novel on Dean's bedside table like a month ago. He could go back and get it, there was a good chance Dean wouldn't say anything after Sam had just walked out the way he did. 

No, he couldn't do it. He couldn't go waltzing back in there, scoop up his book, and leave. Let Dean read the damn book instead.

His footsteps started up again, taking him to the bookshelf. There were plenty of other classics he could start in on. He's read the whole Dorothy series the Men of Letters' had, but obviously being the geeks they were it was barely a dent in their collection of classic novels.

Sam's eyes scanned over the bookshelf he'd gotten the other classics from, looking for anything he hadn't read in a while. There was always -

His gaze caught on a tattered red book, shoved in between Slaughterhouse Five and Wuthering Heights. The gold letters on that signature solid red background, _The Catcher in the Rye_. Dean had put it in Sam's bookshelf for him. It was Sam's personal copy, not the Men of Letters', but Sam could swear it had not been there two days ago. That means Dean had returned it, had left his miserable shell in his room just to get rid of that piece of Sam he'd left behind. 

The sudden urge to run back to Dean's room battled pretty hard against the urge to burn the book, but Sam kind of just stood there staring at it instead. Had Dean returned everything Sam had left in his room? If Sam were to go to his room now, would he find the clothes he'd left in Dean's dresser? Would Dean have given back the gray hoodie or kept it for himself? Did he do stupid things like Sam had last week, having to convince himself out of sleeping with Dean's favourite tshirt just because it smelled like him? Or had Dean just catharsized himself completely from Sam?

Okay, there was no way Sam was reading that book. He snatched the one next to it, backing away from the bookshelf like it was something dangerous before dropping down in a chair, staring at the red book from across the room for a few seconds longer before he decided he was acting like a three year old and promptly opened up what he'd grabbed. Wuthering Heights, which he didn't remember very well. But he wasn't getting up and going near that book again anytime soon, so looks like Whiny Catherine it is.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There were another two days and cold nights in an unfamiliar room all by himself, wondering if Dean was sleeping and worrying to hell about a concussion that Dean wasn't going to admit to if he had one or not. Basically Sam didn't sleep much at all. If any. But in the rare moments that his eyes shut and his body slipped barely below the surface of consciousness, there were a few more glimpses of dreams: memories caught up here and there that were too vague for him to place a time or date to. 

Dean looking over at Sam from the driver's seat, a soft smile on his face. Dean's hands stroking the sides of Sam's face, pinning back his hair to kiss at the corners of Sam's mouth. Dean scooting a bowl of cereal across the table for Sam, a playful comment about growing sasquatches needing their nutrients making Sam smile. Dean's lips parted and his eyes shut as his head tipped back, baring his neck and his soul for Sam to take and mark as his own. Dean in just his boxers, sitting on a bench at the laundromat and whooping in joy as he destroyed Sam in his modified version of B.S. again. Dean's quiet under-the-breath singing when he thought Sam was asleep in shotgun. The light of mid afternoon catching on Dean's eyes and making them glint surreally pretty as he just continued on rambling, entirely unaware of how Sam was staring. 

Dean, passed out on the floor of his room, empty bottle of Jack lying on the ground next to his bed. The clot of red at his brow line, that fleeting moment where Sam couldn't feel Dean's pulse.

The time Dean had his face slashed up by a daiva, the brilliant red gashes that had left silvery scars on Dean's forehead. Dean lying gray and ashen in a hospital bed, the words _heart attack_ and _electrocution_ feeling like Sam's death sentence instead of Dean's. Another hospital bed, another deep gash on Dean's forehead, this time _coma_ and _car crash_ making Sam feel so sick he wasn't sure he could breathe. 

Sam finally gave up trying to sleep, unable to decide if the memories of Dean hurt or happy were more heartbreaking. He sat at the desk in his room, fretting over Dean dying of alcohol poisoning or a harder hit to the head or choking on his own puke or something stupid as fuck like that. Sam had watched Dean die hundreds of times, had seen all of those things and worse happen to his brother but somehow those Tuesday's had felt less permanent. They never stopped being painful or terrifying, but Sam had slowly come to believe he would wake up the next day and Dean would be okay. 

He didn't want to worry about Dean right now, not when that was kind of the point of this whole fight (they couldn't let each other go) but he was helpless and concerned anyways. It wasn't like Dean was going to come to him for help either. Dean was as stubborn as Sam was. Right now, he could break his leg and still insist on walking everywhere himself. When they were fighting, Dean shut himself off from Sam entirely. Wouldn't so much as ask for Sam to stitch him up right now if he needed it. 

Sam was lost in that thought, staring vehemently at the papers on his desk and wishing everything hadn't gotten so bad between them. 

"SAAMM!"

The shout of his name was probably the single most surprising moment of Sam's life. Dean didn't call for help, not even really when they weren't fighting. If he was calling for Sam now, in the middle of the worst fight of their lives? He'd told Sam to leave the day before yesterday after he'd been hurt, so if he was _calling_ Sam after refusing to even leave his room for the past few days - 

Sam bolted across his bedroom so fast he almost skid into the wall. His heart was pounding in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Something had to be so terribly terribly wrong if Dean was calling for him. And it wasn't like that was a normal call either, that was a deep, intense _Saamm!_ that had Sam short-circuiting with worry and concern for his brother.

"Dean?" Sam called as he yanked open his bedroom door, reaching for the light switch first thing. It was still a little early and a little dark down here. Dean wasn't in the hallway like it sounded he might have been - god, he'd had to have _shouted_ , really loudly, for Sam to have heard him from this far away. The lights flickered above Sam's head, making every hair in his body stand up. Wary alert engrained into his brain took the edge off of his freaking out, a bit of logic seeping involuntarily into his crazy concern. 

If that was a spirit, Dean might be in more trouble than Sam thought. He took off down the hallway, running down the expanse that had never felt longer, rounding the corner to rush to Dean's bedroom. The lights were fizzing and flickering him around him but Sam was searching vehemently for his brother now and nothing else really mattered. He skid into the doorway of Dean's room, eyes scanning the expanse of emptiness. Dean's headphones were abandoned on the bedspread but everything else was tidy and entirely Dean-less. That wasn't concerning at all.

"Dean?" Sam yelled again, beyond the point of caring about how desperate he sounded. Dean was in trouble and he needed Sam ~~(or Sam's help)~~ and Sam _couldn't find him_.

He took off to the library next, swinging open that door too and rushing inside, eyes looking for the slightest clue. He had barely taken a step inside the library before a chair caught his attention, spinning around in circles all on its own. It was going too steadily to have been from when Dean brushed past it, so more spirit activity? Definitely something supernatural, then. And Sam was running around like a madman, entirely unarmed in his pajamas as he freaked out over his brother. Weapon, weapon -

There was an iron sword there, on the racks. Sam stepped forward and grabbed it, wielding it in front of him and feeling a smidgen better now that he could actually protect Dean when he found him. He carefully walked further into the library, towards the direction of the computer room. He wasn't so out of his head that he couldn't check around corners, but everything felt infuriatingly slower now that he was being properly cautious. Dean hadn't called his name again and Sam was going to freak out soon if he didn't find him. 

The sound of wind brushed Sam's ears and he spun around, sword in front of him. Nothing was moving behind him, just the light reflection of the telescope in its cove. He turned back the direction he'd been facing, heart kicking in his chest as he raised the sword up higher and took a few steps forward. God, where was Dean? Sam kept going, ever cautious but needing to get to Dean more than needing to figure out what was going on right now. 

The computer room opened up into sight, map table flickering in time with the lights above the staircase. Dean wasn't in here either, from what minimal view Sam had. Just a few more steps forward and he'd have the view around the corner of that wall. Still no Dean. Dean wasn't even in the hallways that Sam could see. Where the fuck had Dean gone? Sam wanted to call out for him again but whatever supernatural entity that was making the electricity short circuit might not take to well to Sam's random shouting. 

He stepped down further into the computer room, looking over the map table. There were a few files on it but nothing that would hint at what the hell was going on. What was going o--

Sam spun around quickly, the sound of wind again alerting his ears, but this time a hell of a lot closer. He turned around just in time to see the silvery white shape advancing on him, almost close enough to touch. There was a brief moment of hesitation born solely from surprise, then the figure was blasted into bits before Sam could swing his sword. The sound of a shotgun firing echoed around him as Sam's pulse took off and he spun around to face the source. 

Dean ( _thankgod_ ) was standing there in the doorway of a hallway, smoking shotgun in hand. The scruff in combination with the dark gray henley and blue jeans made him look smaller than Sam was used to seeing him. More like the wreck he'd been a few days ago and less like the big brother Sam had fallen in love with. 

But Sam was not going to think about that right now. 

"So..." Sam said, letting out the breath he'd been holding. Funny how now, after almost getting jumped by a ghost, he felt a thousand times calmer than he had a minute ago. Because at least he knew Dean was okay. And hadn't called him because of a concussion or worse injury or getting jumped by a ghost himself.

"Yep. Bunker's haunted," Dean flatlined, shifting on his feet in the doorway. He looked like a mix between peeved and still upset, so Sam decided against asking him about his head. It would be easier just to pretend that the day before yesterday had never happened. The gash was clean and invisible in Dean's hairline, so it wasn't like Sam even had an excuse to ask. 

In fact, Sam wasn't sure he really had an excuse to talk about Dean with anything right now. Not anything about them, anyways. Sam was pretty sure that if Dean had finally come to an awakening to the damage they'd done by being so blind, he'd have told Sam by now. And they could work on a solution. But Dean was too busy being offended and stubborn to listen to logic, leaving them in that pointless place where Sam was still mad at Dean for unforgivenly destroying their purpose in life and parading like it was the right thing to do.

Oh, and taking away Sam's free will and opinion of choice. That small thing. Funny how whenever they were apart Sam missed Dean like crazy but when he was standing in the same room as him, he was reminded of all of the reasons why he was pissed. And heartbroken. Because Dean didn't love him, couldn't let him go.

Okay, Sam was seriously going to stare at Dean and think about this until it ate him alive if he didn't say something.

"Well it's been a while since we've ganked a ghost so...I'll stock up on salt rounds." The words felt awkward, like Sam had shoved them into place in a conversation that had been going on without him. Dean just nodded, barely, then turned around and walked off. And Sam was dismissed, again, but actually kind of thankful for it this time.

Even if he felt about ten thousand times better when Dean was in the room with him, it was hard. He was pissed but his body was still dying to just pull Dean into his arms and kiss that scruffy face until he was burning with it. 

Okay, salt rounds. Sam busied himself getting the materials and setting up shop on the kitchen table. He was pretty sure Dean was avoiding the kitchen table now - Sam knew Dean well enough to know he associated memories with places (hence why he didn't want to go back to their house in Lawrence all those years ago, or why he'd left the bunker after Kevin died) - and figured he'd nip that in the bud now before Dean never ate in that room again. He did stupid things like that, which Sam figured all related back to the intricate mask system Dean had set up to make him feel numb from things that threatened to hurt him. 

And Sam wasn't being sadistic by forcing Dean to join him in here, he was helping. Because yes, he was mad, but no, he didn't hate his brother. Just what they'd come to. And the choices Dean had made. Annd --

Dean's footsteps stopped Sam's thought process (the same one) from happening all over again (because what else was he supposed to think about besides Dean?). Sam purposely didn't look up though, not until Dean was in the room and talking. He wasn't going to let on how desperate he'd been searching for Dean earlier, and he had to not come across as desperate now.

"How is this possible?" Dean asked, sounding like the petulant, happier version of himself for just a moment as he pouted, turning to the coffee machine with barely a glance in Sam's direction. Then he turned around, fully facing Sam with his arms out in the animated previous version of himself. And Sam kept trying not to read too much into every movement Dean was making. "I thought you said this was the safest place on the planet."

"Look, I know nothing got in. I mean, the bunker is warded and sigiled from top to bottom. There's no way something came in from the outside." Sam let his research tone of voice take over, making everything about the case because everything else was just too complicated.

"Okay, so whoever's haunting us...died here." Dean was putting his own logic voice on, but for some reason it didn't sound nearly as forced as Sam's. Sam stared down at the bullet casings in his hands, trying not to think about the way the word _us_ sounded coming out of Dean's mouth.

"What, dead man of letters?" Sam suggested a little skeptically, but letting Dean make the suggestion a confirmation or dismissal. Like usual. Sam couldn't even count the number of times his suggestions came out that way, just a suggestion until Dean decided whether or not it was worth looking into. It had always just been that way, Sam has ideas and Dean decides on their credibility. Wow, Sam was so Dean-deprived he was analyzing every ounce of their interactions.

"No, that doesn't track. I mean, we're the first people to occupy this place in 50 years. Why would a ghost wait so long to get its spook on?" Sam listened to Dean talk without looking at him. Mostly because Dean had cleaned up a little, gelled his hair and thrown a black button up over his grey henley and if that sounded gorgeous that's because it was. So he focused on bullet packing instead. Much less distracting than black and grey layers over curves and edges Sam hadn't gotten to touch for real in what felt like years.

"Must have been a more recent death," Sam said, emphasis on recent. He looked down at his work as he said it because he knew Dean would get exactly what he was implying and he didn't want to see Dean's face when he did. 

There was a moment or two of heavy silence before Dean spoke, his voice quiet and sure. "No."

Sam looked up, taking in Dean's posture. Arms crossed, leaning his hips on the edge of the shelf. Defensive and small. But the worst part was his eyes. They were watering up, on the verge of tears, not an ounce of anger in them. Just depressed denial. Sam was so not okay with seeing Dean cry, he'd never make it through that, but he had to ask the question anyways.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I burned his body myself." Dean's voice was loud and escalated into offended by the end of that, then it suddenly dropped off into dangerously-quiet territory that could definitely mean upcoming tears. "Okay? It's not him."

"Okay, so you cremated him," Sam pointed out, because this wasn't something they could just toss aside because Dean was upset about it. Dean was all defensive posture and Sam knew Dean was in that psychological place that he wouldn't listen to Sam unless Sam got up and went over and talked to him. Which he did, not failing to notice the tense lines forming around Dean's mouth as he stepped around the side of the breakfast table. "We cremated Bobby, too, and he came back."

"Sam, I'm telling you --" Dean's voice was higher, his shoulders lifting in mild mania. He was on the verge of flipping out, Sam could see it. Dean was on that brink between either screaming or storming off or punching something or breaking down in a puddle of tears on the ground. He just couldn't tell if he was exasperating it by standing closer, or helping hold it off. Dean stuck out his hand, gesturing at the bunker. "This ghost, it's not Kevin."

 _Dingdingdingdingdingding_. The coffeemaker behind Dean started going crazy, lights flashing as the numbers on the digital clock sped through a range of digits. Dean turned around to stare at it like Sam was, picking up the perfect timing with the dinging sounds and Kevin's name. Sam stepped closer to Dean automatically and Dean shifted back a few inches, welcoming the proximity with his body. Clearly, Dean wasn't going to ask the question, so Sam directed his voice to the coffeemaker.

"Kevin?"

A coffee mug exploded in a shatter of porcelain, raining down pieces on the floor. Dean made a surprised sound, jumping back and nearly landing on Sam's foot. Sam pretended not to notice, just looking at the coffee machine instead. Well, Kevin, instead.

The ghost of Kevin, their first case after the biggest breakup/fight they'd ever had. 

Sam wasn't sure if this was going to be the best possible thing for them or the worst. Either Dean would realize how much they needed to fix and change, or this space between them was going to fill with more hatred for everything that had happened to them before it eventually turned on each other. 

Either way, at least it meant Dean didn't have to deal with leaving the bunker. 

Until, of course, Kevin threw a wrench into that idea and sent them on the road. 

The car ride to Wichita wasn't the way Sam thought it would be. Things weren't getting easier between them, persay. It was more like they just were getting used to the new boundaries, to the not-touching and the not-thinking. And in Sam's case, getting used to the idea that Dean loved Sam's company more than Sam himself. _You didn't do it for me, you just didn't want to be alone._

It was all getting slightly more tolerable and the car ride wasn't terrible at all. Words were lighter between them since they'd been since the fight. Then again, they hadn't spent this much time together in a week. It felt like every movement was new territory all over again. They'd reverted to the days when they'd shared fleeting glances and wondering questions and aching hearts and not much else. 

But walking into the woods with Dean on his heels brought back all sorts of memories that were much newer than the not-unrequited-love of their past. They were out hiking in the woods and the last time they'd done this (and the time before that, and the time before that) there had been some hardcore woods-sex engaged in. Dean had always had a bit of an outdoor kink, and like everything else Sam had convinced Dean to fess up to, Sam was happy to indulge him. They'd had sex outside at Bobby's (in just cowboy hats, god), they'd had sex outside last vampire hunt they'd been on, they'd had sex in the woods in North Carolina and Michigan, and they'd nearly had sex outside the bunker, but Dean had complained about a lack of blankets that time. That was the one stipulation, because unless there was a river to wash off in (there had been a river in North Carolina - that had been amazing) then Dean would bitch about getting dirt in places there should never be dirt. 

And now they were walking through the woods again and Sam could practically feel Dean's heat behind him. What he would give to know what was running through Dean's head right now...was he thinking about the same things Sam was? The smell of pine just felt like it should be mixed with the smell of Dean. The slight chill in the air should be contrasted with warm, freckled skin and a pink mouth pressing kisses to Sam's neck. 

The banter between them stayed fairly comfortable. It wasn't anywhere near their normal brotherly teasing, or their boyfriend heckling, but it was still better than the hours of silence and distance that had shoved its way between them. 

"All right, that's the trestle. Candy said her spirit was stuck nearby." The ground was softer underfoot than Sam would expect it to be in February. But it wasn't like Kansas ever got mountains of snow. The train trestle that opened up next to the clearing was absolutely gorgeous, an architectural piece that would look amazing in a photograph, if Sam could actually take pictures. Other than the trestle, though, they were basically in the middle of nowhere. Just the center of the woods with nothing around but wood and trees.

"She died here?" Dean asked, his green eyes darting around their surroundings. His eyes were lighter colored than the pine trees but blended in just the same, everything green and piney and so _Dean_ that Sam just wanted to wrap himself up in it and never leave.

"Yeah," Sam said instead of the millions of thoughts about how beautiful Dean was that were running through his head. Despite the scruff and the I-hate-myself look Dean was trying to portray, he was still the most stunning thing Sam had ever seen.

"Dude, what got her? A bear?" Dean looked around the empty forrest in disdain. For someone who liked having sex in the woods, Dean actually was not really an outdoorsy person. Sam was pretty sure he just liked the change of scenery. Or, although Dean would never admit it, he was deep enough to appreciate the beauty of nothing but nature surrounding something so natural and beautiful. No buzzing electric lights or synthetic materials or walls to close in their love, just the world and the nature in all of its open beauty for the two of them to take and make their own as they connected themselves as close as two human beings could be. 

Which was totally not what they were out here for. At least Dean was moping less, even complaining with his vaguely normal use of the word _dude_.

"I'm still stuck on the fact that we're trying to summon a ghost named Candy." Sam joked back. Well, what was going for 'joking' between them nowadays. "You know, just 'cause Kevin said he heard his mom is alive doesn't mean she --"

"Hey, we at least owe it to the kid to try, right?" Dean interrupted, and just like that the light mood was gone. They did owe it to Kevin. They owed a hell of a lot more than this to Kevin. But Sam wasn't like Dean and he wasn't going to destroy himself by thinking about it. No, apparently he was just going to destroy himself thinking about Dean and all the things they used to have instead. 

The later it got, the darker it got and the colder it got. The radio and coffee machine Dean had brought were both practically useless so far. Neither so much as blipped for the hour and a half that had passed so far. 

Sam was doing his best not to look at Dean and not to think about how much warmer it'd be if they were just sitting a little closer. His foot was bumped up next to Dean's but that was the minimalist of comforts. The candles they had lit were basically useless, and the half-ass shelter they were propped up in wasn't doing anything against the weather. Dean had brought along an electric lantern that they always brought into the woods and everything was bathed in that bluish glow that made it feel darker than it was. 

Dean was drinking and Sam wasn't going to pretend to be surprised about that. He wasn't going to say anything about it either, because he was pretty sure he knew why Dean was drinking and he got it, he did. Well, not the quantity. Dean was drinking basically twenty-four seven and honestly Sam was surprised that Dean didn't spend more time raging drunk. His alcohol tolerance was ridiculous, though. Unfortunately.

"You feel that? I think I felt a chill." Sam looked over his shoulder, just in case, shivering at the sudden oncoming goosebumps going down his spine.

"Yeah. It's 'cause it's cold," Dean replied dryly, taking another sip from his beer. Sam decided not to respond to that, because the bitter tone in Dean's voice had more than a little implication behind it. _It's cold and it wouldn't be cold if we weren't fighting because we'd be doing things to keep us warm so this is your fault so don't complain about the damn cold_. 

No, it wasn't entirely irrational to read all of that into Dean's few words because that's exactly what his tone said and Sam was pretty sure after thirty years he knew his brother's different tones of voice.

Sam pursed his lips and purposefully averted his eyes as Dean lifted his phone to his ear _again_. He looked over his shoulder, scanning the trees and trying to focus on anything but Dean's every move.

"Crowley, it's Dean," Dean paused, his voice a mix between too friendly and vaguely hopeful. "Call me when you get this."

Dean hung up with a sigh that made him sound like a 15 year old girl and Sam had kept his mouth shut about this all night but there was only so much someone could take.

"Really, Dean?" Sam asked, looking straight forward with a face that tried to hold some form of non-jealousy that was probably failing miserably. 

"What?" Dean asked innocently, tucking his phone away in his pocket.

"That's your third unanswered voicemail." Yes, Sam had been counting. Yes, Sam noticed everytime Dean mentioned Crowley because it had plagued him since the day they met the demon and it had only exacerbated since and then there was still that time apart hanging over them, when Dean had hunted with Crowley and gotten the mark. Which Sam still had no description of. Dean had never gone into more detail than _I was with Crowley_. Which, knowing Crowley, meant that there had been plenty of shots at Dean from Crowley's end, plenty of manipulation and convincing and gay jokes that Sam would just love to flatten Crowley's face in for. 

But the worst part about the whole thing was that it didn't feel as one-sided as it used to. Dean had always trusted Crowley a little too much and Sam really tried not to be jealous, but how could he not be? Dean had just left the demon three unanswered voicemails. He didn't want to come across as jealous, but he also couldn't just sit here as Dean's ex-boyfriend and watch him dial up another guy three times.

"You ever think maybe he's just not that into you?" Sam tilted his head in a mocking grin, waiting for Dean to correct him and say something along the lines of _I'm sure he is, but I'm not so stop worrying_. So maybe Sam needed confirmation that Dean was interested in _Crowley_ of all people but it's not like he was asking for a lot here.

"Well, he is our last confirmed link to Ms. Tran," Dean said, all logic. And absolutely no denying that there might be something more there. Sam's heartbeat picked up, suddenly questioning for real. Was there actually something...no. No, even if Dean was interested in other people, he had higher standards than the king of hell. He had to. "Yes, he is a flaming douche, but at least we know he's real, which is more than we can say for this Candy no-show."

Okay, clearly Sam wasn't going to get anything more out of Dean while they were still fighting. If only Dean would just tell him what happened, soothe his nerves. 

Sam wouldn't worry about it at all if it weren't for the fact that it had happened before. Not Dean and Crowley in... _that_ way, just that Dean had chosen Crowley over Sam's judgement before. Hell, the first time they ever worked with Crowley, Crowley had given Dean the ultimatum to leave Sam behind or not get Crowley's help. And Dean had actually _left Sam behind_. Sam had been so surprised he couldn't even be mad, he just stared at Dean with his jaw on the floor. Dean, choosing to trust a demon and leaving Sam behind as a result. 

That had just been the first stepping stone. It felt like there had been a hundred since, Dean deciding not to kill Crowley for whatever reason he had. After the trials, Dean had saved Crowley from the church, put him in the trunk. Then spared his life. Then let him go. Then went and _hunted_ with him. 

Seriously, if Sam was suspicious, he had his reasons. The constant phone calls weren't helping his suspicions any, and neither was Dean's attitude about the whole thing. Once they were on the road to a storage facility, Dean was back on Side Crowley for whatever weird reason he kept doing that. 

"Human leverage. But why kill Candy?" They were talking in the car, going over ideas and theories for the captives. Both of them tended to work out cases better when they asked questions out loud, ran ideas by each other.

"Well, you heard her. Uh, she tried to make a break for it. Maybe Crowley wanted to make an example," Sam pointed out, happy to remind Dean that Crowley was in fact a _demon_ and _evil_.

"No. No," Dean protested immediately. Of fucking course he would defend Crowley. It was infuriating. Then Dean went on to paint Crowley into some kind of hero, that reverent tone in his voice that made Sam bristle up all over. "The guy left in charge. Crowley wanted the victims alive."

"So, what, you want to give him a medal? I mean, Crowley's the one who put them in the cells in the first place." Sam sounded like that jealous boyfriend again but was Dean seriously trying to hero-ize Crowley right now?

"Yeah, I know," Dean said too quickly, like he'd already excused Crowley of that. Sam was looking at him with his _are you kidding me_ face and Dean looked away from the road, eyes meeting Sam's for a second with a bit of that angry fire still in them. "I'm just talking it out. You know, working the case."

Dean turned back to the road, biting out the last word with as much implication on it as possible. "Businesslike."

Right, of course Dean would make this about that. Every conversation they tried to have and Dean took Sam's words and spun them back on him, trying to make Sam into this crazy, cold, heartless bitch that was trying to ruin everything. No, Sam was pretty sure that was Dean. 

Sam just rolled his eyes and looked back out the passenger side window. It was a movement that struck him as oddly familiar, but lacking in one crucial piece. Sam had probably rolled his eyes and looked out the passenger window a million times in this car, but most of those always were accompanied by an affectionate smile. Laughing at what ridiculous thing Dean had said, sighing at the pointless suggestions Dean made, but always grinning a little as he rolled his eyes and looked out the window. Except this time, Sam wasn't smiling at all. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

They split up in the storage facility, which was probably their first mistake. Obviously, Crowley wasn't going to leave his captives unguarded. But they had both been so caught up in this fight that neither of them were really thinking all that clearly, just assuming everything was going to go their way. 

Sam didn't hear Dean's _thick as thieves_ comment about Crowley, which was probably a really good thing. Because if he had been upset with jealousy before, Dean's description of his time with Crowley to the demon-in-charge while he was all tied up would have set Sam on fire. 

As it was, Sam ducked into the room just in time to see Dean tied up and bloody on the floor, demon-Del straddling Dean's legs with a knife in hand, aimed for his brother's chest. Sam rushed forward under the garage door but Dean had already kicked the bastard, sending him sprawling to the floor. The demon got back up, which was actually good for Sam because that means he got a better hit on him. 

Sam punched the guy, hard, sending him reeling backwards into a shelf. The demon collapsed to the floor in pained sounds and Sam had to fight the urge to run over there and cut the damn thing's head off. Instead he turned to Dean, breathing heavy as his eyes met his brother's. 

Dean tipped his head back against the pole he was tied to, exposing the red slash down his neck. A new wave of fury bubbled up in Sam's gut at the wound and Dean's eyes darted away from Sam's as he tried to catch his breath too. 

Only seconds later Sam was crouching down at Dean's side, tentative fingers running over the slash, checking for depth and wiping away some of the blood onto Sam's hands. 

"Fine, m'fine," Dean breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut. Yeah, okay, he'd just had a knife sliced into his skin and if he hadn't had a concussion from hitting his head before, the new gash and bump on the other side of his head was sure to give him one. He'd clearly been hit with something, hit the floor, and then cut up. But apparently he was fine.

If Mrs. Tran wasn't outside the door waiting, Sam would push it. He'd snap at Dean that knife gashes to the _neck_ combined with two matching bloody gashes on either side of his head two days in a row was not a decent enough definition of fine. He'd keep Dean there tressed to the pole until he had enough sense in him to let Sam treat his wounds.

But Sam just grit his teeth and kept his mouth shut, hands moving to the rope binding Dean's hands instead. His fingertips were slightly slippery from Dean's blood but he made quick work of the knot anyways. Dean had loosened it around his wrists so it was just a few tugs and Sam was unwinding the rope from Dean's wrists, grimacing in time with Dean's winces as the rope dragged over the burn it'd left behind on Dean's skin. Sam wanted to kiss the skin better but managed not to, just letting his bloody-slippery fingers drag over the raw redness instead.

Dean went still and quiet as Sam's fingers traced over the burns. Sam stared at Dean's hands, memorizing the feel of Dean's wrists beneath his fingertips again. They were both mesmerized, unable to see each other's face but actually touching for the first time in so long. Then a coughing noise from the demon's body snapped the tension in half, making them both move again, Dean to bring his hands back around to the front and Sam to stand, offering Dean a hand. 

Green eyes darted over Sam's hands warily, looking at the blood-smeared fingertips. Dean's head lowered to look at his hands, taking in the bloody marks Sam had left on his wrists. Evidence they'd just touched, evidence to burn both of them with something visual to accompany the wild tingling everywhere their skin had touched. 

Dean got up on his own, struggling to his feet and using the pole to lift him up, ignoring Sam's hand. Sam turned around then, back to Dean as he rolled the demon's body over onto its back. The eye began to flutter open and Sam took the opportunity to wind back his shoulder and send another crazed, wild punch at the demon's mouth. 

Demon-Del's head smacked into the concrete and he went unconscious again. Much easier to transport that way, not to mention that Sam would really like to kill him for touching Dean. He lifted his head, flicking it to the side to get the hair out of his eyes, only to see Dean staring at him. Dean looked surprised, eyes darting between the now-bloody demon and Sam's fist, like the violence had been shocking. Sam avoided Dean's eyes, dragging the body to the center of the room instead.

As much as Sam would love to rip apart this demon for touching Dean, there was someone who deserved this kill even more than him. And frankly, Sam could do without the analytical glances from Dean. Dean was trying to figure him out, trying to add on another layer to this whole thing.

It wasn't that complicated. Something had tried to kill Dean and bloodied him up and Sam therefore wanted revenge. Plus he was still pretty pissed about the whole Crowley thing, so.

There was nothing for Dean to overanalyze. 

Things hadn't changed between them miraculously now, just because they'd gone on a hunt together. Dean was still being stubborn and willing to throw his life away and it didn't look like that was changing anytime soon. So they couldn't change anytime soon. Sam wasn't going to cave about this, not this. It was too important, too big of a deal to brush aside. 

Even if it was Kevin's dying wish.

"Hey, before I go... Will you guys promise me something?" Kevin was standing at the bottom of the bunker stairs, his apparition managing not to flicker like crazy the way it had before. For a moment, it felt like it was still Kevin. Like they could just transport back in time, back when Sam was oblivious to all the damage and Kevin wasn't dead and Dean didn't hate Sam for finally saying something truthful.

"Yeah," Dean agreed instantly, the word basically being _of course_.

"Anything," Sam reiterated, because this was Kevin. Kevin, who had done nothing but help and lost everything. Kevin, who Sam had burned to death with his hands.

"Can you two... Get over it?" Sam sucked in a breath at that, but his eyes didn't leave Kevin. The kid wouldn't understand the kind of tall order that was. "Dudes, just 'cause you couldn't see me doesn't mean I couldn't see you. The drama, the fighting... It's stupid."

Dean deflated into resignition behind him and Sam could feel it. He could feel Dean's eyes cut to him, the way Kevin's words were sinking in. And there goes Dean again, ready to bury the hatchet the second he has an excuse. Using Kevin and Kevin's kind heart to get back into that spiral of hellish intentions that they'd used to ruin the world. 

"My mom's taking home a ghost. You two... You're both still here." Kevin sounded as sincere as Sam had ever heard him and Sam nodded. He got that, that taking home a ghost thing. More than Kevin could ever know. But he nodded anyways, nodded because Kevin deserved that, Kevin deserved the idea of having fixed them.

"Of course. Promise," Sam said, clearing his throat so his eyes didn't tear up. They were both still here, him and Dean. But for how much longer? How much longer until Sam was in trouble and Dean made some other deal, ended up in hell for another forty years? What happened when next time Sam couldn't find a way to get Dean back from that? What happened when Dean crossed the line even past ruining the world and ruined them, too? They were both still here but they weren't going to be much longer if Dean kept up the stupid bravado of trying to save Sam. 

So if Sam was lying to Kevin's face about burying the hatchet, it was exactly _because_ of what Kevin said, not to spite him.

"Yeah," Dean said softly, and Sam heard it all in his voice. Hatchet already buried. Dean was ready to forgive and forget. If Dean had it his way, the past few weeks would turn to dust in their minds and they'd crawl into bed together tonight, have some really great makeup sex and then go and fuck up the world again. 

"Good," Kevin said, and at least they had given him that. Then Kevin started up the stairs with his mother, the two of them separated in different worlds but still holding on to each other. Just the opposite of him and Dean, stuck in each other's orbit and trying so hard to let go.

Sam couldn't stay there and hear whatever Dean was going to say. He couldn't listen to Dean's _so we're burying the hatchet_ speech and watch the disappointment cloud his features again as he realized that Sam just couldn't do that. 

"Well, that was..." Sam heard behind him, just as he cleared the corner. Dean's voice trailed off and Sam kept going. Nothing but hallways and the quiet sounds of his boots. He was retreating and he felt like a coward but this was the only way Dean was going to get it. Eventually, this would work. Eventually Dean would cave and understand the hell they had raised. 

He didn't hear the teary-eyed _Yeah, okay_ from behind him as Dean submitted to another week of hell and loneliness. As Dean's hopes were dashed again. Sam didn't hear it and he didn't see Dean's face (who knows what he would have done if he had - that's why he left).

But he was hesitating outside his room anyways. Stopped at the door, just before he turned the knob.

If he tried talking to Dean again, tried making him get why Sam was doing all this. What Sam had meant by _No I wouldn't._ How Sam knew better than to take Dean's free will away from him. That Sam would do what Dean wanted because Sam loved him enough to do that. He could just go to Dean's room right now, sit on Dean's bed and pull Dean into his arms and explain it all to Dean, whispered soft and low in his ear so that Dean couldn't _not_ get it. The two of them, sitting there and leaning into each other's space as Dean cried on Sam's skin and Sam got him to finally see what they'd done to the world.

They'd promised the world they'd tame it. And instead they'd raised the fire and spit it into the sky. 

They were made of ash and bone and tainted black blood and they hid it all under layers of gunpowder and leather and early morning sunshine and the warmth of their joined bodies. 

Sam's hand turned the knob on his door, swift and hard enough to nearly break it. He pushed his way inside and closed the door behind him, too hard. Hard enough that Dean would hear it, think he was mad, but that wasn't intentional. Sam was just trying to slam out his thoughts, leave them all behind. 

He couldn't go running to Dean's room now. They had too many problems. They were stocked full of issues.

Lies. Things they'd never told each other. Things like how long they'd been in love. The fact that they were brothers. And that they were blind.

Trust. You didn't save me for me. 

Pain. You didn't want to be alone.

Fighting. What in the world have you been fighting for if it wasn't me? But it wasn't me.

There wasn't an off switch and they couldn't just fix all those things because Kevin had said "get over it." There was no instruction manual and Sam had done his part, shed his skin. Said the things Dean had never wanted to hear but needed too. It was Dean's turn, Dean had the cards, and he wasn't making the play.

Unless his play was a very intricate plan of drinking himself half to death until he passed out and Sam took pity on him and tried to talk more sense into him. Which Sam highly doubted was a play at all. 

The whole affair was more complicated than a simple matter of forgiveness and whose fault it was. Sam wasn't expecting an apology from Dean - that was something he'd probably never get. He just wanted Dean to understand why things had gotten this bad, why Sam was pissed, why what Dean did was fucking stupid, why Dean couldn't just keep spouting off that crap about how “the end justifies the means.” Sam wanted Dean to realize the consequences of their love, of the decisions Dean had made because of it. 

Sam sat on his bed and stared at the brick wall, wishing Dean would see this wasn't because Sam was suddenly heartless or something. If anything, it was the opposite. He wanted so much to help Dean, to fix this. But it wasn't up to Sam anymore, not really. And if they didn't fix this, how much bad would it get?

At what point did it stop? They'd refused to board up _hell_. Refused to save the entire planet and the entire future from everything evil down below. It wasn't like it could get a lot worse than that. Except that it could. Because they may have lost the world, but there was one thing even bigger than the world that they hadn't lost permanently yet. 

They had both escaped and cheated death so many times now that Ash probably had an algorithm of their death predications going for bets up in heaven. But eventually, it wouldn't be enough. Eventually, Dean would do something so solid and final and stupid that he'd sell himself into a place where Sam couldn't reach. Where _Cas_ couldn't reach. 

Sam just didn't want to be somewhere down the road in future when Cas rang his doorbell with a body in his arms and tears on his face, saying _I'm so sorry, Sam. I did everything I could but this time...this time it wasn't enough._

One day it was going to come to that if Dean didn't stop doing stupid ass things every time Sam got hurt. It was going to come to that if Dean didn't open his eyes to the damage they were doing to the world. It was going to come to that if Sam caved and crawled back into the warm bed alongside his brother. 

If they were going to fix this, they were going to have to do it this way, the hard way, because that was the only way that would be permanent. Decades later and they're finally figuring this out, finally deciding to face this head on. The Winchester Way of Avoidance and Burial was gone and good riddance because this was the only way they'd ever become saviors again.

This was the only way they'd keep each other human.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Indifferent.  
Anesthetized.  
Callous.  
Detached.  
Frozen.  
Paralyzed.  
Comatose.  
Insensate.  
Insensible.  
Insentient.  
Lethargic.  
Phlegmatic.  
Remote.  
Unconscious.  
Unfeeling.

A thousand words for numb and Dean wanted to just be them all. Mostly the unconscious one. He was remote enough, always feeling alone when he was away from - ostracized from - Sam. 

Paralyzed, frozen anytime they were in the same room. He couldn't even breathe if Sam was there, couldn't think right. And when Sam touched him...

Attempted to be detached but unable to be indifferent. 

He was overwhelmed in feeling and sentient but he was definitely insensible. Lethargic, or maybe that was due to the constant pounding in his head. He wasn't anesthetized enough, didn't have enough alcohol or pills in him right now to take this.

His head hurt - no, _palpitated_ \- and his vision was getting to that dizzy, overexposed, saturated place that was never good. Maybe it was a concussion after all. Or maybe it was stress. Or maybe he was getting sick. 

Dean propped himself on his bed and wouldn't mind slipping into a coma right now. Even if the word coma still hit too close to home, it sounded better than the world he was in right now. Dean leaned his head back against the wood and slipped his headphones on, pressing the play button on his iPod and forced loud music through his headache. 

It was easier to pretend it was the alcohol but he wasn't drunk. He could say it was the multiple head wounds, but they felt more like they just exacerbated the problem than sourced the core of it. 

Dean was sick.

He was ill and he knew it and he hated that he could recognize the feeling. He hadn't been eating well, hadn't been taking care of his body. The alcohol had probably sent him further down that path, along with the lack of food. Then there was that night sitting out in the cold with Sam, waiting on Candy to radio them. Cold weather mixed with bad health mixed with a plethora of stress and pain. Then there was the knife wound, the chafed wrists (that Sam had caressed - god, why?) and the matching head wounds on either side of his head, one from hitting the dresser and the other from hitting the concrete floor. There was also the lump on the back of his head when Del had hit him with whatever he'd used to knock Dean out.

Add all that on top of the fact that it was February, Dean's body's favorite month to get sick, and Dean knew he had come down with something. Normally he didn't hunt when he was sick - due to Sam forcing him to stay in bed until he was okay again. But Dean hadn't been 100% sure of his illness until like, now. Not that it would have mattered anyways, he still would have hunted.

But his head hurt something wicked, his stomach clenched like food was the worst possible thing in the world. And it was only going to get worse.

By that night, his temperature was a roller coaster, breaking out sweating one moment and shivering and whimpering the next. Dean didn't get sick often and when he did he was a mess. He spent half the time he was ill moaning and groaning and cursing everything he could. Except the cursing was normally mental because his throat was tight and scratchy to hell. 

Last time he'd been sick, Sam had been all over him. He'd wiped Dean's brow with cold, damp cloths and kissed Dean's fever-rosy cheeks. He brought Dean tea and good movies, sitting with an arm around Dean's shoulder as they sat through The One That Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Sam had whispered promises of better health in Dean's ear, laid him down in bed with blanket at the ready. Sam had smiled at him and told him how precious he was and Dean had grumbled even if it made him feel a little better. He'd stayed sigil over Dean while Dean slept, never leaving his side but to get more hot food or something with Clint Eastwood in it.

But not this time.

This time Dean was going to quarantine himself in his room. This time Dean wouldn't be drinking an ounce of tea or soup. This time Dean would stay wrapped up in his sheets and use Bad Company's calm sound as his only medicine. Rolling Stones, too, because everything they did was therapeutic. And Fleetwood Mac, because even if he hated Stevie Nicks, Landslide could put him to sleep in something that resembled peacefulness. 

And of course, Zeppelin. Dean couldn't listen to Ten Years Gone while laying down without falling asleep. And Rain Song calmed him down when he was tossing a turning, even if it did remind him of making love to Sam. Hell, that's probably why it calmed him down. Stairway made him feel like he'd been transported back in time ten years - which was a good or a bad thing, depending. Tangerine got skipped because it reminded him too much of the guitar laying ten feet away, the one Sam had given him. Over the Hills and Far Away made his brain hurt a little less, just getting lost in the music. 

Everything else was too loud or rough and made his brain pound. Well, pound more than it already was.

He was drowning in a sea of rough cotton and pressure on his temples, body stuck between thrashing and wanting to never move again because he just felt so damn _drained_. He shivered and pulled sheets up tighter around him, an involuntary whimper slipping past his lips. 

It was getting worse, now that it was dark and the night had long since fallen. He'd been drifting in and out of dreamless sleep for a few hours now and that was probably the only good thing about this all. At least when he was sleeping, he wasn't being haunted with memories of Sam. Obviously, Sam's hazel eyes were still fair game when Dean was awake, but sleep gave him the slightest reprieve.

Because when he was awake, the stupid, terrible part of him just kept waiting. Waiting for Sam to hear one of his soft moans and come bring him a cloth. Come keep him company. Come save him from his head and his body and his terrible, too-bright vision and spinning brain. Come pull him away from his scratchy throat and his sweaty skin and save him.

Just waiting for Sam to come save him. But Sam wasn't coming, he knew that. Knowing it didn't make it any easier to bear.

With the door shut to his room, Sam couldn't know and Dean wasn't going to tell.

He was pretty sure Sam wouldn’t care anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I made a video (unfortunately not for this chapter) but it's still REALLY good and I'm REALLY proud so here: 
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=tU0NAWjq8JE
> 
> ~*~*~*~
> 
> Random note: so this Chapter was about 10,000 words longer originally. I spent 3 hours one very sick morning writing about Dean being sick in his room and stuff 
> 
> And then my internet went out as I pressed save. And I lost it all. 
> 
> I was mucho upseto okay. As in super duper enraged and sad. 
> 
> But then I went on the wincest tag bc an episode came out last night that I haven't seen yet BUT NOW IM OKAY BC WINCEST IS SO CANON IT HURTS 
> 
> Anyways I'm sorry I lost like half the fic and don't have the energy to rewrite it. 
> 
> As always, thank you tremendously for reading! xx


	27. Enigmatic (#Thinman - 09x15)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of eating disorders, Dean may or may not be losing his shit at one point 
> 
> (as in his mental processes go just a little towards the manic side but hey, he's being affected by the mark and missing Sam and his self-deprecating personality and everything else so it's understandable)
> 
> Oh and there are some graphic depictions of violence and total deuschwads and detailed gruesome thought processes but nothing all together worse than we see in the show so

The sound of the familiar fall of heavy boots on wood slipped through the hood of disconnection, drawing Dean's attention away from the words in front of him and to the room around him instead. He glanced up, just in time to see Sam's feet halt suddenly in surprise, just inside the entrance to the library. His eyes flicked up further until they met Sam's, the weight of the unspoken filling the air between them. 

It felt like it was Dean's place to say _Hey,_ greet Sam like everything was normal. One of them was always pretending that, just for sanity's sake. But he didn't bother being the one to say it, even though he knew Sam wasn't going to. Which left them in an awkward silent battle of connected eyes. 

Dean couldn't decide if Sam was more surprised at seeing Dean or at what Dean was doing. Or maybe he was actually being observant enough to notice the lingering signs of illness still tugging slightly at Dean's body. 

The past few days had been just like the few before Kevin's mom's case (aka Dean spent all day and night in his room with the door shut), and this was the first time Dean had left his room since Kevin had climbed the bunker stairs for a final time. He hadn't been intending to go back to ostracizing himself from the world, even if Sam's promise to Kevin and immediate departure had stung quite a lot. The original plan was to act like he'd gotten over it, hang out in the bunker until Sam was the one who felt like he couldn't come out of his room. 

Then, of course, the state of Dean's health had caught up to him and he'd been terribly ill, left sick and moaning and miserable in bed for a few days. Dean was fairly sure Sam thought he was just having another pouting episode, unable to take even the slightest rejection. Dean kept it that way, let Sam think what he wanted to as Dean just tried to somehow heal his wasted body. 

He'd been slowly getting himself back on food, apples and toast at first so that his stomach didn't seize. His throat had been sore as hell, so he'd had a few cups of tea during past couple of days too. It had been quite the challenge to conquer his illness enough to plan how to get out of his room without Sam seeing him so he could boil water and get a cup, but he had managed somehow. He just didn't want to be in the middle of making a cup of tea when Sam came waltzing in demanding why in hell Dean was drinking tea and walking around in his bathrobe everywhere. 

It wasn't that Dean didn't ache for Sam's sympathy. He'd give anything for Sam to have come check on him, realize how sick Dean was, and nurse him back to health. But if Sam was going to know Dean was ill, Dean didn't want it to be because Sam just happened to walk in while Dean was making tea. 

A day or two of fitful sleeping and another day or two slowly weaning himself back on food and tea, and Dean was almost back up to par. He hated being ill, but knowing that the worst was over at least gave him something to look forward to. 

So he wasn't 100% back to full health right now, his ribs still stuck out too much and his face was still a vaguely sickly shade, but the headache and scratchy throat and clenching stomach had all faded substantially. So he'd decided to rejoin the real world and not spend all day today in his room again. Fresh air and getting out of bed were part of the healing process. 

So here he was, sitting in a plush chair in the library with his feet tucked under him and the reading light behind the chair flicked on. And currently engaged in an awkward staring contest with his little brother, who seemed extremely shocked to see him. It had been a few days, so a little surprise was understandable. 

Dean broke his eyes away first, turning back to the book in his hands. That could possibly be the other reason for Sam's surprise. He didn't see Dean read very often, not just for fun. Dean didn't mind reading, not if it was interesting material, but he didn't knock back novels like Sam did. 

He'd read some of the classics Sam swooned over, some of the poems that were apparently so relevant. Honestly, Dean thought most the people in the classic novels were just whiny, stuckup, rich straight white kids complaining about their basically nonexistent problems. So there wasn't really a lot of draw there. Some of the poetry Sam liked was pretty decent, but most of it felt like the poet was just trying too hard to be cryptic and ended up losing the enigma of what they'd been painting. 

But yes, Dean read books. Without pictures. He liked The Odyssey, even if it was a little drawn out, and Stephen King had a couple of good ones. He used to read John Grisham novels while Sammy was away at school, until he found out that half of them had been made into movies and featured Matthew McConaughey so he didn't have a reason to sit through the length of the books anymore. 

All in all, reading had been a part of Dean's life since forever, everything from lore books to the shit they assign you in school. Not to mention Dean had read all of Chuck's novels on their lives because he'd like to know what the rest of the planet had read about them. And it was pretty obvious that Dean had done some heavy reading in his life, otherwise he wouldn't be able to knock back gigantic lore books filled with Latin and Old Age English during research. 

None of that stopped Sam from gaping his mouth at the book in Dean's hands (and Dean himself), frozen ten feet away with his eyes flooded with disbelief. Like Dean reading was the craziest thing Sam had seen. Or maybe there were other reasons he looked so shocked, too. 

Dean realized belatedly that he'd been rereading the same line ever since he broke eye contact with Sam, absorbing approximately zero of the book in front of him now that there was a gigantic gorgeous distraction in his peripherals. 

Eventually, feeling like ten thousand years later, Sam unfroze and got over the shock of seeing Dean - with a book - for the first time since Kevin had left. The heavy bootsteps continued and Dean waited for them to walk straight through the room, for Sam to march on back to his room and ignore Dean entirely. Like he had when Kevin left. _Seconds_ after promising the ghost of their adopted responsibility that they'd stop the petty fighting shit and make up. 

But Sam didn't breeze past Dean and out of the library. Instead he walked to the opposite wall from Dean, sitting down in the matching plush chair there. Now it was Dean's turn to be surprised. Sam was sticking around? What in the hell for? 

Dean was actually considering asking Sam what game he was playing at, had just about opened his mouth to say it, when Sam spoke first. 

"You look a little pale. When's the last time you--"

Dean held up the bowl of cereal in his lap before Sam could finish his question. The words coming out of Sam's mouth cut off as Dean answered with his cereal before Sam could even get to the punch line.

At least Sam had been observant enough to notice Dean's health wasn't at 100%. Yeah, he was pretty pale, and his hair resembled something of the flattened state he used to where it as during the year he'd been living with Lisa. And his cheeks were a little hollow, his body still trying to catch up to the lack of food he'd been giving it for like, the past month. 

And Dean definitely knew Sam's _when did you last eat something healthy_ tone of voice, so he was able to intercept the question and prove that he was at least eating by holding up the bowl of cereal he'd been snacking on while he read. 

He'd actually had a pretty good setup in here before Sam had walked in. He'd curled up in the chair with his feet tucked warm between his body and the cushions, bowl of cereal in his lap with a spoon in one hand and his book in the other. 

Funny, it used to be Dean getting after Sam to eat more. Their roles were reversed for a moment, Dean being the one with the book and the lack of appetite. Although, truthfully, Dean couldn't figure out why Sam bothered pretending to care about the weight Dean had lost. 

For a while, Dean hadn't cared about it at all. It was super easy to just throw on his layers like normal, let plaid and button ups cover up any changes in his body. His shirts fit loose enough to hide the fact that they were fitting even looser lately. So really, Sam should never have even realized that Dean had lost a bit of weight. 

Until, of course, Dean had to be stupid enough to hit his head on his dresser and pass out, leaving himself open for bodily inspection by Sam. When Dean had blinked back groggily awake, his head had been in Sam's lap, but his tshirt had been tucked up high beneath his armpits, revealing the expanse of his chest and stomach for Sam to see. Dean was pretty sure he hadn't moved his shirt like that while he was unconscious, which meant Sam had. And he'd seen the current state of Dean's ribs, which wasn't very pretty. 

It wasn't like Dean wanted to lose weight. It wasn't even really a punishment tool for everything that had happened. He just spent so much time with his lips wrapped around the top of a bottle that he never made time to eat food. Or make food. And it had taken its toll: Dean had paid heavily for his stupidity, spending a few miserable miserable days raging sick and bedbound in loneliness. 

So yeah, he was eating again. Because a repeat of those sick, lonely days sounded absolutely terrible. And he didn't really have a reason not to eat. And he could use some energy back.

After Dean's show of his cereal bowl in response to Sam's question, Sam fell quiet for a bit. He had a book too now, sitting open on his lap that Dean was pretty sure he hadn't even glanced at. Honestly, Dean had no idea what the hell was going on with Sam. 

One minute he was running away from Dean and the next he was trying to take care of him and staring unabashedly across the room while Dean tried to read. It was like Sam couldn't keep his eyes off Dean and Dean had to initiate every ounce of self control he had not to squirm under the gaze or comment or something. 

Sam was swinging from one extreme end of the spectrum to another. He hated Dean, then he was all concerned and caring about him. He'd tell Dean he'd let Dean die, then he'd flip out when Dean was in the slightest bit of danger. 

It was really fucking confusing and Dean really wished Sam would stop sending him mixed signals. 

The thing was, Dean had a decent idea of how Sam felt. Sam had made that very clear, from the moment they'd joined back up after the hunt with Garth until the storm off session a few days ago. Sam didn't care about Dean, didn't want them to be brothers. Or boyfriends, or anything. They were ex-lovers and ex-family living in the same house that didn't feel as much like a home as it used to. 

And while Dean wasn't entirely sure of the motives behind the random acts of caring from Sam, he had a fairly good idea they were either composed from habit, guilt, or a dire need to fuck with Dean's brain as much as possible. Dean was fairly convinced though, that Sam didn't actually care anymore. The caring would be an easier facade to uphold than the hating. Besides, if he cared, why make Dean think he didn't? 

"What are you reading?" Sam's voice broke the silence of the room, making Dean look up involuntarily. Sam was looking at him, eyebrows raised, book in one hand like he'd actually been looking at it. Right. 

Unfortunately the book in Sam's hand wasn't upside down (that would have been great) so Dean couldn't call Sam out on it, but it might as well have been for how much Sam was actually reading it. 

Dean's eyes searched across Sam's face for a moment, looking to see if there was some hidden question underlying the one he'd just asked. There was nothing particularly malicious in Sam's eyes, but Dean still answered a little cautiously. 

He cleared his throat, glancing at the book in his hands before looking back up at Sam. 

"The Hot Zone," Dean responded, eyes scrutizing Sam for another moment or two. Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded - feigned interest? - before looking back down at his own book. 

No comment on how much Sam had liked Dean's book, which meant he hadn't read it. Which wasn't all that surprising because it was actually written within the past two decades instead of like, the 1800s. That, and it wasn't really Sam's type of book. 

Dean thought it was interesting as hell. Technically, it was a nonfiction book, but it read just like a novel. Like one of those movies you watch that are all _The following events are based on a true story_ in the beginning credits. It was just that this book actually was the true story. 

He couldn't remember where he'd gotten it, just that he'd picked it up for the title but had been sold the moment he read the first review on the back cover. Apparently, it was the "most terrifying book" Stephen King had ever read. Anything that was scary enough for the The Maine Horror King was worth checking out. 

Another few minutes passed and Dean actually managed to reread that one sentence for like the fortieth time and actually get it. And then went on to absorb in the rest of the page, and a page after that. But he'd only gotten through another six pages before Sam suddenly interrupted again, drawing Dean back out of his book. Again. 

"What's it about?" Sam asked, voice reverted back to that little-kid curiosity. Alright, that's it. Sam didn't get to just pull out the _little brother Sammy_ card and wave it in Dean's face like a mocking flag. 

"Do you actually care?" Dean asked, his tone sharp and sarcastic as he stared laser beams in the page of his book, refusing to look up at Sam's face. Which, even from just the blurred image of his peripherals, Dean could see was pretty shocked. Maybe offended. 

The silence that followed that question spoke volumes in itself. Sam was either pissed at the comment, reverting back into his stubborn shell, or he was really that shocked that Dean would turn a "pleasant conversation" into an attack on Sam. Or maybe he had nothing to say because Dean was right, Sam didn't actually care. 

"Because if you're just trying to make small talk, I think I'll pass, thanks," Dean said dryly, turning a page in his book even though he had a paragraph left to read on it. It was too poignant of a movement not to. 

"I-" Sam started,

"Good talk," Dean interrupted, finally looking up from his book with his phoniest, most pissed off smile as he slammed the paperback cover shut on _The Hot Zone._ The sound wasn't as exaggeratedly awesome as it would have been if it was a hardcover book, but Sam still flinched visibly at the noise. 

Then Dean was unfolding his legs from the chair and standing up, bowl of cereal in one hand as he tucked his book under his arm, leaning back to flick off the reading light behind his chair. 

He swept out of the room, striding right past Sam without looking at him again. Dean didn't stop walking until he reached the doors his room, shouldering it open before shutting it behind him with the kick of his heel. 

That may have been a dick move but Sam definitely had that coming. Hell, Dean had taken it easy on him. Just walking out was not exactly high on the list of offensive stabs they'd thrown at each other lately, so that could have gone a lot worse. 

Dean just couldn't sit there while Sam pretended to read and probed at Dean with questions to make Dean think Sam cared about him. He just couldn't. 

It was a cruel joke on Sam's part, to get Dean's hopes up like that. So yeah, Dean left. He had every right to storm out of there, with the way Sam had been acting lately? 

Dean collapsed down face first into his bed. This fight was so fucking stupid. This whole thing was so fucking stupid. Why had they ever let it get this bad? 

 

~*~*~*~

Mission-oriented Dean was the best kind. If he had a job, something he needed to do, he functioned better and he was happier and healthier and he could actually _think_. So he made their stupid ass fight into a mission. A case, something that had to figure out and salt and burn. He wasn't trying to be malicious or manipulative, he just needed to _know_ so many things. And he couldn't keep living like this. 

This was the longest amount of time he'd ever fought with Sam - unless you count Stanford - and it was slowly driving him insane. It had been an entire month. A month of weird boundaries and not speaking and pretending not to care and missing Sam so much he ached with it.

He spent a couple of hours in his room, sitting on his bed - Hot Zone tossed aside in heed of more important things - and staring at the empty bowl of cereal on his dresser and figuring out what the hell his plan was. There was a thousand different scenarios that this could go down as, a thousand different things Dean could say and a hundred different ways Sam could respond to each of them. It was finding that one perfect scenario that counted.

Dean felt a little bit like Nicholas Cage in that movie Next, where he watched the future possibilities of meeting the girl of his dreams until he found the perfect one that won her over. Dean couldn't see the future, but he knew Sam inside and out, knew every twitch of the expressions on his face to different things Dean said. 

First, he'd have to catch Sam off guard. If he didn't get Sam out of his element, even for just a second, he'd be stuck with Sam's insistent stubbornness. He'd have the element of surprise regardless of what he did because Sam was so used to Dean just doing nothing. But just the surprise of action wasn't going to be enough, Dean was going to have to do a little more than that to topple Sam's nerves and take down that wall, make him listen. 

He'd only have a few seconds that Sam would be confused enough to answer truthfully, just a few seconds to make an impact before Sam gathered his wits again and set up new, numbing walls to block Dean out. The walls Sam currently had up weren't impenetrable though, and Dean of all people knew Sam's weaknesses. 

Physical contact, that would be Dean's in. He'd touch Sam in some way, just a finger to an arm or something, and it'd be enough to catch Sam off guard. Then Dean could deliver his punch line. Whatever the hell that was. He'd have to make it perfect if this was going to work.

Then there was anticipating Sam's answer and sculpting another perfect response. Maybe a couple, one for each method Sam might take. It really was a good plan, Dean knew both himself and Sam well enough to work it out and execute it perfectly.

The only wild card was this new, unknown thing between them. Sam kept surprising Dean, and that wasn't good when it came to elaborate plans. A month ago, Dean would barely have had to think about this plan at all, just been able to execute it without the slightest mishap. But now that Sam was acting bipolar and strange, Dean was going to have a much harder time. He had to consider every possibility there was. 

He could touch Sam and Sam could punch him, that simple. Sam could retaliate violently and swiftly and painful, the way he had with Dean's heart. Or he could hit Dean verbally too, bite a venomous _don't touch me_ at him. That would hurt even more than a punch, and Sam would know that. Hell, it hurt Dean even to think about it, but he had to consider everything. 

The bets though, were on Sam freezing up. Dean had a feeling that the second he initiated physical contact, Sam would freeze like one of Medusa's statues. There would be hesitation there, and confusion, in Sam's eyes. Dean was laying his money on that reaction because that was the clearest pattern lately in Sam's actions. He'd be cold and ruthless one moment, then he was helping Dean into bed the next. Telling Dean he'd let him die, then going psycho on the hipster-nerd-demon that had almost knifed him. It was this constant pattern of up and down, back and forth, and Dean would be breaking it by being the one to make the move.

So Sam would need a few seconds to calculate which side he was going to be on. His _caress-Dean's-chafed-wrists_ side or his _storm-away-after-Kevin-leaves_ side. And those starkly different sides had to be conscious decisions that were confusing for Sam because they were all so goddamn different. Opposite sides of the spectrum and Dean was getting a headache just trying to figure out what that meant. 

Eventually, staring at that empty bowl, he decided he didn't have anything else he could figure out ahead of time. He'd have to brace himself for anything, because he'd thought of basically everything that _could_ happen. He had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say, too. Although, while bets were being laid down, Dean was pretty sure he'd forget every word he'd come up with the second he was in the same room as Sam again. 

That was the biggest problem with this plan. Just seeing Sam's face threw a wrench in every single coherent thought running through Dean's mind. But he was doing this anyways. He had to, he'd just been sitting here for forever planning it out. He wasn't backing down now. 

With a steadying glance in the mirror Dean assessed himself over for battle. He was still a little pale but his cheekbones didn't look so hollow now - probably due to the food he'd been replenishing his body with. Funny how just some organic fruit, water, and carbs could turn your entire appearance around. His fingers played nervously at his hair, trying to make the spikes look a little closer to artfully-tousled and a little less my-face-was-stuffed-in-a-pillow-for-an-hour. 

Dean ran his palms over the sides of his face, feeling the scratch of stubble under his hands. It made him look older than he felt. Although not half as melancholy as the weight that settled in his bones. Maybe Dean had totally lost it, but the next thing he knew he was digging a razor out of his drawer. Good lord something was wrong with him. Seriously, like shaving his face was going to change anything about the outcome of the upcoming conversation. 

It might make him feel better though. Like that whole girly thing about getting a hair cut feeling like the weight of the world was lifted off your shoulders. He wouldn't shave himself entirely smooth, just... not so scruffy. Cleaned up a little, enough to make him look like the old Dean again. But not a really obvious change? Wow, he was overthinking this way too much. 

Twenty minutes later Dean was feeling like maybe he might win this thing. He was also feeling a hell of a lot more like himself, with his face not so depressingly scruffy and his stomach actually not grumbling in complaint at him for once. He hadn't had much to drink today either, which meant he was definitely sober and thinking clearly. All in all, this might go over pretty well. Key word might. 

He scooped up the empty cereal bowl from his dresser, carrying it in front of him like it was his purpose in the world. Not purpose, but definitely his foot in the door. 

It was just a guess that Sam would be sitting at the kitchen table, but based on the time of day Dean would bet that's exactly where he was. So Dean walked down the lengths off hallway that would take him there, preened and pretty and ready to win his Sam back. To get Sam to listen to him, even if just for a second. 

The look on Sam's face as Dean walked through the kitchen doorway was enough to make him glad he'd shaved. Sam was absolutely surprised to see him, his eyes flicking all over Dean's face for a moment as he blinked and tried to get a handle on himself. 

"Hey," Dean said, just to throw Sam off a little more. Or maybe it was a comfort of familiarity that he was giving Sam, but Dean didn't really know or care right now. Sam was looking at him, then doing everything in his power not to look at Dean (quite obviously, actually) as Dean walked by him with the bowl. 

"Hey," Sam responded, sounding distracted. His head was dipped back down now, looking over the folders in front of him. Just like the book Sam had been pretending to read earlier, Dean was pretty sure those hazel eyes weren't soaking up a single word. Dean sat his bowl on the counter against the back wall, making a tiny clinking sound as porcelain hit metal. 

Okay, here goes. Dean wasn't entirely sure what Sam was expecting for him to do next (probably just to walk back out of the room) but it certainly wasn't slide onto the bench across from Sam. Dean tucked his legs under the table, sitting down exactly in front of Sam, their knees inches away from brushing beneath the table. He laid his forearms on the table casually, hands loosely knitting his own fingers together. 

Sam's head shot up the same time his eyebrows did, the shock barely stifled as his eyes searched Dean's face. Yeah, who was the confused one now. But as great as it felt to have the upper hand, that's not what this was about. No, Dean was here because he needed Sam to hear him. Well, actually, he needed some answers. Real ones. 

"Sorry I snapped about my book earlier," Dean said, adjusting slightly in his seat as he reached out his hand to lay over Sam's. 

The moment their skin touched, the world (and Dean's plans) kind of short circuited. The instant that they were connected, Sam's eyes left Dean's and shot to their hands instead. From the look on Sam's face, Dean would bet anything that he felt those sparks too. How could he not feel it? The warmth spreading up from Dean's fingertips, from his palm, from everywhere their skin was touching. 

Sam's left hand had just been resting on the table, tips of his pinky and fourth finger against the wood, cupping a tiny air pocket in his palm and leaving his hand in a generally relaxed, downward-facing position. Now all of the muscles in Sam's hand were threatening to twitch in response to Dean's. Dean's fingers were long enough to cup over the sideways length of Sam's hand, placing the tip of his first finger on the top of Sam's first knuckle and the rest of his hand to curve around Sam's, as much skin touching as possible. 

And just like he'd predicted, Sam was frozen in shock. Well, Dean was too, which wasn't exactly part of the plan. 

But somehow the courage to say something bubbled back up inside him and Dean managed to not entirely soil his plans while he still had the chance to do something. 

"I haven't been feeling that well lately," Dean's fingers slid further around Sam's hand, curving around the inside edge of Sam's hand and guiding it over so that Sam's hand was facing up now, palm available for Dean as Sam just sat and listened and was helpless to do anything but watch Dean's fingers trace along his skin. "And I guess I just took it out on you."

Dean's first finger was drawing out the lines of Sam's palm, tracing each crease that he already had memorized, swooping his touch in and out of the curved skin. Sam blinked at their hands like he really was in shock, like he might have a heart attack. That would definitely not be a good way for this to end. 

Suddenly Sam's fingers clamped down on Dean, trapping Dean's first three fingers against Sam's palm. Sam stared at them like he was a cat who had just caught a mouse for the first time and Dean stayed silent and still, waiting. Then Sam's fingers tentatively skirted up the side of Dean's, curiosity getting the better of him as he traced over Dean's hand like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. 

He didn't even lift his eyes to look at Dean's face, just ran his thumb over the edge of each of Dean's fingernails, letting them scrape across the calloused surface like he was memorizing every inch of Dean all over again. That intense focus on just that tiny part of Dean shot a thousand more questions into Dean's brain. Things Dean didn't know about Sam's thoughts that made him wish he could just possess Sam's beautiful brain, take over all those memories and see them the way those hazel eyes had. 

Did Sam have Dean's freckles memorized? Did he have a favourite part of Dean? Did Sam ever look at Dean when he thought Dean wasn't looking, the way Dean did for Sam? 

"It's fine," Sam said, his voice quiet. It was more of a dismissive comment than it was accepting an apology. Just brushing aside Dean's words like they weren't the important thing right now, but Sam knew he still had to respond with something. Although, in all fairness, those words weren't really the important thing at all when their fingers were tracing each other's palms in raw fascination and need. 

Up until about thirty seconds ago, Dean had been so sure Sam didn't love him anymore. But watched the affect that just the brush of their hands was having on Sam...had Dean been wrong?

Was there some part of Sam that hadn't been able to let his love for Dean go? Was Dean actually...was he actually still worthy of someone's love? Did he still deserve that part of Sam? Was Sam still willing to give Dean that final piece of him?

How the _fuck_ did Sam Winchester feel about him? 

"Sam - " Dean started, his tone sounding almost as desperate as he felt. Just the name felt like an admission, a question, an answer...his whole universe wrapped up in that one syllable. 

And it broke the spell.

Sam snapped back, his hand flinching away from Dean's like it was on fire. He stood up so fast that Dean could barely register what was going on before Sam was walking out of the room, walking away in that rushed, half-crazed walk of his. 

Dean nearly tripped getting up from the table but he somehow caught his balance and stayed on his feet, darting forward to grab Sam just before he could take those steps up into the hallway and shut Dean out again, maybe forever this time.

"Sam," Dean said again, hand gripping Sam's elbow tight as he pulled Sam towards him, spun Sam around so they were both fully in the kitchen, facing each other. Dean let go of Sam's arm once he had Sam facing him again but a twitch of Sam's shoulder and Dean was too distrusting to let Sam just stand there and listen. If Sam just left right now-

So Dean grabbed back onto Sam's arm, this time just above his wrist. It felt just like that one time a few years ago, when Sam had been having his hallucinations. Actually, this particular moment was the one that Dean had found out about Sam's hallucinations. Sam had had a gun pointed at Dean, spurting off some crazy junk about how he couldn't know if Dean was real or not. 

In a fast act of desperation, Dean had reached forward and grabbed Sam's wrist, lifting it up in the air. _This, this is real_. Now, years later and standing in such a different place in their relationship, Dean mimicked his own motion, probably the same look of desperation on his face. 

They were standing closer than they'd been since that day on the bridge, close enough that Dean could take a single step forward, reach up on his tippy toes and kiss Sam's infuriating mouth. He didn't though, he just tilted his head up so he could see Sam's eyes. His voice was desperate, the grip he had on Sam's wrist was desperate, but they were both so overwhelmed right now and if Dean didn't get to say what he needed to in this moment, he may never fall asleep again. 

"Sammy, I can't do this anymo-"

"Dean, don't-"

"You don't understand, Sam!"

"Yes, I _do_ understand, I get that you can't handle the tru-"

"Do you still want me?"

The shouting and the struggling stopped, like one of those sudden moments that felt so unrealistic in movies. Sam had been trying to twist his wrist out of Dean's grip but now he was just standing there, arms limp and unprotesting, jaw slack. 

"Do I what?" He asked, sounding dangerous. Sounding like the killer Dean had never wanted to raise. Sounding like if Dean pushed this, if Dean asked again, Sam just might be the one to end Dean. Dean's fingers flexed around Sam's wrist, trying to take some sort of minute comfort in the warmth and smooth familiarity of Sam's skin. This was Sammy, his Sammy. 

He took a breath, eyes darting to the wall before looking at Sam's again. Gaining courage because this may be the singular stupidest thing Dean had ever done. Including that waitress in Tampa.

"Do you want me?"

Sam stared at him, looking like the strangest mix between livid and heartbroken. But he didn't say anything, he just stared at Dean with this silent, equally terrified as it was terrifying look. Dean shifted his weight, feeling his world crumble at his feet and doing his best to stay afloat. He should just shut up and walk out of here now, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't just keep running away. 

"I don't know what you want, Sam. I don't know how you feel about anything anymore and I can't tell if you and me, if this. If...I can't just keep on going without knowing, so - so..." Dean sucked in a breath, trying not to ramble. Stopping himself from rambling. Words, articulation, that's what got through to Sam. Dean knew he was pleading by now, basically begging, but the part of him that cared about that was so far gone. 

Their movements were synced up, Sam's head moving to follow Dean's as Dean took a tiny step closer, just inches away now. Dean's eyes searched Sam's, looking back and forth between the hazel for some kind of answer, any kind of answer.

"You gotta tell me, man. Do you want me?"

Sam looked at him, the frozen that Dean had predicted. But he still wasn't spurting off any of the answers Dean had been anticipating. Well, this conversation was no where near what Dean had been anticipating (he'd never intentionally plan to set his entire life on the edge of a cliff with a question like _do you want me_ ) but Sam at least had to have some answer, right?

Then, slowly, Sam's mouth opened, words on the tip of his tongue. About to say something, form a word that Dean had no inkling of a guess at. Then just as slowly, his mouth closed again and Sam pried Dean's fingers off his wrist. 

Dean just stared at Sam, let himself get pried off. And he just stood there, left alone in this damn room _again_ as Sam walked out. Dean stood and stared at Sam's retreating back until it disappeared. Except this time, it wasn't the echo of his words he left behind. It was the echo of his silence.

The second that Sam was gone, entirely gone, Dean broke into a fast jog, taking the hallway to his room as quickly as possible without actually running. Sam may have just left Dean in that room again, but Dean wasn't going to let it all go down the same way. He wasn't going to go curl up with blankets and music and cry to himself in the shower and wake up shouting from nightmare dreams about Sam. 

Not this time. No, Dean was getting out of that loop. Getting out of his room. He'd find something productive to do, something to occupy his mind so he didn't drown in the silence Sam had left him with. Hell, he'd go on a hunt. Yeah, that was a good idea. He'd find a hunt and he'd go and gank something and let its blood drip over his hands and feel minutely better about everything for a little bit. 

Honestly, it could have been worse. Sam could have said no. If Sam had meant no, if he'd been sure that he didn't want Dean anymore, he would have said it, right? Probably. True, he hadn't exactly said yes, either. 

Instead Dean was left floating with a sense of incompleteness and absolutely no idea what Sam wanted anymore. If Sam wanted him anymore.

Yeah, he definitely needed some fresh air and monsters to slice open and burn. That sounded like the best plan he'd had yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A little past nine the next morning Dean was packed, hadn't shaved since yesterday, and was fully ready to go tackle some monsters. Well, in this case, it looked like it was just a ghost. But still, lighting up some haunted bastard who'd killed a teenage girl sounded a hell of a lot better than moping in his room with Sam Mr. Undecided sending a thousand mixed messages all over the place. 

He figured he'd at least let Sam know where he was going, because then it wouldn't look like he'd run away in an emotional fit in the middle of the night. Thankfully, Sam was sitting at a table in the library right by the door, so it wasn't even out of the way to send a quick _see you later_. Just in case Sam worried. Because there was a 50/50 chance he'd worry, the other option being that he wouldn't care in the least if Dean was gone. 

"All right. I'll be back," Dean said on his way out, pausing in the archway of the library so Sam knew Dean was talking to him. It was just a courtesy of theirs, always letting each other know if they were going out. Even in a fight. Because they'd both died, been kidnapped, and gone missing enough times that it just made sense to always at least have an idea if the other one had left voluntarily. 

Once he'd tossed the words in Sam's direction, Dean started to head back towards the stairs, pausing to look over his shoulder as Sam called after him.

"Wait. Where you headed?" Sam asked, leaning back in his chair, all curious-eyed. Huh. So Sam cared enough to want to know where Dean was going. Apparently they were on the upside today. It was the first time they'd talked since the craziness of yesterday, but things had been so up and down lately that every time they were in the same room it was basically a fresh start of either-or, regardless of whatever last time had been.

"Washington. I caught a case." Dean looked at Sam with a level not-glare. Okay, kind of a glare but not really. 

"You want me to come with?" Sam asked, sounding like a _uh, hello?_ He even threw his hands up, in a mini are-you-serious gesture. Like it was just _so_ axiomatic that Dean would ask Sam to accompany him on a case. Obviously, Dean wasn't the one trying to end this relationship. That was Sam.

"Do you want to come?" Dean asked skeptically, his eyebrows furrowed. And a little pissed. Because seriously, Sam, was this how it was going to be? One second running away in silence, and the next all offended that Dean hadn't sent him an invitation to the latest salt-and-burn. 

"On a hunt? Why wouldn't I?" Sam asked with that same _but nothing's wrong_ tone of innocence that would make him get punched in his pretty nose if he was anyone else. But he wasn't anyone else.

He was Dean's Sammy and he was being a _total dick_ lately and Dean had absolute 100% reason to think that Sam would not want to accompany him on a hunt. Hell, Sam couldn't even give Dean a straight answer on a very simple question. Well, actually, Dean had gotten no answer at all. Just silence and confusion and mixed signals and --

"I don't know, man. 'Cause lately with you, up is down and down is sideways, you know? I-I..." Dean shifted his weight, uncomfortable because it wasn't like Sam didn't know exactly why Dean thought he wouldn't want to come. But, you know what? Dean didn't have to sit here and play catch and mouse like Sam was. Dean could actually give someone a _straight answer_ for once, unlike Mr. Perpetual Silence over there.

"I don't know what you want." Dean said, words poignant with just the amount of emphasis to make it obvious what he was talking about as he laid it all out on the table, hands up in exasperation and absolutely no regrets for bringing up yesterday. 

_I don't know if you want me_ , Dean was practically screaming with his words. His confusion and his annoyance were crystal clear in his word choice and his tone and all over his body language, Sam would have to be blind to be oblivious to what Dean was referring to. So what if Dean was letting Sam see how annoyed he was with the outcome of yesterday's conversation that he'd prepared so carefully for.

 _Do you want me?_ Dean had asked so desperately. Sam's only response? Silence.

So yeah, Sam absolutely had coming the bitter "I don't know what you want" snapped at him. Because Dean _didn't_ know. He didn't know if Sam wanted to hunt, if Sam wanted to just sit there and read. He didn't know if Sam wanted him anymore. Because SOMEONE didn't exactly SAY. 

Apparently Sam got the reference Dean had just made, because little brother certainly had a reaction to it. Sam ran a hand down his face tiredly, looking away in exasperation. Yeah, fucking deal with it because it was Dean who was still going on nothing, Dean who had asked the question of the century and not been answered.

When Sam turned back to meet Dean's eyes, he had the bitchface glare on. A very intense bitchface glare that very clearly said "we are NOT talking about that again." 

Fine. Fine. What the fuck ever. Dean tried, at least he could say he tried.

There was nothing else he could do to get an answer for that question apparently, so he walked over to Sam's table. Letting his annoyance show with every step, with every word he half muttered to himself and half bitched towards Sam.

"Okay. You want in? Fine. Sure thing." He plopped down his duffel too loudly, being an absolute drama queen because fuck Sam, that's why. He had know idea if the guy he was in love with wanted him and he was supposed to just suck it up and hunt. At least Dean got to kill things, that was the only upside he was really seeing right now. 

He whipped a paper out of his pocket, unfolding it as he took the last few steps up to the table Sam was sitting at. Sam didn't bother moving, didn't bother getting up. Not like Dean was expecting him to. But Dean was careful to stop at the end of the table so that he was in no danger of touching Sam. Although he was about to have to hand this to Sam and they had a habit of brushing hands when they pushed things each other's way...

It was a pretty big piece of paper, but Dean wasn't taking any chances. He half threw the paper in Sam's direction, just to make sure their fingers wouldn't touch. Throwing paper was never a good idea, especially when it was unfolded, and Sam gave him a weird look as he reached out to snatch it from the air. He'd almost missed because the paper had flown kind of miserably, but Sam's arms were long enough to snatch it in time. Sam looked like he was about to comment on the paper toss so Dean quickly turned to Case Talk before they had to have any more of Those Conversations. And stuffed his hands in his pockets. Just in case. Could never be too careful. 

"Photo leaked from the crime scene. Girl was murdered in her room, doors were locked, the windows were locked." At least with his hands in his pockets he wasn't in danger of touching Sam's skin. But that didn't stop his eyes from traveling over the silky strands of hair that curled around Sam's ears as he looked over the photo. Shit. No. Bad eyes. Dean looked away from Sam, staring at the paper Sam was holding like it was the most relevant thing ever. 

"Who's the wallflower?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean. Dean was not going to look, not going to see the sunflowers in Sam's eyes. Except that if he entirely avoided eye contact it'd be awkward for the entire case and that didn't sound pleasant either. That is, if Sam was coming. He could just be baiting Dean, trying to get his hopes up just to crush him again. 

"Exactly. Best guess -- ghost caught on film." Sam drew in a breath, looking at the paper again with speculation. Dean didn't bother attempting to stare at the paper again, it was useless. His eyes couldn't tear away from Sam, not when Sam was gathering his stuff up now, making Dean's heart do this stupid racing thing in his chest. He highly considered not asking it. Last time he'd taken a shot in the dark at a hopeful question he'd just gotten _silence_. But he was stupid and stupidly in love and he was seriously never going to learn. 

Which was how Dean ended up bashfully ducking his head, pretending to look over the picture again as he focused on not letting his fingers tremble as he spoke in that stupidly hopeful voice of his. "So, you're coming?"

Sam stopped packing up his laptop, looking up at Dean. Dean blinked down at him, just waiting for the moment when Sam turned around and walked out of the room and left Dean wondering in silence again. Answerless and wondering. And probably waiting for like half an hour just in case Sam _was_ coming. Then the arrow's bow of a mouth opened and Sam was giving him a milder form of bitchface.

"Does it look like I'm staying?" Sam stood up and walked past Dean, leaving him to just nod to himself. Yeah, okay. Still with the enigmatic air, but at least it was an answer. Although Dean couldn't figure out when the hell Sam had become allergic to a simple _yes_ or _no_. 

Seriously, Dean should hold a class on straight forward answers and make half the universe attend, because riddles sucked ass and honestly Dean was past the point of having enough brain function left to figure them out.

You know what else sucked ass? And not in the tingles-up-your-spine good way, either. 

The fucking Ghostfacers showing up on their first real case together. Seriously, Dean hated them more than he hated most people he'd met. Once, they had come and fucked up what would have been a really fun hunt (one he'd been looking forward to, dammit) a month before Dean went to hell in this legendary haunted house. And the two amateurs had nearly gotten everyone killed when they all met the first time in Texas. Although that hunt had been really fun regardless...

But now was definitely not a good time to think about the Prank Wars and the beautiful, beautiful smile on Sam's face as he held up a tube of super glue and laughed at Dean. That laugh haunted Dean. He missed that Sammy sometimes, he missed that carefree laugh and that wide, unabashed smile. But Dean understood why Sam didn't laugh anymore. Dean got why Sam didn't smile like that anymore. 

They hadn't for years and years. The closest they ever were to that kind of happiness and carefree attitudes anymore was when they were kissing over breakfast, or soaping each other down in shower, or giggling through sex because Dean was a dick even when he had a dick up his ass. 

Although, obviously, none of those things had happened since Kevin died, so...

 _Anyways_ , there was one good thing about the Ghostfacers being here. Because the two amateur bastards were so annoying, Sam was actually agreeing with Dean for once. At the diner, Sam had backed Dean up with nods and matching glares and side comments to support everything Dean said. They were on the same side, both glaring at the stupid-ass common enemy. It was so unlike everything they'd done lately but so still totally them that Dean's head was spinning with more than just annoyance as they walked out of the diner in sync.

With Sam at his side like this, Dean felt powerful. As strong as he used to be, partner at his side and matching his every step and word and breath. They were both fuming-quiet on the way back to the motel, although not the pissed-at-each-other kind. For once, they had a common target and that meant they were on the same side again. Because no matter how much Sam and Dean bitched each other out, no one else got to. They were the only ones allowed to beat up on each other and say mean things and just generally ridicule. The second someone else tried to, the two of them teamed up and it was Sam and Dean Against The World again. Which is exactly how it should be. 

Except as soon as they were in their motel room, they split in separate directions and that power, that connection slipped away from Dean's hands again. They weren't side by side anymore, although the air between them still felt a little lighter, like maybe Sam was glad they were on the same side again too. 

The routine they fell into at the motel was so dangerously regular that Dean had to keep giving himself a mental check. If he didn't constantly make sure he knew what he was doing at all times instead of just _doing_ it, who knows what patterns his body was going to fall into without him giving it permission. 

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves on his white button up. Sam was at his laptop, typing something up at the motel's little table. This exact same scene had played out a thousand times. If this were a case a few months ago, Dean would finish straightening out his sleeves and then he'd make his way over to Sam, one hand sliding down Sam's arm as Dean leaned up behind him, mouth by Sam's ear as he read whatever Sam had found on his laptop. 

Then, if the case was fairly interesting, Dean would drop a kiss to Sam's shoulder or his neck or the tip of his ear then perch on the end of a bed to run through theories with Sam. If the case sucked and was super boring - one of the salt and burns that they'd already identified and just needed to wait for nightfall - then Dean would linger over Sam's shoulder a bit longer, biting softly up his earlobe and running his fingers through Sam's silken hair, teasing until Sam either got out of the chair and threw Dean on a bed or just pulled Dean down into his lap. 

They had had a lot of chair sex initiated that way. Or even just horny-teenager grinding that ended with Dean tucking his face in Sam's neck and crying out Sam's name as he came in his jeans, knees clamped tight on the sides of the chair. 

Yeah, so Dean should really not follow routines right now. Routines were bad. Because who knows what random thing Dean's body would do that would feel so natural and normal and really just. Not a good idea right now. 

So when Sam called him over to show him something on the computer, Dean kept his distance. Like, a least a foot away. Because he didn't trust himself not to kiss the patch of skin behind Sam's ear if he got anywhere near the vacinity. And not just out of habit, either. Because Dean really really wanted to, and he couldn't.

Which may have made him a little more snappy than usual in response to Sam's theories on the case. Normally Dean might tolerate dumb ass ideas from dumb ass idiots who used to live in a trailer with pink flamingos out front but he just wasn't in a "tolerating" place right now. For some reason, Sam seemed hellbent on the idea that this "Thinman" thing could actually be a thing.

"Maybe it got in there before it was locked up. Who knows, Dean? But how can people all over the world see the same ghost? Spirits don't exactly hop around." Sam had his lawyerly case voice on and that was the easiest voice to argue with because there was no emotion or "pathos" (as Sam called it when he was being annoying) in it. Just straight out logic, ideas that could place this conversation at any time in their lives, brothers or partners or lovers or fighting, like now. 

"I know that. But right now, the veil is all kinds of screwed, okay? Ghosts could be popping up anywhere," Dean argued back. Not that he wanted to use Kevin as an example or anything, but knowledge was power and they couldn't just ignore that basically every rule they knew about the veil had gone to shit for now. 

"Yeah, but, Dean, Thinman sightings date back a couple years. The veil's only been a problem for, what, the last six months?" That was the annoying part about the logic voice. It had some really decent, logical points. Points that couldn't be argued with more logic and left Dean with stubbornness as his only defense. 

"Well, you know, people still see Elvis all over the damn place." Which was a pretty weak point, but whatever. The best thing about arguments, though, was that they were a great distraction. A great distraction from Sam's infuriatingly attractive face, or welcoming splay of legs in that chair, or that they were having this conversation from opposite sides of the motel room. 

He snagged his laptop out of his bag (he never took this thing anywhere, lord) and sat it down on the other table. The one by the front wall of the room, as far away from Sam as possible. And actually, out of Sam's line of sight unless he stayed turned around. "Look, all I'm saying is those douchewheels ain't experts on crap."

Dean opened up his laptop, sliding into a chair (as far away from Sam as possible) and turning his attention off of Sam. Well, at least trying to. He was safe over here, from Sam's comments and from Sam in general. And from whatever stupid ideas he brain was trying to force him into, despite his better judgement. As much as the movies made it seem that way, a single kiss didn't fix shit. And Dean wasn't expecting to fix anything that way, anyways.

However, he was also not expecting Sam to add a new level to the game of avoidance. The was the best part about avoiding things was that no one could comment on it. It was the unspoken rule of avoiding things. But Sam decided he was going to break it. 

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, sounding offended. Dean looked up from his laptop. That obvious that he was on the other side of the motel room, was it? But even if it was, why the hell had Sam said anything about it? He knew exactly what Dean was doing. Dean was shoving space and air between them. Shoving anything between them so he could actually think for a moment without his brain chanting the constant mantra of _Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam._

"I'm checking the local deaths to see if there's any candidates for ghosts," Dean said instead. Even though they both knew Sam had not been asking him about what he was looking up on his laptop. No he'd specifically said what are you _doing_ in that specific way that meant "are you seriously doing that?" 

If by seriously doing that Sam meant getting as far away from Sam as possible, yes Dean was absolutely doing that. Sam sighed at him, turning back to his laptop poutily. Why the fuck did he care? Why. the. fuck. did. he. care. Sam didn't want Dean over at his table, bumping knees with him as they fought over the keyboard and search terms and browser settings. Unless he did?

No, that was too fucking confusing, Dean had made his choice to sit way the hell over here and that's exactly what he was doing. Distance was a great thing. Well, not really, distance sucked major, but it was a healthy thing. Kind of? 

~*~*~

While the Ghostfacers were good for putting Sam and Dean on the same side, they were literally good for nothing else. In fact, they were so negatively good on everything else that Dean would totally make an exception in his don't-shoot-civilians rule and just fucking take out both their kneecaps. Seeing them hobble around, ah. That would be great. 

Currently, Dean was highly considering just taking them down here and now in the middle of this diner. Of course they were in the diner again tl investigate the next death and of course Harry and Ed had showed up, camera in tow and little mouths just...mouthing off about everything and Dean was this close to--

And then Harry _poked_ him. Physically reached out his pointer finger and poked Dean in the chest. Like a freaking seven year old. Poked him. Like _Harry_ had permission to touch him. Dean was not super-anti-being-touched normally. Okay, if anything he'd been a bit touch-starved before he'd landed the most touchy-feely koala of all time to be his permanent bedmate. (Although technically not permanent because they didn't share a bed now. They didn't even share a room anymore.) 

But something about the way Harry just so easily poked Dean, broke Dean's personal bubble of Do Not Touch just pissed Dean off to no end. Touch-starved or not, you don't fucking poke people. In the middle of their chest. Especially when they were being a Fed and you were a fucking low class civilian carting around in a van with stickers on the side. He was so _freaking_ close to just destroying these bastards.

So of course, when the deputy called them over with a "Fellas, you want to see this," Dean had jumped on the opportunity to get out of the orbit of these low class bastards. And, as they rushed forwards, happily took a straight arm to their chests and sent them spiraling back behind him. Sure, it was childish to push them behind him like that, but it felt freaking amazing. 

Although the competitive shove turned the walk to the sheriff a race, because they sped up behind him and no way in hell was Dean getting beaten by these losers. He hurried over to the deputy with a lot more urgency in his step than was probably necessary, not stopping until he was sidled right next to Sam and therefore blocking the view of the video from those two insignificant bastards.

Between his shoulder pressed up against Sam's collarbone and their combined height - Dean just over six foot one and Sam a fucking tower - there was no way the two annoying punks could see the video. Dean was quite smug about it too, the way his brain just instantly sidled his body up to Sam because his genius plans didn't even need _planning_ \--

Holy shit. He was really close to Sam. Really, really close to Sam. Okay, genius plan getting scratched for _what have I done_. Because Dean just realized, a moment too late, that squeezing up to Sam like that put him (duh) very very close to his brother.

Dean's initial bounce off of Sam's collarbone had been brief and at least he wasn't pressing himself all the way against Sam like he had been a second ago. Their suit jackets were brushing, the folds in their clothes interrupted by the sleeve or lapel of the other's. Even through all these layers, Sam was as hot as the sun, burning up Dean's body wherever the slightest pressure from their clothes touched. Dean was standing in a star again and he was blinded by it, by the warmth and the brilliance and the light that was Sam. 

They were too close for Dean to turn his head up and look at Sam - it'd be kissing distance if he did - but when he was standing on the sun he had no control over good and bad decisions anymore. It was like his head had tipped up to take Sam's mouth so many times that its what his body just wanted now, just the immediate reaction. So the sane decision to not look up at Sam was scratched and Dean's chin tipped up, green eyes searching Sam's face even though they were way too close for this to look normal. Sam looked down at him, a brief flicker of amusement over his face at Dean's race over here. 

And for a split second, it felt normal. Like this was exactly where they were supposed to be. A millisecond of time travel and being this close to Sam was the norm again, the building bricks for everything else. It had been the only solid structure Dean had clung to his whole life and for just a moment, it was his again. And his stupid, hopeful face didn't look away and savor the moment for his memory. Instead he waited, time moving so slow around him that this entire affair since the moment he sidled up to Sam had probably only lasted a few seconds. And so Dean waited as the milliseconds ticked by, waited for the disgust or disapproval or _what are you doing_ to cross Sam's face.

But it didn't. Sam didn't shove him away, didn't look down at him with a bitchface or a disappointed sigh. It was like Sam wasn't even surprised that Dean was that close to him. Like Sam hadn't even registered it yet. Like Sam had forgotten, just for a moment, that they were supposed to be fighting and not touching. They were supposed to be researching at different tables halfway across the room from each other, not butting impossibly close together like boyfriends.

Sam didn't move away. Not only did he not move away, he brushed his arm against Dean's chest as he pointed. Apparently immune to the way Dean's heart was pounding. Dean shifted his weight a centimeter, to make his heart pound less, but Sam still hadn't noticed the proximity. Or maybe he didn't care? Or, maybe he was just that preoccupied with this case.

"All right, check it out," Sam said, all business. Then he leaned forward easily and pressed the play button, settling back with his arm pressed lightly to Dean's ribcage. Not the slightest concern for their juxtaposition. Dean couldn't decide if he was elated they were standing this close or kind of offended that Sam didn't notice. If he had to pick one though, he'd go for elated. 

Sam wasn't pushing him away and the physical proximity hadn't given Dean a legitimate heart attack, which were all good signs.

So far, this case had mostly turned out good things for them. Things like Sam _wanting_ to come hunting with Dean. Then siding with him in the face of the Ghostfacers. Then getting offended and/or confused at Dean sitting across the room from him. And then standing so close to Dean that he was pretty sure they started breathing in sync again. Dean had to ask the deputy to replay the video because he'd absorbed basically zero of it the first time, the blood pumping through his ears was so loud. 

And then twenty minutes later, when Dean was doing his best not to float on a cloud, Sam had ordered for him at the takeout place. Which shouldn't have had the slightest affect on Dean. But it felt so endearing and adorable and it reminded Dean of another time that Sam had ordered for him. He actually didn't remember it (which was really too bad) but he'd read about it in Chuck's books. It was during that Groundhog Day loop thing. 

One of those days Sam had gotten all pissed and bossy and ordered for Dean. And Chuck (the fucker) had put Dean's response in the book, his "playful smirk and twinkling eyes practically batting at Sam as Dean leaned back in the booth, his voice dripping with sugar as he cooed to Sam, 'I get all tingly when you take control like that, Sammy.'"

Yes, Dean had memorized that passage. And then called up Chuck to yell about it. Because dammit that is not how you write about brothers. You do not put _that line_ in the books if you want to make them out to be "just brothers." Chuck complained like hell about the amount of editing he had to do for the books, taking out back massages and dirty thoughts and heated kisses that he'd said he really didn't want in his head. But for some reason, he didn't find it necessary to edit out _that line_?? 

Or maybe he'd just been too drunk to realize he'd put some stuff into print that made them look like hell of a lot more than brothers. 

Although, in Dean's opinion, that particular book Mystery Spot had way too much filtering. Chuck had written about what, maybe twenty Tuesdays? Sam had had over a hundred. And Dean still had no idea what had happened in most of them. Sam refused to talk about it, and every time Dean asked he got shut down so fast he ended up apologizing for prodding. If only Sam would just _tell_ him. Because Dean had a feeling he was missing some pretty relevant conversations. 

Next time Dean saw Cas, he'd ask him about memory recall. Maybe Dean did have all those memories tucked away inside him, just waiting to be beckoned by an angel's hand.

Dean shoved that thought out of his head pretty quick because he had more than enough complications in his life without adding Cas to the mix. He hadn't even had the brain power to fret over his best friend angel that he hadn't seen in a month. He hadn't talked to Cas since that day he'd left, the day he'd been so fucking stupid and weak and decided that seeking comfort in Cas's mouth was the best way to go. Dean didn't know if Cas even forgave him for that kiss yet. Actually, Dean didn't even know if Sam knew about it. Had Cas told him? Had that been one of the driving factors behind the breakup on Sam's side that he hadn't told Dean about?

If some smidgen of this was about Cas...

"Food's up," Sam said, handing a bag to Dean. Dean unpropped himself from the sticky counter he'd been leaning on, taking the takeout with a nod at Sam and peeking in the bag. Nothing too heavy - nothing heavier than waffle fries actually. So maybe that's why Sam had ordered for him? He was afraid Dean would be pounding back quarter pounders of beef a few days after getting over his illness? Dean wasn't that stupid. But he did appreciate the gesture, if that's what it was. 

He couldn't tell anymore if anything was a gesture or not. Sam was in shades of gray nowadays, and not as in the stupid ass erotic novel that wasn't even _good_. Shades of gray as in Dean could never fucking tell what anything meant. 

But when they got back to the motel and Sam had taken Dean's bag of food from him, dragged two chairs to the same side of Dean's computer table and set up their dinner inches apart, it was kind of hard for Dean not to get the message. Sam wanted to eat with him, for whatever reason. Or maybe he just thought that the distance between them was stupid and was trying to prove a point. That sounded more like Sam, but Dean wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He plopped down in the chair next to Sammy's, his box of waffle fries in front of him. Sam grabbed a few beers and came over to the table, sitting down in the chair next to Dean's and scooting it _closer_ before setting Dean's beer in front of him. Sam was sitting so goddamned close that his knee was threatening to stab into Dean's hip if he breathed wrong. 

And then the talking came, comments and ideas in between mouthfuls of food that had Dean feeling warm all over. Just throwing around theories for the case, making a side comment on how annoying Ed and Harry were and Sam agreeing with an eyeroll at their stupidity. Light banter and the sweet simplicity of regular case talk. Trust in each other's opinions, impressed by some of the more unique ideas.

It was really beautiful, actually. Anything else that had felt like progress between the two of them in this case so far was pale and pointless in comparison to the easy flow of conversation between them now. That's what it was: easy. Sitting here beside his brother, sharing dinner and beers and just discussing the case. Like the old days, but sweeter somehow because Dean knew now what it was like to live without this. 

He knew now how precious moments like this really were, because they weren't something that felt like they belonged to him anymore. Except this one did. 

"Okay. Just grasping at straws here, but when I think "teleport," I think "Crossroads Demon."" Sam said between chews. He was talking with his hands, the way he did when he was excited about something, or drunk, or just content. Dean was pretty sure excited and drunk were out of the question for now, which left him with the floating word _content_. Sam's fingers brushed Dean's sleeve as he threw them out in explanation and Dean didn't flip out for some reason. It fit in with the moment, with the conversation, and it was so fucking fantastic that he just wanted to close his eyes and soak up this feeling forever. 

"Mm," Dean agreed around a mouthful of waffle fries. "Demon that likes to stab and watch YouTube. Why not?" 

That was the thing about being with Sam that felt so different from everyone else. Dean had nothing to hide, nothing he needed to do to impress Sam. Sam already knew him, every inch of him, and he wasn't going to make faces at Dean for talking with his mouth full because Sam totally did too. It may seem stupid and insignificant but it was just one of a million things - the freedom to not have to worry about anything he did - that made being with Sam feel so damn right. 

"Oh, by the way, speaking of which," Sam's pointer finger was out in that adorable talking with his hands thing again and Dean tipped back a mouthful of beer so he didn't start smiling like an idiot and watching Sam's hands instead of listening to his ideas. They were some pretty good ideas, even if that was probably the affection in Dean talking. And maybe the Italian movement of Sam's hands that was winning Dean over. "The video of, uh, Trey getting knifed it's already online. It has, like, 2,000 views. It's like somebody _wants_ people to see Thinman in action."

Sam's hands were out again, even more exaggerated and comfortable than before, and it was so adorable that it took everything in Dean not to lose sight of the case. So he sobered up his thoughts, getting back into serious business before his brain went off on a tangent. 

"It's 'cause people will watch, 'cause people are sick." Dean tipped his beer for emphasis and Sam nodded in agreement. Agreement was such an underrated, overused cliché. But that moment when, after so much fighting lately, they could sit here and nod about how terrible the world was...it felt kind of amazing. Like they were sharing a view on life again, like they were back to that shared-purpose shared-soul happy couple that only ever fought about what movie to watch. They agreed on the important shit, and that was what mattered. 

"And when did "viral" go from that baby chimp falling out of a tree to killer "Candid Camera"?" Sam complained, waving an annoyed hand at the screen. The baby chimp video was definitely not the best video Dean had seen, although it made a lot more sense for viral than someone getting their throat slashed in a small town diner. What was the best video Dean had ever seen? He was pretty sure he didn't even have a favorite YouTube video...oh _wait_.

Dean's face suddenly broke out in a smile, the last bit of tenseness draining out of his body as he grinned at the memory. Oh man, that had been great.

"You know what video would have gone viral, if we still had it?" Dean turned his head to Sam, the corners of his lips turned up. The _if we still had it_ was a bit reminiscently regretful, but they had lost a lot of quality material items in their lives. The most heartbreaking, of course, being all the videos Dean and Sam had filmed as kids when Dad had first gotten a camera. But Dean pushed aside the loss of all those videos, one memory tugging at his mind and just overwhelming everything else so much that his face was lighting up with those twinkling eyes Chuck had written about.

"When you were five and you got dressed up as Batman and you jumped off the shed. 'Cause you thought you could fly." The last sentence came out more proud than Dean had meant it to, but he could remember so clearly the way Sam had been back there. All smiles and tugging Dean's hand and sweet, high-pitched _I know I can fly, Dean, I know I can!_ Dean hadn't even put the bit of teasing tone in there he could have, his voice too filled with affection and happy memories to tease Sam properly about what an epic fail that had been. He was still repressing the urge to smile the way his brain wanted to, waiting with a pursed, joyful mouth for Sam's reaction. 

Sam was grinning just as wide as Dean wanted to. 

"After you jumped first," Sam reminded him, with his mouth full and a smile on his precious face. Yeah, Dean remembered that part pretty vividly too. Dean had been so young himself, and Sam had had so much faith in him. _If you can fly, I can fly. I can do anything you teach me Dean, can't I?_ That had been before Dean's early teen years of bitterness and he'd just squeezed Sam's hand tighter, his own little-kid-voice responding _Just watch, Sammy. It's easy, flying. You just take one step and the whole world opens up to catch you._

"Hey, I was nine, and I was dressed up like Superman, okay?" Sam had called him Superman for a month, which had amused all of the nurses at the hospital. Dean gave Sam a pointed look, happy to shine light on any Riley Pool moment he got where Sam hadn't known something, where Sam had been oblivious for once. "Everybody knows that Batman can't fly." 

"Well, I didn't know that. I broke my arm," Sam said, all indignant innocence that totally got overruled by the smile on his face. Then his dimples flashed as the smile broke out, making Dean's heart clench in his chest.

Dean couldn't help the laughter that escaped past his lips, that almost forgotten feeling of bliss pushing up through his skin. His entire body was lit up now, the smile on his face so wide he was pretty sure he'd never stop smiling. 

"I know you did," Dean said affectionately, his smile crinkling the crowsfeet by his eyes to the point that he could _feel_ them. He perfectly remembered rushing to Sam on the ground, howling about his elbow and holding his arm out to Dean with an unnatural bend in it. Somehow even that part of the memory seemed sweet now, the way Sam had instantly clung to him, whimpering that he didn't know why he couldn't fly like Dean did. _You will, Sammy, one day, I promise._ The smile didn't falter a bit, pieces of the memory building up brighter and bigger in front of them as they both added bits of details to it. "Man, I drove you to the E.R. on my handlebars."

Sam snorted softly, the quiet laughter thing he did sometimes. Dean wasn't looking at Sam but he couldn't stop smiling anyways, couldn't stop the warm, bubbly feeling he had in his chest that made his world melt into a brighter one, one that wasn't filled with death and betrayal and lies. A moment of silence, purely blissful silence settled on them both. 

This was what it was about. This was what it was all about. The big question, the big argument, the big thing they never talked about enough and now fought about too much.

This was why Sam Winchester was the only one for him.

This moment, that moment back then, all of the moments in between?

This was why Dean was so goddamn in love with Sam. Why he couldn't seem to breathe when Sam wasn't, why he was only warm in Sam's arms. Sam was every part of Dean, all of the reasons why he smiled and laughed and stayed alive. To keep fighting the good fight. It was all for Sam, every ounce of it. 

Because no one could make Dean happy like this. And from what Dean had seen, no one could make Sam laugh like Dean could. That was the important part, the joy. Not the protection (although that was damn important) or the soulmates thing or the comfort of knowing someone was always there. It was that Sam was the source of Dean's every smile, the source of his deepest joy. Sam made him happy and Dean made Sam happy and they were happiest when they were together and things were easy between them.

That's what love _should_ be about. Not undying devotion or sacrifice or jealousy or possession. Screw all that codependent shit because when it came down to it, Dean had always just wanted someone he could laugh with. Someone who could make him feel like this, happy and like all the world around him was actually a place he wanted to be. Like every moment of pain was worth it. And that was Sammy, that person was Sammy every time. The only person who'd ever made him feel that way and the only person that ever could. 

He could be himself and goof off around Sam. He could be romantic or stone cold or crazy or drunk and Sam wasn't going to love him any less. He could be himself and he could be happy. Just earlier, when Dean had been thinking about that time in Texas, when Sam had been laughing and smiling so naturally? That's how they could be with each other. That's the kind of new beginning they could have if Sam let them. They'd learned so much, they know so much now about each other that they'd didn't before and they could forge something even _better_ out of that.

Dean couldn't even count the number of times Sam had told Dean how happy he was when they kissed. Dean couldn't even count the number of times he had coerced Sam into laughing his way through sex, once to the point that they had collapsed into giggles on the bed and hadn't bothered actually finishing each other off until half an hour later. There was always teasing and smiles and joy and slapped asses and side comments and cheek kisses and that was what you live for, isn't it?

They kill monsters and they save the world and they fight evil so that there was a life to be lived. But its when they're happy and smiling and together that they're actually living. That was the reward, that's what they did it all for. They created a life so they could live it, and this was exactly the kind of thing Dean wanted to do when he had time to live.

And for some reason, just thinking that, his mind spelled out the simplest sentence and it felt like Dean was on top of the world.

_God, I am so in love with that moron sitting next to me._

The smile that renewed itself at that thought, flashed across his face bright and unstoppable in that moment was probably nowhere near the sunshine he was feeling inside, but it felt close.

He could feel the lines next to his eyes crinkling, he could feel the grin splitting his cheeks. Damn, couldn't it be this way all the time? Couldn't they have this again? Except this time, they could do it right. They could do it right because they knew now, they knew the darkest places of each other's minds and they could build from that, couldn't they? Dean's smile sunk into simple contentedness, lifting his beer to his lips.

"Hm, good times." Dean said, softly. He was pretty sure Sam knew that it wasn't just the Batman memory he was talking about. Dean was talking about everything, because they all had been good times. Every moment with Sam had been perfect because it had been Sammy and that was all Dean ever needed to make him smile like a fool. To make him happy like no one else could.

Dean swallowed his mouthful of beer, turning to Sam. Turning to see if Sam could see it in Dean's eyes, to see if Sam could see all that love inside of Dean. That love that couldn't be wrong. How could someone take this moment, look at this moment and the joy in their eyes and tell them that their love was wrong?

So he looked at Sam and he let Sam see it all, for a moment. All the joy and the happy and the smiles and the pain. Everything. Good times that they'd had. Good times that they could maybe have again? 

Dean knew he was looking at Sam with that question again. Do you want me? Do you want those good times back?

How could he not ask the question again, when he was sitting here as the happiest person on the planet and knowing, just knowing, that if Sam gave him the chance then Dean could bring him to that place too, Dean could make Sam so happy that he'd wonder why he ever thought he was better off alone.

Sam's mouth tugged up in a smile that he tampered down into something rational, always the logical, solid rock in Dean's life. There was a moment of mutual stillness between them while Dean looked at Sam and didn't need anything else but to just be allowed to look at his gorgeous, perfect little brother. 

Sam's tongue wet his lips and his eyes cast away from Dean. And Dean could feel it, could physically feel the bricks being laid back down on their shoulders. The red curtain that had been lifted for a moment, shining the light on how they used to be and how they could be again and just making everything alright for just a few minutes in time...it was lowering and the opportunity was slipping from Dean's hands. He could feel it running away from him like water, like the blood on his hands from Sam's spinal chord injury that he just couldn't blanche, couldn't stop the bleeding, couldn't stop the life slipping away from him. 

Dean looked away, chewing on his lip. It was one of those defining moments in your life, one of those times that it felt like you were standing at a crossroads, one path to take, one path to chose. And in this case, the options didn't include digging in the dirt and planting a picture for a deal. This crossroads, what Dean said next, could change everything. 

Or it would keep them on their path of downwards spiral towards destruction. If Dean could do this right, he might have Sam in his arms again eventually. He might have Sam in his arms again right now. Otherwise...who knows how long this was going to go? How far apart they'd drift before it was too late to pull them back together? He wanted to do something drastic, right now, but it was Sam's turn to speak and Dean would have to base his answer on that. He'd have to judge Sam's emotional state and just jump, both feet in to the deep end. 

The last two times he'd done something so recklessly hopeful, one had been a miserable not-answer and the other had ended up in this moment right now. Sam had come with him on the hunt, which was great, but he'd also failed to give Dean any consolation on his feelings. So Dean was being patient somehow, waiting for Sam to finally say his response to Dean's _good times_. 

And finally he did, words sounding almost hurt they were so reminiscent. 

"Yeah, they were." Sam cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. Dean stared at the table in front of him. Were. They were, in the past. Yes, they'd been talking about the past but Dean just wanted...he just wanted his Sammy back. His kid brother on the handlebars, the source of his every joyful noise. The batman to his superman. 

"They don't have to be over," Dean said softly, barely louder than a whisper. Sam turned to him, and Dean lifted his head up. Their eyes met and it was like fireworks all over again. Dean shifted in his chair, reaching out a hand for Sam. Sam leaned forward into Dean's palm and their lips met somewhere in the middle, just the softest brush of mouths that said so many promises, so many sweet things that Dean had missed, that they had both missed. Dean's hands cupped Sam's face like the precious thing he was and Sam's hands reached out for Dean --

A knock on the door made Dean's head shoot up. From where he'd been staring at the table. Picturing what he could have said. What could have happened. Sam glanced over at Dean from his chair a foot away, where he hadn't just been kissing Dean. Damn. Dean had to blink a few times to realize he'd just been dumped back into reality. A reality that he hadn't said that, that Sam was looking at him expectantly to get the door. 

Dean got up from his chair, kicking himself for letting his head create these stupid fucking things that were never going to happen if Dean didn't ever have the guts to actually say "they don't have to be over." That knock could have interrupted a kiss instead of just a daydream about a kiss. 

Well, maybe. Dean wasn't sure if Sam would let Dean kiss him. Or kiss Dean back. And Dean could still find out, right now, after he told the cleaning lady or whoever at the door to leave them alone. Then he could tug Sam to one of the beds, touch him until he understood why Dean would still do anything it took to have his brother at his side.

Before Dean could even reach the door, Ed came barging in in a flurry of emotions. Well, it was a really fucking good thing they hadn't been kissing just now like Dean had been daydreaming, because if Ed had walked in on that...

Although the little ginger man might have just squashed every chance Dean had of winning his brother back tonight. There had been a moment and if Dean had just found the right thing to say without getting _interrupted_ and _fucking barged in on_.

"Come on in," Dean said sarcastically, exasperatedly tossing an arm up in the air. He shot a glance at Sam, who actually looked vaguely annoyed too. So had Sam been about to do something too? Had they actually been on the edge of something there? Fuck, Dean somehow managed to hate Ed even more. He didn't know that was possible. 

Dean shut the door behind Ed because fuck if anyone else was coming in here. Actually, Ed should just leave. And Dean and Sam should finish their conversation that could possibly save them from this whole thing. Or maybe Dean was just that stupid bastard everyone laughed at in movies for being so damn hopeful all the time.

A teacher had told Dean once that the definition of stupidity was repeating the same thing over and expecting a different result. Was that what Dean was doing? Being hopeful and waiting for opportunities and pushing at Sam and just getting the same result? Was Dean that much of a fool? Was he that far gone in love with Sam?

Probably.

But there _was_ still a reason to hope, right? Sam hadn't been able to tell Dean he _didn't_ want him. 

So while Ed rambled on about his life problems and fuck-up mistakes that sounded annoyingly familiar, Dean was standing there with his arms crossed and Sam on his mind. There had been a tension there, a moment. An energy. And now Dean couldn't stop thinking what might have happened if he'd had the chance to actually say something.

But every word that sputtered out of Ed's mouth was making the air around them colder and colder. All that extra warmth they'd just earned back, all that potential...it was fading and dimming with every little thing Ed had to say. 

The guy had fucked up, but his wording was just on the side of general enough to be a sharp reminder of another story. One they'd just been trying to fix. But it was like with every little thing Ed said, the words were going straight to Sam's head. Dean couldn't pinpoint the exact place where Sam had stopped hearing the story of Ed and Harry and started hearing the story of Sam and Dean, but by the time Ed was chickening out of fessing up, Dean was pretty sure the case was long since gone.

"If I tell Harry, he's gonna leave the Ghostfacers," Ed's entire being was just despairing and Dean had to look away. This just hit too close too home. True, the Ghostfacers' argument was hardly the intensity of Sam and Dean's, but it was the same concept. And having to relive the pain all over again? It was cutting open wounds that had just started to scab over, fresh blood spilling out between them with every reminder of "why Sam was mad at Dean" rubbed in their faces and waved in the air.

Just when Dean had thought they were getting somewhere. Just when he thought he had the right words to run by Sam, _Sammy you make me so fucking happy, you're my sunshine and the world was too dark without you, I couldn't see. I couldn't do it, I couldn't breathe. I just need you to understand how goddamn in love with you I am, Sammy, because that's the only way you're ever gonna get why I did what I did._

Yeah, Dean had finally figured out the beginning of the year-long speech he needed to give, and now the power of the words was fading like someone was dragging an opacity bar down in Dean's brain. How was Dean supposed to ever make Sam see why they needed to be together when this case was just shoveling up all the heartache and pain and lies like it was happening all over again?

"Listen, if you don't tell him, he's gonna leave anyway." Sam's voice was dead serious, in that tone that had Dean listening to every syllable out of his mouth like it was gospel, like it was gold. Even though the words were stained black and red, blood and tears dripping over the memories and the feelings that were still tearing at them both. Resurfaced, now. Because Sam wasn't talking about Ed and Harry, wasn't giving advice. He was reliving a few weeks ago, reliving the stupidass parallels.

"Trust me here," Sam said, prefacing that he knew exactly what he was talking about because he was talking from experience. Then his voice dropped into ten-times-more-serious and he laid it all out on the table "Secrets _ruin_ relationships."

Dean's eyes shot to Sam's face. The way he'd said that, the way he'd emphasized relationships... There was no way in the world Sam was talking about the Ghostfacers now.

Sam was talking directly to Dean. Talking about the two of them and their fight and their relationship. Which Sam thought had been _ruined_. By all the secrets. 

Their relationship had been rocky from the start, built on double unrequited love and so many secrets that they drowned in them every time their skin touched. But they'd gotten into a relationship anyways, they'd slept together and they'd built something together. They'd built something and it had been ruined by the secrets. By Dean, keeping secrets about Gadreel. Sam couldn't trust him after that. 

And by Sam too, keeping the _I was thirteen_ secret from Dean until a month ago. That was a big fucking secret to keep. And Dean hadn't told Sam about his broken heart when Sam left for Stanford until a month ago either.

Hell, they were still keeping secrets. Dean hadn't told Sam half of what when down while Sam was at school, and Sam hadn't exactly opened up about his college years either. All the months they spent apart by Hell or Purgatory or whatever, those were still secrets sitting between them too. There had been so many over the years, too many. Shouldn't they have learned by now? But they hadn't, they kept dancing in circles.

Like that scene from Phantom, Dean and Sam were locked in an eternal dance, surrounded by smoke and mirrors and masks while they spun in circles, circles, black sheer cloth veiling eyes and battle wounds hidden under the flashing lights. 

They'd kept secrets and they'd ruined each other. If only they could go back in time, just fess up everything in between them until there was nothing left to hide. Dean would tell Sam about the pills and the mania and the killing sprees and that one night with the roofies and that one time with that waiter and all of those mirrors Dean had broken with his fists and the way he used to stay up just to watch Sam sleep and just everything, everything that he'd put in the shadows his entire life. 

And Sam would tell him what that one look meant, what the hell had happened between him and Brady, who that "someone bendy" was that Sam had dated, how he'd met Jessica, what he was going to say when he was planning on proposing to her, what was running through that mind the day Dean showed up in his apartment, what he dreamed about, what happened during that Groundhog Day cycle that made Sam so afraid to talk about it, what had happened during those four months with Ruby while Dean was in Hell, what the hell had Sam done in that year alone before he hit that dog and met Amelia, what he'd felt for Dean when he was running around without a soul, and every single thought that had ever crossed Sam's mind about Dean since he was thirteen and what exactly had happened in those confessionals and what he'd dreamt about when he was in a coma and everything, everything. 

There was so much they still didn't know and if felt for a moment like the man standing next to Dean was a stranger. Dean didn't have every piece of Sam and just because he had nearly all of it, it still wasn't enough. Or maybe, Dean shouldn't want to consume every ounce of Sam that he didn't have. Dean already owned so much of him, they owned so much of each other, how much more could they swallow before they lost it all and exploded? Dean didn't care. He wanted every piece of Sam anyways. 

"Okay, well, I'll just tell him when the time is right," Ed said. And now Dean wasn't giving advice either, he was back to communicating with Sam. Telling Sam what they needed to do to survive this. 

"Time's right now, chief," Dean told him, wishing he could just kick Ed out of here and tell Sam everything _right now_ this very second and insist Sam do the same. Lay it all out on the table, open their pasts and hearts so raw and bloody that they couldn't do anything but take each other, whole and entirely in every way. Bound so tightly that nothing could ever separate them again because they wouldn't be separate people anymore, they'd share their bones and their brains the way they already shared their blood and their soul. 

It wasn't enough, just blood and soul. Dean needed everything, needed the marrow of Sam's bones to be the marrow in his own. 

Maybe he'd just stepped past the line to insanity, but he was fucking losing his shit with Sam _right there_ , physically inches away from Dean's body and so far away that Dean felt he could scream bloody murder and Sam wouldn't hear him. 

He'd take Sam right now, take him so far past that point of docility that they'd settled into, show him something so real and...

And people were dying. Sam was going to put that first. Dean should put that first. They'd solve the case and then they'd hit the road and _then,_ then...

It was just always being postponed, always pushed off to when the time is right. Was Dean ever going to actually say anything at all? Or maybe he'd be silent the rest of his life because, honestly, people were always dying. There was always another case somewhere and always another bit of responsibility laid down on their shoulders and Dean was going to spend his whole life living in this cage, wishing and waiting to break free, be free, just once. Just once, have everything he could and breathe fresh air and not be burdened with the life of every single human being on this earth for him to save.

For once he'd like to be nothing but connected to Sam, nothing but drowning in their soul. Nothing else. 

He was standing in his cage and trying to reach for Sam with an arm through the bars, crying out for Sam to let him out, for the world to let him out. He wanted Sam so badly, wanted to be out of this cage so he could give his everything to Sam and for once not give a damn about all the responsibility they'd never asked for.

But Dean was never going to have that kind of freedom, was he?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Normally eavesdropping wasn't something Dean did. He considered it kind of low, not to mention pretty desperate. But Dean was at that point in his life where he was basically low and desperate, so when he saw Ed walk by with his head down and Sam walk into the room where Harry was, he waited a moment longer in the shadows.

Either he could go get Sam now, before they could talk, and hopefully nip whatever negative thing Harry would shove in Sam's head before it got to that gorgeous brain and destroyed any chance of winning Sammy back. Or he could just wait a few seconds outside the door, maybe hear something useful for once. Maybe Sam would open up to Harry in a way that he wouldn't open up to Dean. 

So that's how Dean ended up with his ear pressed to the wooden door, holding his breath and cursing himself internally for being such a lovesick loser. Thankfully, the thickness of the wood doors was basically all for prop because Dean could hear every word pretty clearly.

"None of it was real, Sam. Ed was just pretending, and now he wants me to pretend, like this is just something I could get past." Harry sounded pretty upset, which was nice and all, but it was Sam's voice that Dean was really hear to listen for. 

"I know what you mean." Sam responded, his voice a bit past the point of sympathy.

Wait, so that's what Sam thought? Sam agreed with that, saw some sort of parallel there?

_None of it was real. Just pretending and now he wants me to pretend._

Did Sam think...did Sam think that Dean had been pretending to love him? That all that time, Dean had been faking it? Or maybe that Dean's love wasn't real because Sam thought Dean just didn't want to be alone? That it wasn't specifically about Sam, that it was just about Dean not wanting to spend the rest of his life without someone at his side.

Dean nearly pushed inside the room right then, set that one straight because is that honestly what Sam saw when he looked at this? He saw the desperation and stupidity of Dean and chalked it all up to his self-deprecative personality and need for a companion. Sam thought that Dean didn't love him, not truly. That it wasn't real, that none of it was real.

It was the craziest fucking thing that had ever crossed Dean's mind - that somehow everything he did wasn't about _Sam_. God, it couldn't just be anyone. Dean was so ridiculously in love with _Sam_ , that floppy haired kid with puppy eyes and the most intelligent brain Dean had ever come across. This wasn't about Dean or being lonely or any of those things this was about how Dean needed _Sammy_. Shit, how in the world had Dean gone so wrong that Sam didn't know that? That should be so engraved in Sam's head that he couldn't even consider questioning it and, somehow, Sam thought it was a lie. 

But the problem with Sam's theory? The logic behind it was flawless. How in the world could Dean ever convince Sam that of fucking course it was about him? Not about loneliness, the stupidly _infuriating_ bastard. Because no matter what Dean might say, the logic all pointed to that terrible lie, the one about Dean just being lonely and self-hating and needing someone at his side, willing to make whatever sacrifice he had to for that.

It was like that terribly depressing episode of that British detective show Sam loved. _"That’s what you do when you sell a big lie, you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable."_

The part about Dean being lonely and self-hating and sacrificial was pretty fucking true, and that's why the rest of it sold. Even if the part about him clinging to Sam out of sheer loneliness was so ludicrous it made the world spin the other direction on its a axis. The craziness of that idea was made more palatable and absorbable by the rest of the story backing it up. One big lie, a thousand little pieces of truth behind it twisted up to make the lie seem even more real. 

But even if Dean knew it wasn't true, the logic fit perfectly for those things - the sheer loneliness and self hatred and sacrificial tendencies - to be why Dean did it all. It was framed perfectly to look like those were the sources behind all of Dean's crazy stunts to pull Sam out of the fire. 

But in truth? That wasn't the motivation, even if those were factors. They weren't the motivation because the core, the fucking center of all of this was Dean's crazy, intrinsic love for his brother. If you peeled back all of the lies and the hate and the confusion, peeled it all away until the layers were gone and nothing was left but the dark, liquidy center, it'd just be Sam. It was all always about Sam.

And Sam didn't see it, didn't see any of that. Fuck. 

"Look, there are things you can forgive, and there are things you can't." Sam's voice drilled through the wooden door and into Dean's brain. It made so much more sense now, about why Sam thought all those things about Dean. Why he couldn't bring himself to forgive Dean. He thought that Dean didn't actually love him the _stupid_ bastard.

He thought Dean had just needed something warm at night. Something to hunt beside. "He just didn't want to be alone." Sam had no idea how much Dean loved him, how much this was about Sam, not Dean.

If Dean had stumbled on the right theory, then Sam actually thought that Dean didn't love him. And that was absolutely something Dean could fix, something he could prove. 

He could go storming in there right now, tell Sam every single thought he'd just had, every single piece of his brain. He'd lay it all out on the table, everything, and Sam would see the truth. He'd see how much Dean loved him and he would take Dean back.

But there was always the possibility that Dean was reading to much into this. There was always the chance that Sam simply didn't love _Dean_ anymore and didn't know how to tell him. That Sam wanted out, wanted to rid himself of Dean. Sam was smart enough to pull it off, smart enough to weave a web this intricate just to throw Dean off. It could all be a big game, a way for Sam to force Dean out of his life. 

You'd think there'd be an easier way to break off those bonds between them (there must be an easier way to break my heart) but there really wasn't. This was the only way that Sam could kick Dean out of his bed and out of his heart and not lose him as a hunting partner. Anything else would have Dean packing across the country, drinking himself to death. Or letting himself get ganked by a monster. Or turning into a monster himself.

Sam couldn't just untie Dean from him because the bonds between them were too strong. They were too melded together to break apart without some serious skill and carefully placed incisions. Dean wasn't just going to let go of Sam, they were in this too deep. To break them apart, for real? It'd take a perfectly planned war. 

That's what this could all be. Sam knew better than anyone how attached Dean was to him, and Sam was the only one who might be able to pull off severing all the deeper ties between them.

It could all just be a game to him, playing with Dean until Dean was just his brother again and things were easy and Sam could get out of the life without Dean hating him and no one dying and no more guilt on those precious shoulders. If that's what Sam was trying to do then it just might work. 

Dean sunk against the door, sucking in a silent breath. No, no, he didn't want it to be true. It might not be, Dean may just be so fucking paranoid at this point that he was elaborating webs of evil where there were none. But the idea that it was even a possibility had him stopping in his tracks. Had him keeping his mouth sewed shut tight. He wasn't going to go running in there declaring his love for Sam and clearing up that big lie that Sam might believe. 

There were too many open ends, too much information Dean was missing. He simply didn't know what Sam thought, and until he did, there wasn't a move he could make. 

Either Sam was upset because he thought Dean's love hadn't been real, because he thought Dean didn't love him at all. _Secrets ruin relationships._

Or it was all a big scheme and Dean was getting played. 

Dean was vaguely aware that they'd kept on talking, just a few more sentences, but he wasn't standing outside this door and listening to this conversation anymore. He rapped his knuckles on the wood in front of him, not waiting for a verbal response before he swung the door open, stepping inside with his heart pounding like crazy in his chest.

He probably looked way more urgent and freaked out than was rational for the case. Sam turned to look at him, confusion buried between his eyebrows in the sweetest, most innocent of gestures. If he really was playing Dean, he was fucking good. God, Dean was so far out of his league.

"Hey," Dean said, too roughly. It sounded more like a command than a greeting but his head was still spinning and he wasn't sure why he thought that actually facing Sam right now was a good idea. What was it that he'd come to say in the first place? Before that incident of eavesdropping at the door?

"Uh... I got a bead on those tire treads, if you want to..." Dean was staring at Sam a little intensely, body turned only to Sam's and basically ignoring Harry. His eyes searched all over Sam's face, trying to pick up even the slightest clue on which of his theories were true.

Did Sam think Dean didn't love him? Or was it all an intricate, perfectly planned game?

Sam looked to Harry, who nodded in a sort of _its okay, you can go_ sort of way. From what Dean had heard, he hadn't exactly gotten a lot of Sam's words. Although Dean sure had. He turned back towards the door, swinging it open and not waiting for Sam. He could feel Sam's warmth at his back anyways, only a few steps behind him. Sam closed the door behind him, face sculpted into perfect innocence and curiosity as he looked at Dean.

"What's up?" Sam asked, taking a few very unnecessary and very obvious steps towards Dean. They were close now, closer than they had any reason to be in a hallway this large. And it wasn't like either of them talked quietly either, so Sam didn't have any reason to be that close. There was just too much to fucking analyze. To many mixed signals and Dean couldn't fucking take it.

He was going out of his mind. He could just feel the sanity slipping slowly away from him. Case, he had to get back on the case. Cases were something he could do, something he could figure out. The enigma in front of him may be driving his brain in a thousand directions but fuck if he was going to start sucking at his job in the meantime.

"So, the tires were only made for one kind of car. It's a 1989 Geo Metro. Town this small -- there's only one registered here. Deputy says it belongs to a guy named Roger who works night security down at the mill on the north side of town." Dean's words felt perfectly normal. His body language felt perfectly normal. That was the scary thing about losing your mind - it took some time before anyone else could notice. He felt like he was watching a movie of himself, of how normal he looked from the outside. All the psychos looked normal from the outside. Is that what he was becoming? Maybe he was just delusional from stress and lingering illness and a hell of a lot of _stress_. 

"So, this thing teleported, but it has a job and car. What are we dealing with?" It was such a normal conversation it felt so damn out of place in Dean's head. But maybe this shock of reality would be good for him, stave off the impending madness until they could figure this out, kill something, and try to figure out what the hell the next step was from there.

"Let's go find out." Dean started down the hall and Sam followed, his shoulder hovering close to Dean's, even as he sped walked down the stairs. Jostling every now and then, but neither of them commented. Dean's blood was pumping fast, the adrenaline already starting to bleed into his senses. 

He felt like he was stil scrambling at something real and tangible to hold onto, the edges of his mind fraying under the pressures of impending insanity. The only thing that was keeping him calm, make him walk steadily instead of the collapsing ball he want to be was a single thought pushing through a loop in the front of his mind. 

He was going to get to kill something soon and he wasn't sure why that was so damn enthralling but it was.

~*~*~

Dean woke up blinking and achy and cuffed to a chair, lifting his head through the terrible buzz to panickedly locate Sam. It had been engrained into his panic-mode, that first response was to find Sam. Then deal with the rest of the shit. Dean's eyes darted across the room but he didn't have to look far because okay, phew, Sam was right there.

How was it that Dean ended up in this position so damn often? It was like the entire world had a kink for tying him up. He'd blinked into consciousness tied and bound more times in his life than any one person should. True, once or twice it had been Sam that tied him up...and that had definitely not happened anywhere near enough times. But when it was anyone but Sam, Dean would really just appreciate fewer people with Boy Scouts training that actually knew how to tie a knot.

Or in this case, someone who wasn't a cop with actual handcuffs on him. Those were so much more obvious to pick than simply loosening some knots on rope. 

His blinking rapified as the Evil Cop started flicking on industrial lights. In Dean's face. Wow those were blinding. And if that wasn't annoying enough, he was humming this annoying ass song in his chipper little tone. That was absolutely awful. 

"So, you're Thinman, huh?" Dean asked him, just to prod and maybe get the really fucking annoying humming to stop. And of course, riling up the bad guy was kind of his speciality. "That would make sense if it didn't look like you just ate a fat camp."

The Evil Cop kept flipping on lights and just humming that terribly terribly annoying hum song. 

"Oh, God, Sam, make him stop," Dean groaned at his brother. It was a rhetorical complaint, definitely not a command, although Dean's voice sounded wrecked and serious enough to make it sound like one. Sam shot Dean a look and then he was actually doing something about the humming, like he was taking orders from Dean now or something. Or actually cared enough about Dean's mental health to want to help him from the hum torture. 

"Hey, so, what's the deal? What are you, Norwood? You a demon? I mean, how did you teleport back at the diner?" Sam asked, and the humming _stopped_. That kid and his magic talking powers, it was just brilliance. The puppy eyes on vics, the snide looks he gave bad guys...it was just great. Especially when it meant Dean got to think about escape routes without annoying humming destroying his brain processes. 

Then the small talk of Evil vs Good Guys proceeded. Oh the joys. This was the worst part about being tied up. Sitting there and forced to listen to whatever weirdo was rambling off his amazing master plan to take over the world. It was absolutely terrible. And boring. Dean had heard so many of these speeches, he could start guessing pretty quickly whatever So Evil Bad Guy was going to say next. 

Well, okay, that wasn't the absolute worst part of being tied up. The total worst part of being tied up would be the deep worry for Sam's well-being. There was always some chance that Dean wouldn't be able to break his cuffs in time to get to Sam before something or someone evil did anything to hurt his baby boy. 

And another really terrible thing about bad guys? They got all up in your space because of their stupid superiority complex or whatever. Which was how Dean ended up trying to lean away drastically from the donut-breath getting all up in his face. 

"But I was Thinman the whole time. Do you have any idea how good that felt?" 1-800-Rent-A-Cop was sneering his psycho face in Dean's personal bubble and Dean would really like to just hit him. Instead he leveled his gaze on the freak, actually taking a second to consider the rhetorical question. 

"No, sicko, I can't say that I do." Dean said back cooly, a little bit satisfied at the minute flinch he got out of the word sicko. It wasn't a lie, Dean didn't know the sick pleasure that derived from waving your secret evil flag in the faces of deusches only to plot their death later. 

He knew a lot about sick pleasure though. He'd tortured souls and he'd cut off a Leviathan's head that looked just like his own and he'd slaughtered with a smile and come to appreciate just how good all of those things had felt. 

Maybe that made him even more of a psycho than the crazy cop. Or maybe they were just different kinds of psychos? Although Dean didn't kill humans (and didn't get why someone would consider killing people a good thing), which took him out of that category, right? 

"Yeah, pretty boy doesn't know what it's like to feel invisible -- to grow up in a town of 300 people and nobody sees you," Psycho BusBoy piped up with a sneer in Dean's direction like it was specifically Dean's fault he'd been ignored. 

Pretty boy. Really. Again. 

Could Dean seriously go fucking anywhere without his feminine features being rubbed in his face? And the "pretty" in pretty boy was so demeaning and degrading that it was no longer a compliment, just another stab at Dean's self hatred that really didn't need anymore knives supplied to it. 

"They didn't see us," the cop added, just enough emphasis on the "us" to give Dean a new topic if he needed one. Although, really, any topic that wasn't Dean being pretty sounded like a hell of a good topic. Even if it was just grabbing at straws like the emphasis of the word "us."

Speaking of which, how was the other half of Dean's "us" doing? Clearly, they were still listening to these morons rant, so it couldn't be all that great on the breaking out department. 

Dean glanced over at Sam, checking on him visually before Sam caught his eyes and made a tiny motion. Okay, he was working out of his handcuffs and needed time and a viable distraction. Dean needed to chat up the guys, make it interesting enough to keep the attention off of Sam and long enough that Sam could actually pick the lock. 

Yeah, maybe Dean shouldn't have been able to get that all from just an eye motion, but they'd been doing this silent communication thing for literally their entire lives so it'd be weirder if Dean _hadn't_ read that much in Sam's look.

"So, how did you two meet? Wackjob.com?" Dean asked sarcastically, working the _us_ vibe he'd picked up on earlier. Anything to get the attention off of Sammy. 

Then he had to sit and feign interest as he listened to two crazed weirdos rant some more about their annoying, purposeless lives that had only become worth listening to after they started killing people apparently. 

Seriously, Dean should take up building a mind palace or some shit so he didn't have to be stuck listening to conversations like this and could hang out in his head instead. 

But mind palaces were again, kinda on that losing-your-sanity loop. Like seriously, an entire world in your head that you can retreat to? As wonderful as that sounded... a little on the psycho side. Not as psycho though, as the freak that actually thought he was thin man because he put on a costume and slaughtered people. 

"It makes me Thinman. And you're not telling anyone I'm not, 'cause you'll be too dead to talk," Crazy BusBoy threatened. If the guy didn't have a knife and a lack of a brain and Dean wasn't cuffed to a chair, Dean would laugh at the threat. Because seriously, this guy? If they were in a fair fight, it wouldn't even be a fight because this bastard was basically a twig and would probably go down in one punch. 

But, considering the situations, laughing was probably not the best play right now. Especially when the Crazy Cop smiled all creepy and said that terrifying signature-bad-guy line, "Show time." Bad Guy Cop moved behind the camera and BusBoy made a final snarky comment as he stepped behind Dean, drawing his knife out. Show time aka slicing Dean's throat time. 

The reality of the situation didn't sink in until Sam started to freak out. Dean's little brother started to panic, yanking and struggling uselessly against his bonds. That moment, when Sam started to lose his shit, was when Dean finally got it. Sam hadn't gotten out. They didn't have enough time to break out and they had blown it this hunt. This was the time that they didn't win, this was the final case and apparently, this was how Dean was gonna go. 

Shit. There wasn't anything left to do but steel himself for the worst. Now that he'd figured it out, he might as well just hold his breath. He was going to get his throat slit and his brain cord probably severed, or maybe he'd bleed out. If the guy hit a carotid, there'd be so much blood spraying...

There were a couple of regrets blazing through Dean's brain, things he'd never done and things he'd never told Sam. But of everything, of everything that Dean could wish for or change about this moment, there was just one that kept circling through his mind. 

Please, fuck, don't make Sam watch this. Don't put Dean's baby brother through watching his throat get slit. Maybe Sam really didn't care if Dean died anymore but Sam had seen enough trauma in his life, Dean didn't want him to have to see this too. Sam had seen the light leave Dean's eyes too many times, the kid didn't fucking deserve that. Hating Dean or not, no one should have to watch their brother's throat get slit. 

Just, please, let Sam look away when the bastard does this.

"And...Action!" The cop shouted from behind the camera. Dean's head was yanked back roughly with an unfamiliar hand, exposing his throat. Oh god no, please, Sam, look away. Dean wanted to shout something, give Sam some final command to shut his eyes or maybe shout those three words he never had. Or even just an "I'm sorry, Sammy."

Then Sammy started to yell in panic and Dean wouldn't be heard over the manic shouts anyways.

"Wait, no, no, no. Don't!" Sam begged and yelled, doing anything he could but Dean knew this kind of killer wasn't exactly the type to listen to a bargain or a threat or whatever Sam's next play was. Fuck, if he'd only just shut his eyes, not have to watch this -

Dean was in the moment of briefly contemplating whether he'd be bumping into Cas or Crowley in the afterlife until he remembered the veil wasn't letting anyone in heaven, so either it'd be bumping into _Kevin_ or Crowley and did that mean he'd never see Cas again, Christ, would Sam burn his bones or was his baby bro the next viral video they had set up? Burned bones or not, Dean would haunt the fuck out of these motherfuckers if they touched another hair on his Sammy's head--

The slamming sound of a door drew Dean out of his final thoughts, sparking that bit of hope in his chest as Roger released the grip he had on Dean's head. Fuck, yes, they might fucking make it out of here.

Then both idiot bad guys headed off in search of the mysterious thumping noise, finally leaving the two of them alone. With the threat of execution or discovery no longer hanging over Sam's head, he was out of his cuffs in fifteen seconds. 

And he _pounced_ on Dean. Like one second he was struggling to get up from the ground and the next he dropped to his knees at Dean's side, hair disheveled and hanging in his eyes as he worked the lock on Dean's cuffs. 

"I can do it," Dean hissed, flexing his wrists inside the cold metal clasps. He wasn't incompetent, he could pick his one damn locks. Besides, this was the second time in two cases that he'd been tied up and deemed the Damsel in Distress. Which he did not exactly appreciate. 

That, and the last time Sam had freed him from being tied up he'd been all gentle and sweet and caring and worried and Dean could not deal with a repeat of that mess right now. 

"It's faster if I do it," Sam responded under his breath, his words quiet enough to be intended only for Dean. Dean rolled his eyes but it wasn't like Sam was wrong. There wasn't anything he could say to save himself from the possibility of Sam's soft fingers dancing on his skin without making it extremely obvious how shaken he still was by the last time Sam had done that. Which would be even worse than having it happen again, so he just kept quiet as Sam worked. 

Barely seconds after the metal clasps snapped open, Sam was hauling Dean to his feet by his wrists, tossing the handcuffs onto Dean's chair and full bodily dragging Dean into the shadows. 

"Fuck, you okay?" Sam's fingers brushed over Dean's neck, checking to see if the knife had nicked him anywhere. He must have had a bad angle of vision because Dean's neck was totally fine, it was mostly his ego that was bruised. And maybe his shoulder blades would be if Sam didn't back the fuck up and give Dean some room instead of crowding his space so much that Dean was backed up against a wall. 

"M'fine, calm down," Dean whispered, batting at Sam's hands and leaning away from him a little. 

What Dean was expecting was a snapped _Stop being difficult and let me see_ or maybe maybe a concerned _are you sure?_

What he hadn't been expecting was for Sam to listen. Sam's hands and proximity were gone just seconds after Dean said the word fine. He nodded at Dean once, like he was saying "okay, yeah." 

That had not exactly been Dean's intention behind telling Sam he was fine. He didn't realize until it hadn't worked that he'd been looking for Sam to tell him that he wasn't. Not until Sam was sure. 

Instead he just backed off, giving Dean space. Or maybe not caring. 

Either way, it was the exact opposite of what happened the last time Dean had been tied up and Dean didn't like it. Maybe he needed Sam to fuss over him, damnit, he'd almost just died. 

But he'd told Sam to calm down and this was the first time Dean could remember regretting telling Sam those words. 

Then footsteps echoed down the corridor and Dean's internal issues got put on the back burner in replace of the whole Psycho-Murderers-who-want-me-dead thing.

Dean held his breath as the footsteps got closer. More than two people, because there was shuffling and a ton of different patterns. Then the footsteps all stopped, most likely seeing the empty handcuffs where they had been only a minute ago. Then the idiot busboy - the one that had been planning to slice Dean's throat in front of Sam - opened his dumbass mouth in shocked denial. _"No."_

And gave Dean his precise location. He lunged from his hiding place, Roger's arms flailing up into his space as he tried to fight back. The kid was tiny as a twig, but that made him dodgy as hell. Plus he still had that damn knife. 

It was all a blur of limbs and shouts and Dean registered the sound of a pained grunt and a loud thump off to the side. Much too wimpy sounding to be Sam, so he wasn't concerned. The sound caught Roger off guard though, so Dean managed to tug him into a firm wrestling hold. He could take the guy down like this, wrestle him to the ground and get an arm over his throat until he passed out. It'd be a risk with the knife still in play though, swinging around in the air as Roger tried to blindly stab behind him and get at Dean.

Dean snatched his wrist, and the knife, so easily he could have laughed. But then he had something sharp and pretty and shiny in his hands and Dean didn't want to laugh, he wanted to feel the last heartbeat this bastard gave out, wanted to absorb the choking sounds of his final breath as he watched Dean's hands take away from him the only thing he ever had: his life.

Dean's life had been ripped away from him with three little words _No, I wouldn't_ and that was all Dean had ever had, the "Yes I would" he'd convinced himself of. 

His blood was pumping and he wanted to rip that away from someone else, wanted to feel the life force being drained, no, _sucked_ out of them. He wanted to watch as the realization settled in Roger's eyes, the painful submission as he understood, just moments before it was over, that it was too late. He was going to die - was dying - and there was absolutely nothing he could do. The absolute fear there, trapped inside those eyes, and it would be all because of Dean. 

Dean may not have Sam anymore but he could own that, he could own the look in Roger's eyes as the strongest emotion he'd ever feel ripped through his body seconds before he'd never feel again. Dean could own that. 

His arm pulsed hot and Dean didn't think much about it at all, he was too busy drilling the knife slowly, slowly down towards Roger's chest. Slow enough to be torture for Roger, slow enough that he would feel the knife as it split apart the fabrics in his jacket, then his shirt, then prodded against his skin. Dean could feel in the pulse of his hand the moment that it broke that top layer of skin, that the blood started pooling and beading around the tip of the knife. 

There were a thousand microlayers of cells and muscle tissue to push through and Dean could feel them all like he was living it on a molecular level. He could see the mitochondria split in half and the electron transport chains broken in each little tiny cell that made up the tissues he was slicing through. 

He could feel it all and it was surreal and beautiful in a way that only destruction could be. Roger was choking and protesting and just finally finally starting to understand what was happening to him. Dean let his wrist take over, let his hands slip the knife in deeper with a glide that only flesh could give. The blood was mostly still trapped inside by the blade but there was just enough spilling over to stain Roger's jacket, to freshen up the knife with a nice shiny coat of red. 

Dean pushed in deeper and deeper and he could feel the life coming out of Roger. It came directly out of his pierced internal organs and blood loss and racing heart and failing brain and it was sucked all out into the knife. For a moment Dean's knife was a syringe instead, drawing on the last pieces of the Crazy-Busboy-Roger-shaped space in this world. His hand was the end of the needle, filling and filling with the life that he was sucking out, drawing out. 

When Dean's veins were pulsing with it, when he was stuffed to his capillaries with the stolen life he had thwarted out of Roger's body, he finally let go. He shoved Roger aside, the dead and empty body useless to him now that Dean had taken what he'd needed. His hands weren't very bloody but they felt like they were dripping with it.

And for just a moment Dean owned everything. Dean could take life, human life, and he could feel it pumping through his veins. He spent so much time roasting corpses and shooting vapors that when there was blood it felt sweeter sometimes. And this time it was human.

It was human and Dean had killed it without a moment's hesitation. It wasn't even an it and Dean had never even shot Sam a glance of _do we kill these bastards or cuff them off to jail_. Because this time, Dean was pretty sure the answer was supposed to be cuff. 

They didn't kill people. _Save_ people, that's how the line goes.

Dean looked up then, almost concerned of what he'd see when he met Sam's eyes. Sam was looking at him, watching him, and they were both breathing heavy. Adrenaline-filled gazes clashed and Dean realized it was probably too late to fake apologetic. 

Sam saw him, qualm-free with human blood on his hands. And he looked a little surprised, a little scared, but he looked like maybe he understood. Probably not everything that was just going through Dean's head and his body, but Sammy was okay with Dean killing Roger.. Probably because Roger had killed people and Dean was almost on that list. 

So, they met eyes and Sam looked a little worried for a moment and then he brushed it aside. And so it will be brushed.

At least, until they had resumed their usual positions by the Impala. And like the shiny black metal always seemed to do, the conversation was invited back up. Briefly.

"So, are we good in there?" Sam asked, making Dean look up from where he was packing the trunk. He closed the latch, pulling down the metal until it creaked into place with the rest of the car. Sam sounded worried, still. 

"Yeah. With the Thinman footage and the way I set the bodies, there should be enough breadcrumbs to make it look like those two psychos offed each other." Dean's words apparently weren't reassuring because that wasn't what Sam was worried about. Dean could tell because his fingers were still twitching, rubbing against each other like he was nervous.

Like he used to when he was younger, a kid. Unsure of boundaries and of morals and of what the hunting world around them meant. So Dean stayed and stood, quiet and stoick and waiting for Sam to be out with it. He'd say what was bothering him eventually, or else he wouldn't have come over here. The Impala was like the one conch shell in Lord of the Flies. If you were touching the metal in any way then it was your turn to speak. Permission, to speak. 

Because otherwise, they didn't communicate about anything important. Just in, on, and around the shiny black conch. It was the rule.

Finally Sam stopped just fidgeting, sighing and looking at Dean with that pleading, sickened look that made Dean wish for a few moments that they had a different life, a different job. That Dean could be a mechanic and Sam could be a lawyer and they could be oblivious to the world, so long as Sam never had to have that desperate, haunted look on his face ever again.

"They were just people, man. They weren't...demons. They weren't monsters. They...were just frickin' people." Sam was upset about this and it was just like the old days all over again. It was Dean in the backseat with an arm thrown around Sam's shoulders and Sam's head tucked up against Dean's collarbone as Dean stared out the front windshield over Dad's shoulder and whispered to Sammy that he knew, he understood.

It was Sammy turning to him and wiping his nose on Dean's sleeve muttering into his shirt _she looked just like a normal girl, Dean. She looked like a girl I used to go to school with._ And Dean would clumsily stroke Sam's hair from the awkward angle and not complain about his shirt and just repeat _I know, Sammy, I know,_ until Sam understood that he wasn't alone. 

Sam wasn't alone and Dean felt it too, that bone deep sorrow of morals that weren't quite so black and white as Dad made them out to be. How many monsters were monsters and how many humans were human? Which deserved to die by their hand? 

Except right now, Dean didn't feel it at all. He didn't feel any of the obligatory guilt. He didn't feel the twisting confusion over whether he'd taken a life that wasn't his to take. But he couldn't explain that to Sam, not now. Not when Sam was looking at Dean like he was looking up. 

Dean couldn't bring himself to say a single vile thing when Sam was looking at Dean like he was looking up again. 

"Yeah, well, like I said, people are sick," Dean intones, looking away from Sam. People are sick and Dean feels like he might be one of them. Not sick like the psychos in there but sick like something was wrong with him. 

He shook off the thought and glanced back over at Sam. Their eyes met and everything was just so shaky between them, unsure of where the lines were drawn. Dean wasn't sure how he should feel so he decided he wasn't going to feel right now. He was just going to stand and wait and listen. Ed and Harry were still hashing out their terribly annoying paralleled battle. 

"S-so...Are we cool?"

"I don't think we ever will be." 

They hadn't had that exchange this time around and Dean had been willing to bet - what felt like only hours ago - that they could've been okay again tonight if all the fresh pain hadn't been brought up. If when they were talking about bicycle handlebar rides and batman and superman and the good times, if they had been able to keep talking....if all the still-stitching over wounds hadn't been sliced back open. They might have been okay tonight.

But instead they were standing and listening to an alternate version of themselves, talking with words Dean and Sam had never bothered to say out loud. Might never say.

"I mean, you know, we made it right. We, uh -- we beat the guys. This could be our shot to start the old Ghostfacers again."

"I came here with you to finish this thing with Thinman. I wasn't just closing a chapter, Ed. It was the whole dang book."

"But you saved my life back there."

"I killed a guy, Ed."

"He was a bad guy, Harry."

"He was a guy, Ed. Too many people have died 'cause of your crap."

Too many people have died cause of your crap. That was a poignant line. Dean was pretty sure Sam had said some version of that to him right before he'd blurted out the no I wouldn't thing that had ended Dean's existence as he knew it.

"I've done all this crap for us. I-I don't know why you don't see that."

Except when Dean said that line, he said _I've done this for you, Sammy._ ~~Because I love you~~

"No. No. You did this for you."

And that was it, wasn't it? The killer line that started it all. Sam was watching them now and Dean was 100% sure Sam heard that because he could feel the change of wave length from all the way over here. He could feel the mood change in the twitch of the muscles at the base of Sam's neck. From all the way over here he could watch Sam get his own words justified.

Dean really wished he'd just taken this damn case without letting Sam come along. 

"There's a lot of things I can forgive, Ed, but this isn't one of them."

"So, what does this mean about us?"

"It means... It's complicated."

That was basically as much closure as Dean had had. Actually, that was a hell of a lot more closure than Dean had had. He couldn't be 100% sure, but Dean was pretty sure Ed and Harry weren't lovers on the side. They didn't have to survive that on top of this fight. Yeah, it sucked to lose your best friend. 

But your best friend, only blood family, and the love of your life?

Yeah. 

Harry walked over to them then, eyes sad as he looked between the two of them. Dean wondered if Harry could tell how stiff they both were, how painfully aware they were at the parallels of the two fights.

"Can I get a ride from you guys?" Harry asked as he came to a a stop between them. Dean looked over at Sam for a second opinion. Because Dean really really didn't want to give Harry a ride, but Sam's face was totally neutral, if not on the agreeing side. When Sam still didn't verbally or physically protest with any part of him, Dean relented.

"Yeah, sure," he says, feeling like he's on a different planet than the one he's watching.

The rumble of the engine wasn't much of a comfort under his legs and his hands when there's a parasite in the back, sucking up air that should be Sam's and polluting the precious bit of Sam's brain that might want to forgive Dean. 

Harry was a thorn in the back seat and Dean wasn't sure if there was a rose anywhere in sight. He just wanted Sam alone, on his own, because Dean wanted to talk. He had so damn much to say. He had SO MUCH to say and he couldn't when there was another person here. He could barely open his mouth just in front of Sam, how was he supposed to do that when there was a stranger here too?

"Harry, you okay?" Dean finally said, because the silence that had fallen on the car was deafening and Harry's demeanor would crush them all. That, and he kinf of understood. True, his parallel was with Ed in this conversation, but that didn't mean he didn't get the look on Harry's face. The distraught desolation. Dean got that.

And honestly, maybe, he'd get a bit of Sam's view out of Harry that he couldn't get out of Sam. Selfish, right? 

"Yeah," he answered automatically, staring out the window. The he backtracked, deciding that wasn't right or good enough. "I mean, no."

It sounded so easy, coming from his lips like that. Just a simple "no" to a question that Dean had barely ever been able to say no to. That was a question he always lied about, always just let the automatic answer float in deceit in front of his mouth. Dean looked at Harry in the rearview and wondered what it be like to live without a padlock fastened to your pretty lips.

"You roll with a guy so many years, you start to think he's always gonna be next to you." Harry's words were terribly depressingly vague and it wasn't Harry and Ed's story that was being heard in the front half of the car. How long had they rolled together? Dean had actually let himself think Sam was always gonna be next to him. Hell, he hadn't been able to process yet the idea that Sam might not be. 

"Like, when you're old and you're drinking on the porch, he'll be in that other rocking chair." They'd never talked about that, being old. Well, just once, before they were together. But never since. But the moment that the words left Harry's mouth, Dean knew that that's exactly what he'd been expecting. That's exactly what his brain had already planned without him, even if neither he nor Sam had ever said it. 

Old, gray, rocking together on the porch and smiling at the crazy number of crinkles on each other's faces. Not hunting, just in the bunker and researching or maybe in a house with a dog if Sam still wanted that. Dean would cook and kick Sam's ass at poker and Sam would convince Dean into a chess addict and Sam would still whoop his ass every time. Together, drinking on the porch in their rocking chairs and looking out over a sunset. 

Forever, that's what they were.

"And then something happens, and you realize that other chair has gone empty."

The bottom of Dean's stomach dropped out through the floor of the car and was left in the middle of the road of some dusty highway in the middle of nowhere. Dean's entire body was suddenly cold, painfully cold, and his fingers and toes and feet and body are so numb that he can't feel the pedal under his boot or the biting leather laces of the steering wheel pressed to his palms.

The other chair has gone empty. 

Dean has to focus on his breathing so he doesn't cry. 

"You know what I mean?" Harry asks again from the back.

Dean's driving his beautiful car from the front seat and the road's whipping by and he couldn't see anything but an empty rocking chair in his vision. Dean just drives and doesn't look at Sam and uses every bit of power he can so that he doesn't cry.

His eyes tear up and he's sure that Sam can see the moisture reflected in the streetlights and for once Dean wishes that there were no streetlights, no headlights, nothing at all to show Sam the way his eyes were trying to boil over with the tears that were burning against his bottom eyelashes.

His finger hovers over the headlights switch, almost shuts them off. Just wants to be in the dark where Sam can't see him, where the tears in his eyes don't exist and there's no rocking chair to cause them. He keeps his finger there on the headlights switch all the way to dropping of Harry. He doesn't flick off the headlights but it's all he can think about.

Bathing in darkness, that's what he wants to do.

He wanted to be blinded until he can't see a single thing ever again.

Especially not that empty rocking chair, swaying lightly on a wooden porch with the sun setting behind it, rocking gently in the wind. 

Dean was going to jump into the closest blackness he could find and drown himself in it until his brain didn't know what a rocking chair was anymore.

~*~*~*~*~

 

The point that Dean decided tonight was probably a really bad idea was round about the same time he ended up apologizing to his car. He'd clumsily found his way into the driver's seat, blinking at the steering wheel that kept fucking jumping around and wishing that if it jumped, couldn't it at least jump in the rhythm with that terribly loud pounding noise he could practically feel on his brain? Well, technically, the pounding was coming from his head so it would make a little sense if he could feel it in his brain. 

Dean's hands were slidy and red so he apologized for that. Plus the road lines kept jumping around and he apologized a lot for that because that was a really terribly shitty thing to do. Dean hated drunk drivers more than everything else ever and if he was driving down anywhere but the abandoned, longass driveway to the bunker than he would've just walked. 

But no one else lived anywhere near the bunker in Lebanon and Dean highly doubted anybody would be driving around at 2am even if they did. So he wasn't endangering anyone but himself. And the car, which was why he was apologizing. 

"M'sorry," Dean apologized again for like the nine hundredth time as he cut the engine and stepped out, patting an affectionate and apologetic hand on the roof of the Impala. "L'fix you up t'morrow."

At least he had gotten his baby home safe, that's what counted. Even if Dean wasn't quite as safe and in tact as his car was, he was home now, right? 

Someone he got inside the doors and into the warmth of the bunker's safe walls. His weight leaned heavily on the balcony as he wondered if the bunker still counted as home if Sammy wasn't part of the equations. If it was s'posd to be home, why did it have such mean and scary stairs? Way too many stairs. 

"Fuck," Dean said, the stairs swimming in and out of his vision. He was going ass over tea kettle if he tried walking down those moving, wiggly bastards. Like the stairs at Hogwart's, all move-y and betray-y. And that was not even counting the slipperiness of Dean's hands or that pounding noise in his head or the sandbags on his chest. He wasn't making it down those stairs. It'd be a hell of a lot easier just to lay down and sleep right here. 

"-re you serious? This is getting fucking ridiculous, Dean. Did you drive like this?" 

Dean blinked open his eyes, squirming under the light that was trying to sear his brain through his coronas. "Murgh," Dean responded. 

Big hands pushed at his shoulder, rolling him from his side to his back. The bruises on his chest and the tenseness in his neck and the scrapes on his arm were all activated at once in a wave of terribly consuming pain. An animal cry punched the air and it was loud enough to make Dean want to cover his ears, except that meant moving and moving meant he'd cry out again and it would all be a terrible process of repetition. 

"Fucking hell, Dean. Shit. What happened to your face? Dean? Dean! Don't you dare go to sleep on me now. You don't get to just finally show up a fucking wreck at 2am and then pass out on me. Are you listening to me? Dean!"

"Ow," Dean complained because Sam was shouting and everything was too swimmy right now to deal with loud words. Plus his chest really hurt and so did his head. And his nose. And his arm. And his neck. It'd be easier if he could just escape in the dark curtain of a daydream...

Then fingers were prying at his eyelids and the world was forced back into focus, Sam's pissed off face hovering over him. His hair looked so soft and with those lights behind his head, the man in Dean's eyes looked like an angel-version of his little brother. 

"Sammy?" Dean asked, not sure if this was a vivid, strange dream or something real that he wasn't allowed to touch. Dean couldn't remember a lot right now but he could definitely remember the don't touch Sammy rule.

"Where does it hurt? Did you get in a fight? Fuck, you can't keep doing this Dean. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Is it...is it because you're trying to prove something? Because you've proven shit except that you're a fucking moron."

Dean's stomach was suddenly really cold, then there was a gasp of oxygen from somewhere above him. The hologram above him was still kind of fuzzy but it looked pretty concerned as it stared at Dean's chest and stomach. Then heavy fingers pressed down on the tender flesh of his stomach and illicited about a thousand burning stakes shoved through his gut. 

There was another loud scream echoing off the walls then the hologram - although if it could cause that much pain by touching then Dean was kind of doubting his hologram theory - was up by his face, look of crinkled concern between eyebrows. 

"F'kin hurts," Dean whimpered, turning his head away from the scrutiny of that color, the strange swirly hazel that had been hiding at the bottom of his every glass a few hours ago. The next couple of words came out depressingly slurred. "Don' wan' move."

There were more curse words out of the angel glow Sammy's mouth. Then hot fingers on his neck, pressing against too-tight muscle as Dean's heart thudded against those warm fingertips. 

"How much did you drink?" Dean didn't respond to that. He had lost count a long long time ago and that last number before he'd stopped counting had been high enough to get his ass kicked by Sam on Sam's most generous day. 

"You're going to die of alcohol poisoning before you're forty you stupid bastard. I hear you come in and find you on the fucking floor at the top of the stairs bloody and bruised and apparently drunk off your ass. Why, Dean? I don't fucking understand what the hell is going on with you. Why? Why do you keep doing stupider and stupider shit?"

Dean blinked a little more, trying to figure out what it meant when Sam ran aggravated fingers through that too-long silky hair like he could just rip it out and fix all his problems. But Dean liked Sammy's hair, he didn't want him to rip it out. Plus it was kind of sad as hell. Running his hand through his hair like that made Sammy look older than Dean remembered him, made him look tired and sad and upset. 

"Stupid hellhound," Dean muttered, turning his head slightly away from Sam's and cringing. Pieces of black were tugging at his eyes, trying to drag him away from Sam. The fluorescent lights burned and Sam's hand on his jaw was warm, too warm, catching the scruff on Dean's cheeks on fire. 

"You got in a fight with a _hellhound?_ " Sam's pissed-off sounding shout tugged Dean back out of the blackness, back to the sharper version of pain. 

"Wha'? No, no, m'figh with thisstupid bastard who, who..." Dean trailed off, trying to remember how he'd pissed off that guy and _all_ his friends. He blinked up at Sam, thinking maybe that nice hazel color would give him the answers he was looking for. Wow, those were nice eyes. But they looked very confused. That's right, Sammy didn't understand what Dean had said by stupid hellhound. He tried lifting a hand to explain his point but the flailing motion probably didn't explain anything. "M'meant th' hellhound I couldn' gank in th' trials."

"You - what?" 

"If I hadn'a been too scar'd idda kill'd th' damn thing then I couldda clos'd th' gates a'hell 'n' you'da been okay 'n' you would'n hate me," Dean explained, very articulately. His jaw hurt though, and his nose, and his tongue tasted like copper which made it kind of nasty feeling to talk. He was probably pretty pathetic looking, bloody and still on the ground, blabbering up to his little brother about how this whole thing was his fault. Which it was. Because Dean had this terrible intrinsic fear of hellhounds and he'd messed up the one shot he had to kill one and save the planet and he'd forced Sam to do the trials instead. All because Dean had frozen up and been too scared. Yeah, he'd been shredded to death by one before and they were the featuring monster in most of his nightmares, but still. You'd think Dean would be able to pull off killing _one_.

"That's what this is about? You went and - and twisted some new way to make this your fault?" Sam was glaring at him now, but managing to look surprised at the same time. He had some very unique expressions and Dean wasn't really sure how he pulled that off. He just blinked up at the floppy hair and sharp eyes. Of course it was his fault? What was Sam looking for him to say? Dean felt like someone had ripped the script away from him right at the important part and Dean had no idea what he was supposed to do to make Sam stop surprise-glaring at him. 

"'Tis m'fault," he responded instead, feeling kind of inadequate. And topsy-turvy still and wasn't the whole point of getting shit-faced so that you didn't have to feel anything anymore? Then why the hell was his body aching all over? 

Now Sam just looked sad, shaking his head like Dean was a four year old and would never understand. Like he was a hopeless, lost case. He probably was. 

"You know what's your fault, Dean? Getting drunk off your ass and beaten to a pulp and hauling your sorry ass back here like you haven't been gone for the past fifteen hours." Dean's brain couldn't keep up with the range of Sam's emotions because now he was pissed again and Dean wasn't sure where he'd invoked that from but he wanted it to go away. Mostly he just wanted Sam to carry him downstairs and clean him up and take him to bed and kiss all of his bruises and cuts and bumps and make him feel better again. 

Dean tried to shift his torso away from the wrath of Sam's anger and a sharp stab of torturistic pain clamped down on his stomach, the bruises over his torso making him cringe as they lit on fire again. He bit back the sound a little better this time, just making it a pained gasp instead of the shouts that had been ripped out of him earlier. Pool cues were a fucking bitch. Was that what he'd gotten beaten up over, a game of pool? No, no, that didn't sound right. It had been something else, something about Sam? There had just been pool cues in the hands of those he'd pissed off, Dean could remember that part alright. 

"...first aid kit, okay?" Sam tapped Dean's forehead once with a finger, trying to get Dean to listen to him. Dean had caught the tail end of Sam's words and could basically guess the rest so he just closed his eyes in recognition. He'd nod but his neck was killing him and that didn't sound very pleasant at all. The stairs creaked and then Sam's warmth was gone and Dean was left in the cold again. 

It might have been cute that Sam had gotten his attention by tapping his forehead but Dean was pretty sure that was just because it was the only part of him that was still in tact. Well, his eyes were fine too. His cheekbone had a bit of a shiner he could feel swelling, but the big guy's punch had mostly just landed on Dean's jaw. And that one unfortunate punch to his nose that had felt fan-fucking-tastic. And there was a smallish gash on one cheek, his bottom lip swollen from where he'd bitten it accidentally during some part of the fight. 

Well, at least he wouldn't be heckled for his looks anymore if his face was permanently damaged, right? But even through the haze of too much alcohol Dean could feel that he'd had worse and survived it just as pretty. At his healing rate and first aid abilities, he'd be looking basically normal in a week and a half. Hell of a lot of wintergreen, lavender, and myrrh. It'd take a lot more than a particularly nasty bar fight to spare Dean from his feminine features. 

Had that been why he'd gotten in a fight? Wouldn't be all that surprising, but...no, that wasn't it either. It was a _factor_ that had gotten brought up later, probably a quarter of the way into the fight and a little before the first pool cue smacked into his stomach. But the initial punch hadn't been about Dean's pretty face for once. At least Dean was pretty sure it hadn't been.

"You still with me?" Sam's doctor-y voice asked, his body back and crouched next to Dean's. 

"Well m'not agains' you," Dean joked back miserably. Sam didn't laugh or give Dean that endearing look that said _why am I in love with an idiot_ , he just nodded tightly and started on the buttons of Dean's shirt. It took a few seconds to register what Sam was doing but by then Dean's shirt was half off and it wasn't like he could just grab Sam's hands to stop him. So he just settled for verbal protests instead. "Wo-oah, hey, hey, what're you doin'?"

"I'm going to bandage up the torso that's making you wince every time you inhale. Unless you'd rather I left you to do it yourself?" Sam snapped, shoving Dean's shirt off his shoulders a little roughly. Dean bit his lip (bad idea) and his voice broke over the next whimper, trying to keep the sounds in but there was too any sensations overruling that part of his brain to be successful. Sam's hands didn't get magically gentler, but he was still careful as he cut a slit up the center of Dean's tshirt with gauze scissors. 

Sam grimaced every time he had to cut harder through the stiff pieces of fabric that had been splotched with dried blood. Dean could attempt to comfort Sam with some stupid phrase like _the blood's not all mine,_ but he wasn't exactly sure how true that would be. The other guys - all six of them - had definitely not gotten away unscathed, and Dean was willing to bet that at least four were bloody and nursing their wounds right now. The other two were at _least_ bruised, the one with a broken kneecap probably too. But Dean could admit that stupid-drunk and depressed-to-hell was not the best fighting technique to start with when you were one on six. 

"How many were there?" Sam asked, like he was reading Dean's mind. Sometimes Dean would wonder if Sammy really could read his mind - especially back in the demon blood days. That'd be just like Sam, to be perusing Dean's inner thoughts and pretending to be oblivious all the while. Sam was currently cutting the sleeves on Dean's tshirt too, just to spare his shoulders that yanking feeling again. Dean watched Sam's face instead of his hands, eyes running over the stress lines on Sam's forehead. He was so focused in his care for Dean but for some reason he still felt so detached, so far away from Dean's words. 

"Six," Dean rasped out, eyes slipping shut again. It was just too damn bright out there, too damn painful with his eyes open where he could see every bruise and cut reflected in pretty hazel colors. Sam made a noncommittal noise at the number, like it was something he'd been able to guess at but had been hoping wasn't true. It hadn't started out with six, not originally. No, Dean had only pissed off a set of three guys which he probably would have been able to take. It just turned out that the pool game next to the one he'd pissed off happened to be on the same side of the social circle as the three guys Dean pissed off, so three in the bar became six in the side alley pretty quick. 

A pained intake of breath that didn't come from Dean's coppery mouth made his eyes shoot open again. The lights tried to fry his brain in the moment of adjustment and the rail he was lying next to looked like it wanted to eat him alive and then things straightened out kind of and Dean blinked at Sam again. Sam was staring at his now bare torso (again), fingers tracing over invisible outlines on his stomach and ribs. But this time, Dean was pretty sure it didn't have much to do with the fact that he was a little thinner than usual. 

"Six with sledgehammers?" Sam asked, voice carefully steady like he was afraid of what might slip through in the three words. If some sort of telling clue as to how Sam felt about him was jumping around in his tone of voice, Dean was way too disoriented to analyze it correctly so it wasn't like there'd be a difference anyways. 

His stomach had been glanced at by Sam earlier, but apparently now that Dean's shirts were entirely removed Sam could inspect the damage further. Thankfully he didn't prod at the bruises this time, just looked over them like he was calculating how Dean had gotten each and every one. It looked bad, Dean knew that. It'd probably look a hell of a lot worse tomorrow when all those bruises turned yellow and purple. But from what he could tell he hadn't cracked any ribs or punctured any internal organs so he should be fine. He'd had worse patches than this. Not for a pretty long time, but. He'd survive. 

"'Sledgehamm'rs are f'r pussies. Th' bastards had 'cues."

"Pool cues?"

Dean nodded, grinding his teeth together against the aching muscles in his neck. 

"Holy hell, Dean. You sure know how to pick 'em. Six guys, with pool cues." Sam ran a hand down his face, the hand that wasn't dotted in Dean's blood. Dean only had a few cuts - the splattering of shallow slices on his arm from when one of the pool cues snapped in half and sprayed little pieces of wood daggers everywhere and from that one guy that had some sort of sharp ring on, slicing Dean's cheek and two shallower cuts on the front of his ribs.

"No boots tho'," Dean tried to comfort. Once he'd been down on the ground the few lame kicks to his sides and stomach had all been tennis-shoe induced. 

Sam snorted like that was the most offensive thing he'd heard all day. Well, Dean wasn't exactly sure what Sam had heard all day because Dean had been gone. He hadn't been far, but he also hadn't been able to just hang out in the bunker and look at every empty chair and think about that stupid rocking chair comment Henry had made that had shattered Dean's world apart.

"Can you make it downstairs?" Sam asked, eyes finally leaving Dean's chest in favor of his face. Getting up right now sounded about like the equivalent of rolling down the stairs face first. He'd only really managed to get inside the bunker on survival instinct and adrenaline alone, his body refusing to collapse until it knew it was safe. Now that he'd laid down and let his muscles stiffen up, moving again would be hell. 

"Not eas'ly."

"I don't think I can carry you, I'd probably hurt you mo-"

"T'wasn' askin' you to."

Sam fell silent after Dean's interruption, both of them reminded of why Dean had been out drinking in the first place. Yeah, that's right. That other empty rocking chair. Seriously, to be reiterated: what's the point of drinking until you're shitfaced if everything still hurts afterwards?

They were both quiet for a little while, Sam sitting criss-cross applesauce with an elbow propped on a knee and his head propped in his hand while Dean lie there shivering and staring up at the fluorescent lights overhead. For like the thousandth time, the thought _this fight is so fucking stupid_ flashed through Dean's head. At least when he was drunk he wasn't going crazy trying to win Sam back. It was like when he lost proper brain function his body just kind of fell on Sam and hoped that Sam would catch him. No skill or thought involved, just that gravity that tugged at his heart and his skin until he had to be touching Sam or he'd die. 

Eventually Dean's eyes wandered back to Sam, who's eyes had drifted closed. He looked so fretful, sitting on the ground with his hair in his face and a frown on his sweet mouth. If he was falling asleep sitting up, with his head propped in a hand, how much sleep had Sam been getting lately? Dean had been so distracted by his illness and his sorrow that he hadn't been watching for bags under Sam's eyes. Sammy didn't look that off from regular though, not really. Well, the alcohol blurred everything a bit but if something was really wrong, Dean would have noticed. He was watching Sam all the damn time anyways. 

Sam's eyes blinked back open, looking at Dean, looking at the stairs, then staring back off into space. So he hadn't fallen asleep then, his eyes had just shut for a few moments. Maybe he was more frustrated than exhausted. Or maybe he was both.

Dean was kind of sorry he'd bolted and then shown back up like this, dumping his mess on Sam. 

It was a pretty dick move. Just the kind of selfishness Sam had accused him of. He went and screwed himself up because the sick, sadistic part of him needed to know if Sam would be there to pick him up when he came home. But now that Sam had, that he'd done all that for Dean...Dean just felt like a really shitty person. 

"I'm gonna go get blankets," Sam said quietly, unfolding himself from the ground and heading back down the stairs again. Dean could feel the vibration of Sam's every footfall as he walked down the steps. 

The darkness that had grabbed him waned a little as he felt Sam lift his head gently, something softer and warmer replacing the solid ground his head had been laying on. Big hands engulfed his biceps and rolled him up on his side, blanket tucked under his shoulder before he was rolled back down. His breathing got shallower because even that small careful movement hurt, but he didn't open his eyes as Sam repeated the process on his other side, leaning over Dean and giving off all kinds of body heat while he did. 

Once Dean was successfully rolled up in blankets like a tight little caterpillar, Sam's finger brushed over his forehead again and then the proximal warmth was gone. Dean waited, hovering between sleep and wakefulness as he listened for Sam's footsteps heading back down the stairs. 

He was still waiting and wondering if Sam had somehow figured out how to float back down to his room when the blackness dragged him under and he drowned again, Sam the last thing on his mind as always. 

~*~

It was raining when Dean blinked back awake. The sound was comforting, a steady patter outside muffled by the walls of the bunker. He was decently warm in his blanket cocoon here at the top of the stairs. His head felt like it had been split open with an axe and he was fairly sure he was never going to uncement his bones from this position to ever leave the blankets, his muscles were frozen stiff and still bloody and bruised. 

Hell if he was going to make Sam carry him, though. So Dean lifted his head, stifling a groan when his eyes caught on the slightest movement. Sam was still there, propped against the door to the outside with his head rolled on his shoulder, eyes closed and chest breathing deeply underneath the half-draped blanket over his chest and thighs. 

Sammy'd stayed up here with him. On the cold hard ground, propped up against a door of all things while Dean lay warm and coccooned on the ground. Dean would hate Sam for it, but he hated the selfish happiness that bloomed inside him more. Why was Sam so damn stubborn? Why why why?

It was the mixed message of all mixed messages, being there when Dean woke up after Dean had treated Sam like shit, dumping his mess of shambles in Sam's lap to deal with so Dean didn't have to. And then Sam went and proved just how much better of a person he was than Dean by spending the night sleeping cramped and cold up here with someone who kept trying to throw his life out the window, just for the hopes that Sam would draw him back. 

Dean had never had a shittier hangover. 

He made it down the stairs by himself, a few dabs of blood trailing behind him on the handrail as he propped himself on it, gritting his teeth so he didn't hiss his way through carefully letting himself down the steps, one metal plank after the other. Slow and cramped and so painful Dean was pretty sure he might pass out but he somehow managed not to. Through some act of miracle he reached the bottom quietly enough that Sam was still sleeping. 

Dizziness set in and Dean's head was suddenly made of air, light-headedness over powering his senses and his brain and he had to tuck the handrail under his arm for support, just to be safe from falling. He didn't make a sound though, because fuck if he was going to wake the sleeping little brother just a set of stairs above him. He was not getting carried again. Not doing that to Sam. Nope. He hadn't gotten that desperate. 

But damn, had he gotten desperate. Dean looked down at his still bare chest, the bruises shining greenish in the morning light. It was fucking freezing lord. He didn't have the strength to carry blankets down with him too, that bundle would have been way too much to take. Besides, he'd been glaring at the blankets from the moment he woke up and realized they had come off of Sam's bed. Wrapped up in Sam's scent all night, of course he slept well. 

Dean made it to the couch in that back cove where he used to play guitar before he collapsed onto the cushions and decided he needed a three second break to get his strength back. 

He woke up again and it was bright and he had that damn blanket wrapped over him. What was this, the cycle of blanket giving? Like phone tag, but way worse. Because Dean was warm and comfy lying here on the couch with Sam's blanket wrapped over him again. Which meant that Sam had woken up, found him, and brought him another blanket. Again. 

Sam was like the puppy dog that followed at Dean's heels but instead of barking at him he just followed Dean around and smothered him in blankets when he was sleeping. 

His hangover felt approximately zero percent better but whatever. He deserved it, at the very least. His muscles were _still_ cramped and he was still bloody, although he felt a bit better now that he was downstairs and actually had access to his bedroom and a bathroom and the kitchen and a very comfortable couch. 

But before food came shower, because he wasn't going to go get blood all over the kitchen that he actually liked to keep clean. He'd probably gotten blood all over the stairs and that was going to be a bitch to clean later, but it'd be quite a bit later because he was sore as fuck and his brain felt shriveled up inside his skull. 

Eventually the ache of his head forced him to sit up, slowly, and he shoved the blankets aside again. Sleep could be both a good thing and a bad thing after a rough fight. The worst part being waking up, honestly. But he was more stubborn than his body, which was how he ended up stumbling through the hallway to the bathroom and cursing every other step because everything ached like a bitch. 

"Dean?" Sam called from behind him. Dean hung his head in misery. And shame. Because now he'd have to dodge Sam but he didn't exactly have the physcial strength for that right now. His mouth tasted like stale cotton that had been soaked in copper, so even opening his mouth to tell Sam off had the possibility of him hurling everywhere. 

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, walking up into sight now and straightening Dean up with a hand cupped around the front of his shoulder. Dean tried not to groan in complaint at the ache in his chest but failed miserably. Sam glanced down to his torso, eyes hardening at the sight of the green bruises on Dean's body. Dean would have thrown on a shirt but Sam had kinda cut up his last one, so. 

"Shower," Dean said, coming out a little more like a pained question than an answer. Sam nodded, tight, curt, and put his other hand on Dean's other shoulder. Dean had protested basically everything Sam had done in the past 12 hours and Sam had done them anyways so there didn't seem to be much of a point in trying to protest again. 

Sam's solid hands turned him around, walking him back down the hallway away from the little bathroom by Dean's room. Dean spent the first hallway's distance wondering where Sam was taking him and the next deciding it didn't really matter, he was too achey to complain or put up a fight. 

Well, until he realized exactly where they were going and the possible intentions behind it. Sam pushed open the door to the big gray shower room, the one with the spongey floor and multiple shower heads. Dean hadn't been in here since the last time they had sex in here and that had been very intentional. All of his showers had just been in the little thing in the back of the bathroom by his bedroom, not this. This huge, beautiful shower room that he'd only been in with his huge, beautiful baby brother. 

"No," Dean said flatly, trying to turn away from Sam's hands. Sam was way stronger than him though, so he achieved nothing but getting pushed closer to the shower head. With a flick Sam turned on the water, just a foot and a half behind Dean so he could feel the spray making the ground around his feet wet. Shit, it was slippery in here. 

"You need to clean up and I'm not going to let you fall on your ass or split open your head out of sheer stubbornness." Sam didn't look like he was budging, eyebrows raised and his _don't test me face_ on. Dean had not planned on showering with Sam anytime soon (for a few reasons) and despite how enticing that thought might be, it shouldn't have gone down like this. 

But that didn't stop Dean from sighing and turning his head away, an obvious permission slip for Sam. Dean may be stubborn but Sam was stubborner. Sammy stepped forward and undressed Dean, not the slightest bit of hesitation as he unpopped Dean's button on his jeans and slipped down the zipper. Dean stared up at the ceiling and willed himself not to do something stupid. Just because Sam was undressing him didn't mean Sam wanted him. 

And he wasn't going to cringe away from the clothing removal either. It's not like Dean's going to be shy about his body now of all times. Just because he hadn't had sex with Sam in a month and a half didn't mean Sam didn't know every inch of him already anyways.

Dean lifted his feet up individually, hand balanced unsteadily on Sam's shoulder as Sam crouched and tugged Dean's jeans off. He must have taken Dean's boots off last night when he put those blankets on him because Dean couldn't remember taking them off and had no idea where they were.

He slipped Dean's boxers off too, fast and efficient and then Dean was being pushed into the spray. Dean had kept quiet up until this point, but when Sam reached for the soap bar himself, Dean wasn't sure he could handle that on top of everything else right now.

"Seriously, Sam? I'm not five. It's not even that bad." Dean stuck up his chin in defiance, trying to snatch back the soap from Ssm without falling over or making his chest move. Sam easily stuck his arm and the soap out of Dean's reach, glaring at him. 

"You're right, it's not." That may sound crazy to other people but the worst of it were the bruises on his chest and he could get past those pretty easily. Now that he was no longer stone cold drunk but just slightly swimmy and extremely hungover, the pain seemed less surreal and scary and more annoying but something he could handle. Sam's admittance to the non-severity of his injuries wasn't changing the glaring expression on his face, though. 

"But I don't trust you not to do something stupid and make it worse. So either I can help you clean up and make it go faster or you can wince and whine your way through cleaning yourself while I stand here and make sure you don't collapse from a - _nother_ -" he said pointedly, stabbing a finger at Dean without touching him, "-concussion."

Really not a lot Dean can say to that that wouldn't make him sound like a petulant four year old. So he scowled at Sam but collapsed his arms down to his sides, giving up. If Sam wanted to clean him up, fine. Whatever. Let him. 

Dean stood still and focused on remaining upright as Sam's hands glided over his body. Soaping first around his neck, over his shoulders and down his back. Dean tensed a little as the bar of soap curved over his lower back and dipped further down, breaching the top of his ass. 

"Dean?" Sam said, catching his attention. Dean's face was in the spray and Sam was behind him and therefore couldn't see him, so Dean had his eyes closed. 

"Yeah?" His voice sounded raspier and more gruff than he'd like it to be. Sam's hands had stilled, soap pooling in the dip of his lower back, riding water currents down in between curved places and making him tense up even more. 

"It's not the first time I've touched you here, okay? Calm down." The words themselves were soothing and could have been sweet but Sam just said them like a reminder, like the way he told Dean not to forget his toothbrush in the motel bathroom. Dean nodded, tightly, because really that wasn't the problem as much as it was that he wanted Sam to touch him there. He wanted Sam to touch him everywhere. 

The soap dipped down past his back, sliding a straight line over the curve of his ass. Sam's hands, Sam's skin, was only separated from Dean's by an inch. He could feel the warmth of Sam through the bar of soap, could almost feel what it'd be like if it was Sam's gun-callused fingers on him instead of the slick piece of soap. Dean tilted his head back further, staring up at the ceiling and holding his breath. 

Sam soaped down the back of his thigh, his calf, rounding over the top of Dean's foot and slipping white suds around as he changed directions, heading back upwards. Dean had to clench his fists to calm himself down, because Sam's hands were sliding up the insides of his thighs and Dean couldn't think about anything else but how long it'd been since Sam had touched him like this. How amazing it felt to have Sam paying attention to his body too, instead of just his mind. Every swoop of the bar of soap - back up over Dean's ass and down his other leg - was sending messages to certain some increasingly more interested parts of his body. 

Dean stared at the ceiling and knawed at his lip, ignoring the pain. Besides, the sharp clarity of it would keep his eyes from slipping shut. Dean had already given so much of his body up to this sensation, he couldn't afford anymore. He couldn't loose himself in this, in something he may never have again after this moment. But that was too much to think about so Dean backtracked into the past instead of the future.

When was the last time Sam had touched him this way? When was the last time he'd had sex with Sam? It took Dean a little thinking to remember. It had been so long ago, the night before Kevin had burned out. It'd been so ordinary, so vanilla...probably the most regular, domestic sex they'd ever had. Dean had shed his bathrobe and climbed into his side of the bed and Sam had turned off the light and climbed into his. They'd lain there for a few moments, heads facing each other's on pillows. 

Then Sam had leaned forward and kissed him, and Dean had instantly opened his mouth to the wet puff of Sam's breath, kissing Sam back until Sam rolled on top of him and that was that.

So much had changed between them, Dean wondered if they'd ever have that again. Something that seemed so steady, so regular, so normal.

But there was nothing regular or normal about Dean anymore, was there? Anything he'd been holding onto to make it seem that way had slipped from his fingertips. Everything was slipping from his fingertips. 

The slide of the soap over his flesh made him feel slimy all of a sudden and Dean moved a little deeper into the water, nearly knocking over Sam who was just getting up from where he'd been soaping down the front of Dean's legs and feet. 

As soon as Sam's fingers and the soap broke away from his skin for a moment, Dean shut his eyes and dipped his head back down, letting the water push his hair onto his forehead as the heat ran over his closed eyelids. It was too hot but not hot enough and the pressure was too strong, too pushy. It was eating at Dean's skin and he had to break his face free after a moment, gasping in the cold air that wasn't hot water dripping over his lips. 

The soapy bar started again at Dean's clavicle bones, Sam's big hands turning him in the spray so that Dean's back was in the water now. Sam soaped down the tops of his shoulders and swiped the bar over Dean's adam's apple. Dean felt like he was choking on the soap particles, his body forgetting that the soap was on the outside of his throat. Or maybe he was choking on the silence between them. 

He'd been paying painfully close attention to every sweep of the soap over his body, just because Sam's warmth was an inch behind it, and so Dean felt it coming before it happened. Sam soaped down Dean's left arm easily, careful over the splatter of cuts from the shattering pool cue. Dean wanted to tell Sam what the cue sounded like when it snapped, the thoughts that had crossed his mind when it did. 

He stayed quiet instead. He had been silent this whole time, not one word. Then Sam's bar of soap skirted down his right arm, sliding over skin and down down down. 

Dean had forgotten about the etched mark on his arm until the soap was rubbing over it, sparking and shooting pain into the tendons of Dean's arm, spiking shocks of fire up his muscles. He hissed, jerking his arm away from Sam an inch. His eyes were still closed, although tightly now. He didn't want to make a big deal out of it, or the fact that it was still throbbing, but he also couldn't let Sam touch it. He couldn't let Sam try to scrub it from his skin. 

Dean could just picture it, Sam scrubbing at Dean's arm angrily until the skin flayed and peeled as Sam tried to free him, purge him from the burn. Dean couldn't let Sam try. So he jerked his arm away and if Sam didn't get the message, Dean would say something.

Apparently Sam got it, because a few seconds later the soap was running up Dean's side, under his arm, and back over his clavicles again. Okay. That part was over, at least. Sam soaped down his shoulders again, his left arm again, like he was making up for not being allowed to touch Dean's right arm. Dean just let him clean whatever the hell he wanted.

The slippery slimy of the soap disappeared then and Dean almost opened his eyes out of curiosity. He didn't though, he just stood still and drew in a breathy inhale as the soap was replaced with a soapy hand, pressed warm and sudden and familiar over his tattoo. He still didn't open his eyes even though he felt like a fool. He couldn't pretend that his entire body wasn't soaking up Sam's warmth right now, that the simple connection of skin on skin was driving him insane slowly and surely. 

Then Sam's hand glided over his chest, more slippery than it should have been. So he'd switched to Dean's signature gentle cleansing method. When Sam first started getting hurt on hunts, Dean would wash his back or arms or chest or legs in the sink. But he didn't trust the soap, didn't like that he wouldn't be able to feel the twitch of Sam's muscles that would tell him he was pressing too hard. So he soaped up his hands instead, letting his palms be the bar of soap. It still got Sammy cleaned up but it was safer because it meant that Dean would be sure he wasn't hurting Sam. When it was just his hands he could be gentle and perceptive to Sam's reactions on a deeper level. 

Now Sam was doing the same to him, palms slippery with soap as he washed down Dean's chest with his hands, careful and watchful. If Dean were to open his eyes he was sure he would see Sam's most intense concentrating face, staring at his hands on Dean's skin to be sure when he was over a bruise or not, watching every twitch of a reaction from Dean's body. Sam, like him, couldn't stand inflicting more pain when he was trying to help. Well, that used to be the case. 

So Sam's hands trailed over the splotches of bruises and his fingers traced the edges of each one, measuring and diagnosing. It was something that felt so familiar and right and comforting, even if it made Dean feel guilty as hell too. All those marks were his fault. And Sam was touching them like they were Sam's fault instead. 

He could fall asleep standing like this. Sam's hands were still moving, still tracing. They felt like they were never planning to stop moving, stop tracing. 

He could stand here forever, letting Sam soap over his chest and check his injuries. 

Over. and over. and over.

The fiery pattern of Sam's fingerprints are what gave him away. Dean hadn't noticed the shift until after it happened and by then it was probably too late to flinch away. He flinched away anyways. 

Sam's eyes flashed to his, something cold in them that made Dean wish he hadn't noticed at all. But he steeled himself and looked back at the sunflowers like he could possibly dream of scolding something so undeniably beautiful and natural and earthy. The moon doesn't get to see the sunflowers, not really. Not unless the sun was out in the first place. 

Dean tried to tell Sam to stop with his eyes and it would be impossible for Sam not to understand, not to hear the unspoken words because after everything, after all this, the one thing that wouldn't die was their knowledge of each other and what the tightness around Dean's eyes meant. 

Sam's fingers pushed harder. Dean's lips parted in a gasp, half pain half surprise and all please don't do this just please leave me alone. 

He'd thought he'd understood. For a few weeks - two weeks - he's thought he'd understood. Dean had sat in empty dinners with a greasy slab of meat in front of him and a cool brown bottle in his fingers and pushed the plate away and for once he'd thought he'd understood his little brother. 

But when his stomach growled and cinched in pain - reprimanding, punishing - Dean had wondered that if Sam had done this his whole life, what was he punishing himself for? What was eating at Sam so much inside that he didn't eat? Not like he should. 

So maybe Dean didn't understand at all. And then they Weren't Brothers and then it was the cloud of No I Wouldn't. And it wasn't about understanding Sam anymore, it was about Dean not being able to force himself to walk into the kitchen. It was about a simple loss of willpower to give himself the nutrients he knew he needed when there was a bottle of Jack Daniel's that was just inches from his fingertips and no carby food was going to make him numb like the pretty amber liquid did. 

He'd told himself he'd lost the weight because he was physically ill. Not sick, that implied his head was fucked up too. But it wasn't until now, standing underneath the hot spray and water pressure that felt more attacking than soothing for the first time in Dean's life that he let himself remember it wasn't the truth. He'd gotten physically ill because he'd lost the weight. 

The fiery pattern of Sam's fingertips gave him away. Somewhere in the middle of Dean's thinking they'd gone from tracing the outlines of bruises and cuts and checking severity - something Dean wouldn't rob Sam of in a million years because no matter how pissed you were you didn't hide the big injuries because they'd both died way too many fucking times for that - those fingers had gone from checking severity to tracing horizontal, sloping lines. To tracing sharp, hollow slanted lines. Lines lines lines all over and Dean knew for a fact that his bruises weren't all shaped like lines. 

The fiery pattern of Sam's fingertips gave him away because he stopped tracing Dean's injuries and started tracing Dean's ribs, the contours of his stomach, the shallow slanted lines that cut from Dean's bony hips down to his crotch. Sam traced over them like they were made of glass and it was just like Dean's stupid brain to feel like when Sam was touching him like that, he really was nothing but sharp edged see-through fragility. 

Dean's eyes begged at Sam to stop, to drop it. This was why he didn't want Sam in here when he cleaned himself. This was why he wanted to be alone. If Sam would just leave him alone. He was getting better, there was nothing wrong with him. 

A temporary lapse and it had all been about Sam anyways. That was the bad part and Dean knew that. Sam would find an excuse to turn it around to Dean, to focus all of the weight loss on Dean like Sam hadn't been doing this for his entire life. 

Dean had thought that if he skipped a meal he'd understand the draw of a salad but he didn't, not at all, and he only felt himself sinking further away from Sam in the depths of his defined ribs. 

He'd only ever wanted Sam's everything, wanted Sam to confess it all and pour himself unto Dean until Dean didn't have to try to find ulterior motives to understand his little brother. Yes, Dean was melancholy as hell and yes Dean was hurt and breaking and ripping and so thirsty for blood to drip down his hands. 

But it was Sam who needed help and it was Sam who was blocking Dean out. Dean may be thinner than Sammy right now but that was temporary. Sam's was permanent. And there had to be a reason, there was always a reason for everything. Dean just wanted to know. 

If it was serious, if Sam was refusing of food instead of reluctant, Dean would have drawn an all out fix a very long time ago. If Sam counted his meals or his bites, Dean would have held Sam down onto a bed somewhere until they both cried and Sam fessed up. If there had been bruises or an obsession with water or a calculating glance at everything that went in Sam's body, Dean would have locked them both inside a room until they were okay years and years and years ago. 

But it wasn't like that and it wasn't bad and Dean knew that. He'd been here since Sam was born and he'd watched Sam eat since he was born and he was careful careful to make sure Sammy got what he needed since he was born. 

It was just that sometimes Sam didn't feel like eating and sometimes he just ate because Dean made him food and all Dean really wanted to know was the logic behind that. 

He was pretty sure it wasn't an eating disorder as much as it was a preference to not scarf down everything he could like Dean did. Or maybe he was just simply fucking healthier than Dean was and that's why he liked salads more than hamburgers. 

But whatever it was it was just another thing on the list of Shit They Don't Talk About and that list was getting too long and heavy for Dean to hold it over his head anymore. 

They'd spent their entire lives not talking, three days fessing up just enough to realize how much they'd never said, and then fallen back into the past with the weight of it all crushing them into silence again. 

Dean would slice open his skin if that would let Sam see his insides. He wanted Sam to see every inch of him and he didn't have words that could do that. He wanted to peel off the layer between them until their muscles were forced to strait against each other. He wanted to go back on everything he'd never said and every time he'd turned up the volume in the car instead of hashing it out. He wanted to go back to all those times they lay sated and quiet in bed and said nothing because they didn't really have to say anything. 

Well they should have said it all anyways. 

Dean pulled away from Sam's hand. Sam was going to think something was wrong with Dean but Dean was cellophane. You could see anything that was wrong with him just by watching his skin and Sam could probably tell Dean more about what was wrong with him than Dean could. 

He closed his eyes and thought about how it wasn't about the eating, not really. It was about the talking. It had always been a lack of communication. Which was funny, because Sam and Dean communicated better than nearly everyone Dean knew. 

They could practically read each other's minds, they knew emotions and expressions and every day thoughts so well. 

But they were missing events. Opinions. Explanations. Dean knew every single flicker of Sam's face but he wasn't sure he knew why. He knew the light in Sam's eyes that brightened when he found something interesting in a Men of a Letters' book but Dean had never asked Sam why he wolfed down knowledge the way Dean's baby sucked up two lane asphalt. 

Dean had never told Sam why he liked cars so damn much. Why he spiked his hair up at the front. Why he needed to breathe only Sam's air for the rest of his existence. 

There were questions Dean had never even asked himself that he wanted Sam to ask him. He wanted to give himself over so completely that he wasn't even a separate person from Sam anymore. They were just extensions of each other. 

He didn't want Sam to start thinking like he did and he didn't want to take away the fact that Sam liked green and Dean liked red or that Sam read classics and Dean secretly liked poetry instead. Dean didn't want to make them the same person he just wanted to know every single reason that they were different. 

He wanted to celebrate it, to look at Sam as a whole instead of pieces and to see every thing about him that made him so human and absorb in all that knowledge until he went from an expert on Sam to someone who could look at him and know for once, that Sammy had someone who understood him. 

Sam deserved someone who understood him and it may be as selfish as Sam thought, but Dean was so sure he was the only person who could ever achieve that. Dean was so much closer to understanding Sam than anyone on the planet ever ever could be. It's not that Dean was smarter or more aware. It wasn't even really that Dean had been there since the beginning and watched every little shift in Sam's life. 

It was that Dean's life had been consumed by Sam's, he'd been swallowed up in the obsession with his brother. Sammy was the sun for more reasons than the way his heat and light lit up Dean's entire world. Sammy was the sun because Dean had revolved around him, made every decision with Sam in mind, built his entire personality and being to fit like a puzzle piece nestled up against his brother. 

Dean could maybe understand Sam one day because he loved him more than the expanse of their universe could ever categorize.

He was aware how dangerous it was to think like that. But it was too late for him, and Dean knew that. Thirty plus years too late. There had been four years of Dean's life that he had been content without Sam. But from the moment his tiny hand had splayed across his mother's swollen stomach, Sam was integrated too deeply in Dean for anyone to ever cut out. 

Even if that's what Sam was trying to do. Even if this was a game and Dean was being manipulated, Sam would never fully succeed in the surgical removal of himself from Dean's body. Dean would die on the operating table and he was fairly sure they both knew that by now. 

The fiery pattern of Sam's fingertips didn't stop tracing the lines on Dean's torso - the wrong lines, although Sam had paid plenty of attention to all the bruises and cuts on Dean's body by now - even though Dean was begging Sam to stop. Sam just kept tracing and tracing and not listening to the silence between them. 

"You're addicted." The words fell to the ground between them at the same consistency of the shower water, beating and scalding and dissipating into fog the moment that they smacked the floor. Dean watched the words evaporate into the air around them and wondered if he'd be breathing those two words in for the rest of his life. 

Then Dean's lungs stopped taking in oxygen and all of his cells gave a singular, screaming protest at the cut off from their supply. Homeostasis and osmosis and Dean owed his body at least some oxygen, right? 

His lips parted but he wasn't sure he'd ever draw in air again unless Sam pushed into into his mouth with his tongue. 

"You're addicted to feeling this way. You give up control at the bottom of the bottle and you give up control to the weapons you wield in your fists." Sam's fiery fingertips had stopped moving. Now they were just pressed against his stomach, palm flat and centered directly over Dean's belly button.

Dean's eyes were on Sam but he didn't see the sunflowers, just sharp magnifying glasses that saw right through Dean's cellophane in some places and ignored it in others. Sam was writing him poetry with his lips and it was poetry of the very worst kind.

"Why do you only feel alive when you're hurting?" Sam whispered, the pounding of the shower on Dean's back and shoulders almost too loud to hear the words. 

Now they were asking the real questions.

This was exactly what Dean wanted from Sam, the exact thought process and questions and suddenly Dean craved words like he never had before. 

Dean wanted words as badly right now as he wanted silence when he and Sam stared easily at the stars. 

His lips parted and his lungs sucked in oxygen and for one split second Dean had thought that they had reached that moment where the catharsis began and he finally learned what it was like to breathe. 

Then the pressure of Sam's hand on his stomach lifted off, the warmth of Sam's body aimed at his was dissipated and Sam was stepping back, retreating back. 

Sam had closed the conversation before Dean had gotten a word in. 

Dean fished and scrambled and plucked at his brain for something, anything, to say that he wanted to talk about this, he needed to talk about this. 

What he had been craving for so long was stretched out in front of him like a glimpse at the buffet and he was reaching out his arms, reaching and flailing for the tablecloth and falling short by a foot. 

Falling short because Dean had so much to say and none of the words to do it. He wanted to figure this out, figure himself out and figure Sam out but Sam wasn't giving him the chance. 

He'd swung open the door and slammed it back shut and Dean was left gasping with a glimpse of all he ever wanted but none of it in his hands because he was physically incapable of saying this is what he needs. 

Dean was still learning and new and thirty years of pent up words was a hard habit to break in the mere milliseconds Sam had given him. But then the chance was being ripped away and Dean was faced with the acknowledgment that he'd had a few seconds of a shot at everything and he'd missed it. 

He'd missed it because he wasn't good enough or sharp enough or fast enough to keep up with Sam. He wasn't bright enough or honest enough to make his throat form syllables like...

Like what did he even say to that? What could he possibly say to convey to Sam a lifetime of emotions and craving for a question like that? 

How do you just tell someone that you want them to dissect you and make them understand what that means before they go running and kicking and screaming in the other direction? 

Dean fumbled at words and he fumbled at the shot he had at a real future with Sam and he slid face first into aching, reaching, painful silence. 

If Sam were to look up now he'd see Dean screaming at him, wordlessly begging and pleading to just look, just see in my eyes what I can't say with my mouth because those lips have betrayed me more times than they've saved me. 

Sam didn't look up, he just stepped out of the spray and walked carefully to the wall, gathering towels. 

Dean turned his body to face the spray and willed the shower to do for him what he couldn't do for himself. 

Wash the skin and blocks and masks away until he could give the bloody broken pieces to Sam. 

 

Sam shut off the water at some point. Wrapped Dean up in a towel. He let Sam move him how Sam wanted, obedient and cold and shivering as Sam rubbed up and down over his arms with the towel to try to warm him up. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever be warm again but if he was going to be, being exfoliated by a towel wasn't going to be the thing that did it. 

Dean was mute, his vocal chords long since abandoned him. He'd become a mermaid on land, voiceless and finally having so much to say.

Dean let Sam lead him to his bed and thought belatedly about no longer having to worry about running into Kevin on the way from the shower room to his bedroom. Dean stumbled slightly from his wet feet and Sam caught him, kept him upright. Dean wondered if Sam would ever get it if Dean turned to him right now and told him that he was Ariel and Sam had to teach him how to talk again. 

Sam would probably think Dean was drunk or hallucinatory and dump Dean on his bed, steal the Jack from his bedside, and lock the door to Dean's room behind him. 

So Dean kept being mute instead and let Sam pull the covers up over him and tell him to sleep and take the whiskey and turn off the light. 

But Sam didn't close the door to Dean's room and as Dean let himself finally give in to the years of blackness waiting behind his closed eyelids he thought about the open door to his room and decided he was going to keep it that way when he woke up. If he woke up.


	28. Primeval (Blade Runners  09x16)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blanket warning: this chapter is pretty intense. At parts.  
> Song mentioned: This Night by Black Lab https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cucFfpsqf8  
> Song recommend: Poison by Groove Coverage https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzIivel0VPM

"What is this?" Dean asked cautiously, eyeing the plate Sam had just scooted across the table to him. 

"Avocado sandwich. And not deadly," Sam responded, scooting a glass of water across the table too. 

Dean wrapped his hands a little tighter around the mug of coffee he'd been nursing like he was afraid Sam would take it away from him. Sam rolled his eyes, stabbing a fork into a piece of lettuce on his own plate. Honestly Sam was just glad that Dean was drinking coffee instead of whiskey so he wasn't going to complain. 

The cut in his cheek was just a faint pink line now, the bruising on his nose just barely bluish, and the swollen bottom lip nearly back to its normal plushness. Sam hadn't seen his chest again since that first morning in the shower, but he could tell it was still hurting because Dean was moving stiffly, refusing to swivel his upper half or reach further than an inch to get things. 

Eventually Dean tugged the plate with the avocado sandwich closer to himself, arms careful not to move too much and jostle the pain of his ribs. Sam watched as Dean leaned over the table and lifted the sandwich to his dry lips, taking a single bite. He looked down at the food in his hand as he chewed, eyebrows furrowed like he was debating whether or not to complain. 

Sam didn't ask Dean if he liked it or not because he could give a damn what Dean thought of the sandwich. Dean was going to eat it anyways. He was still recovering and he needed something healthy. So with Dean unable to cook, that left Sam to stare blankly at the pots and pans and ingredients and wonder how the hell he was going to make anything edible. Mixed in with a lot of wondering about how _Dean_ knew any of this stuff when Sam was so clueless. 

The avocado sandwich was fairly straight forward though, and didn't require any legitimate cooking. Just putting ingredients between bread. It had enough green things in it to be somewhat healthy for Dean, and Sam had an almost guarantee that Dean would eat it. 

Ever since that shower, Dean had made a point to eat in front of Sam. He'd freaked out when Sam had noticed how much weight he'd lost, begging Sam with silent pleas to leave him alone as Sam traced the stark outline of his concave stomach. Even under the purple yellow green pattern of bruises, Sam had been able to see just how thin Dean was. And every meal since then, Dean made a show of eating whatever was set in front of him. It was like he was trying to prove to Sam that he was fine and healthy and functioning totally normally. 

Except that there was nothing normal about Dean right now. 

It wasn't just the weight loss, which was super out of character for Dean. The few pounds he'd dropped were concerning, but the more concerning part was that Dean had let himself lose weight. Their entire adult lives Dean made a point to never be hungry. His unique and pretty abdomenal muscles sometimes had half an inch of plush give coated over them, just enough to make him huggable but still keeping his stomach flat. 

It was adorable, honestly, and Sam loved the non-perfect lines of Dean's usual stomach. Mostly because they hadn't been there when they were kids. Their childhood had been filled with not enough money for food and Dean would go out of his way to make sure Sam was fed first. Which meant way too many nights that Dean didn't get food at all. Dean had spent his growing years slightly underweight and that was probably one of the biggest reasons that Sam had been mad at Dad forever. 

Ever since Dad had no longer been in control of their meals, Dean ate frequently and plentily. Any time there was free food available, he took one too many (at least) out of habit, because there was the part in his brain that wasn't sure of the next time he'd have food. It was sickening and sad but also why Sam never stopped Dean from grabbing another free mini hotdog. 

Sam had never had that problem because Dean had always made food appear on the table, somehow. He'd do anything he had to to make sure Sam got fed, which was another reason Sam had hated Dad for their lifestyle. Dean was forced into stealing, bargaining his rare and few possessions in poker just for the chance of some cash, taking on too many jobs and working himself half to death, and who knows what else. But Sam had never been starving, never really been malnourished when he was younger. Not like Dean had. 

Sam was fairly sure that was also the reason that Dean had sex with so many women in his early twenties. Sex meant a free bed to sleep in overnight and a free breakfast in the morning. It was the cheapest way Dean could guarantee himself a meal and a bed and the idea that Dean had ever been in a place in his life that he'd had to do that made Sam feel sick. He'd bargained his body for food, used himself so that he could find a warm, safe place to sleep. True, as far as Sam was aware, Dean had only gone home with people he wanted to sleep with, but still. 

So of course when Sam saw his brother naked for the first time in a month plus and he was pale and bruised and too frail and underweight, he was going to be upset. Dean had spent too many of his growing years malnourished, the idea that he would put himself through that again for whatever stupid macho reason he'd come up with...it was all around terrible. 

So Sam had started making food, a bowl of cereal here and a ham sandwich there, anything that was easy and mostly foolproof. And when he sat meals in front of Dean, Dean made a point to eat them. Which made Sam feel infinitesimally better. 

They'd really developed reversed roles in the past few days. When Sam had been going through the trails Dean had bathed him and made him meals and made sure he'd eaten. Now Sam was doing the same for Dean, in his bruised and healing state. Although this time wasn't all that different from looking out for Dean after a regular hunt that ended badly - save the food part.

"How are your bruises?" Sam looked over to Dean, breaking the silence that had fallen on them. They spent a lot of time in silence lately, and not the good comfortable kind either. Surprise flickered across Dean's face but was quickly replaced with dismissal. 

"Fine," he grunted, taking another bite of his sandwich so he didn't have to say anything else. Sam kind of longed to retort back with _Fine as in Freaked out Insecure Neurotic and Emotional?_ But he didn't, because that's not where they were in their relationship anymore. 

Sam wasn't exactly sure where they were in their relationship, but he hadn't forgiven Dean yet and Dean knew that. Even if he was still too stubborn to get why. 

Dean had been acting weirder and weirder ever since the Thinman case. He'd started closing himself off from Sam, despite that they were spending more time together than they had since their fight. His temper was short and he'd snap at nearly everything, then fall into this deep intense silence where he didn't even part his lips for an hour. More often than not, he'd have this far off look in his eyes like he wasn't even in the same universe that Sam was. 

It was starting to get scary but Sam was doing his best to ignore it. Dean was in pain, physically and mentally, and he was still going through a bottle of whiskey a day. They hadn't made up and it felt like they weren't going to for a long time - which was a terrible feeling, but Sam wasn't going to budge on this. He _couldn't_ budge on this. It was too important. 

This was saving the world they were talking about. This was their relationship they were talking about. This was about _Dean_ and Sam would no more toss this fight aside than he would his brother. 

"After breakfast I can look them over," Sam said without looking up at Dean. He knew Dean would protest, he always did whenever Sam wanted a follow up check on an injury. And since he'd been even more spiteful lately, odds are he may not let Sam see his injuries at all. 

They should really just call this fight the Opposites Fight because Dean suddenly stood up, fingers working swiftly over his buttons. He'd been wearing only a button down lately, so he didn't have to worry about pulling a tshirt over his head. Sam looked at him and raised his eyebrows. 

"I'm done eating and I have things to do so you can just look now and be done with it." Dean's words were short and choppy but he had his shirt off in just a few moments, wincing slightly as he tugged it off his shoulders and exposed his chest.

The green and purple mottled colors had faded to light pastels, just looking like reflections on his chest and stomach. He was healing, a lot, and Sam hadn't found any internal damage during his initial check, so he doubted there were any problems. And as for his weight, Dean was just slightly thinner than usual. He looked good - well, better anyways. 

Which meant that soon he'd close off to Sam completely, not relying on his help for anything. And with the habit of silence Dean had fallen into, Sam had a feeling that once these injuries were gone they wouldn't have anything to talk about. 

"They look better," Sam said anyways, even while he was wishing things could be so different from this. Dean was standing on the other side of the table, shirtless and still beautiful under those bruises and defined ribs. And Sam was sitting way over here, looking and not touching and hating how things had come between them. 

"Yeah." Dean grabbed his shirt back from where he'd tossed it in his chair and started to button it back up. "There's some research I wanted to get done, people I wanted to call --"

"Crowley?" Sam interrupted, because that was basically the only person Dean called nowadays. Which pissed Sam off to no end. He still didn't know what had happened between the two of them but at the rate of attention Dean was throwing in Crowley's direction...

"Maybe. Why?" Dean snapped back, instantly on the defense about anything Crowley related. 

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. He just shook his head, dismissing the comment with the universal signal for "forget I asked."

Dean looked at him scrutinizingly for a second then just grabbed his plate, walking to the kitchen without so much as a thank you for the sandwich. Sam watched him go, shirt crooked on his shoulders as he stalked off. There used to be a time that Sam would watch Dean's ass as he walked away, but that would just feel...weird now. Like he was violating Dean in some way because you don't check out people you're fighting with. So he watched Dean's shoulders instead.

Another few days passed and Dean stopped moving cautiously, slipping back into the skin of his old self as his wounds healed over that final bit. The shallow gash on his cheek was long gone and so were the slivers of cuts on his arms. And based the way he was having no trouble twisting his torso, the bruises there were gone too. He'd started wearing tshirts with his button ups again, the first clue that he was back to okay.

It was the first time since Stanford that Sam hadn't been there for every step of Dean's healing process, cataloging progress and shoving painkillers at him. Ever since Dean's first real hunt with Dad, Sam had been his designated nurse. Sam had only been eleven or twelve but when Dean had come back home Sam had been ready with a tub of bandaids and gauze. Which Dean had let Sam plaster over him to Sam's content, laughing the whole time about how he didn't even get a scratch, Sammy, I'm here now. 

That felt like a different lifetime, like those two people were different people from the ones sitting in this room right now. Well, Dean wasn't sitting, he was standing. Sam was probably staring, but Dean was busy pretending not to notice so it didn't matter much. How could things be so different than they used to be?

Just looking at the scruffy, melancholy, distracted man pacing a few feet away...was this the same gorgeous man who gasped into Sam's mouth when they kissed? Was this the same beautiful boy who twirled flare guns on his fingers and grinned over at Sam like they were the kings of the world?

It didn't feel like it. 

Sam forced himself to look back at his laptop screen, scrolling down yet another page on the biblical story of Cain and Abel. Dean hadn't asked Sam to research the mark and honestly Sam wasn't sure Dean ever bothered researching it himself. Dean may be fine with having some biblical mark burned into that golden skin but Sam would really like to know what the fuck it was and what the hell it meant. Because every time he looked at it he got chills, that tug in his gut that told him something was so so wrong. 

For a while, Sam thought Dean either didn't notice the mark or didn't care about it. Until he'd been scrubbing Dean down after his last bar fight escapade and had attempted to clean that part of Dean's arm. The moment Sam brushed over the mark, Dean had jerked back like Sam had physically hurt him. His entire body had tensed up, like it was painful but he didn't want Sam to know that. 

Any interest Sam had in the mark tripled and he'd been researching what he could ever since. Not saying that he'd found anything useful, because there was basically no lore about the mark itself. The story of Cain was everywhere, versions and variations, and almost all of them mentioned the mark. But more as a side note, just a single sentence dedicated to it that was leaving Sam frustrated and getting no where.

Apparently, though, not as frustrated as Dean was right now. His voice had gotten near panic-levels as he bitched into his cell for the umpteenth time.

"Come on, Crowley. Pick up!" Dean snapped into the still ringing phone, practically growling as he turned to Sam instead of the phone that he'd left at least seven messages in _today_. Sam was past the point of pissed, past the point of acting jealous, and was kind of just rolling disdainfully with it because no matter what he said, Dean was _obsessed_ with contacting the bastard. "Where the hell is he? It's not like he's got a social life."

Sam looked up from the computer at that, the tone in Dean's voice shifting a bit from the last couple of calls. First hopeful, then annoyed, then pissed, and now he sounded...

"Uh, are you actually worried?" Sam asked, giving Dean the most disapproving look he could. Then the metallic sound of Crowley's voicemail - that even Sam had memorized by now just listening to it second hand - whined into Dean's ear.

_Too busy inflicting pain to answer. Leave a message._

Dean didn't respond to Sam's worried comment, instead making his annoyed face and throwing a hand up in the air as he glared for sympathy. "Guy's got one job -- find the First Blade, bring it back. How hard is that?"

Dean made it sound so simple, like they weren't teaming up with a demon. Or, you know, the king of hell. Who was a slimy, terrible, murderous, annoying bastard that Dean just couldn't seem to get out of his mind. 

"It's Crowley. He's not exactly a team player," Sam said in as calm as possible of a reminder. He'd already let Dean see him get worked up over the Crowley thing and that hasn't helped any. So maybe just brushing it aside would make Dean brush it aside too? 

"Yeah, but his ass is on the line, too. He goes missing for weeks on end without a peep?" Missing? Weeks on end? Since when did they keep tabs on Crowley? Had Dean been expecting a check up call? It was infuriating how little Sam knew about this whole ordeal. 

Then Dean walked over to Sam's side, a little less fume-y as he sat his phone down on the table next to Sam. 

"Well, not one that makes sense, anyway. Listen to this." Dean pressed play and Sam kept his eyes on his computer screen as long as possible. It used to be such a regular thing for them to be standing close but now every time they ended up side by side it was like Sam was twenty three again and noticing every brush of Dean's shoulder against his.

 _Dean,_ the voice whines over the phone. _Um... hskbahsinha jdhshbbs qoruencmns._ Basically. Just a shitton of slurred, indecipherable ramblings. Which would make no sense unless --

"Wait a second. Did he...Drunk-dial you?" Sam gaped up at Dean, torn between wanting to laugh (he would have two months ago) and wanting to call Crowley up himself and tell him to back the fuck off his boyfriend. 

Except Dean wasn't his boyfriend anymore. Although, if Crowley had _drunk dialed_ Dean...Sam knew exactly who people dialed when they were drunk. People they were in love with, exes, people they'd slept with last, and people they wanted to sleep with. 

Which one was Dean to Crowley? Sam swallowed, the thought like ice slipping down his throat and chilling his body. Sure, Sam and Dean were fighting, but the idea that Dean could have been with someone else during that time? 

Sam was pretty sure his thought process was written all over his body language but Dean didn't seem to notice it. Well, he did look pretty damn guilty at Sam's last question. He made a kind of embarrassed face, quickly ending the voicemail (which he had saved - Sam hadn't missed that part either) and retreating with his phone.

He sat down in the chair closest to Sam, where his feet should have touched Sam's long outstretched legs. They didn't though, which meant Dean had tucked his feet under his chair to avoid physical contact. Sam didn't blame him. He scooted his legs up too, just in case.

"Come on," Dean sighed into his phone again, number ringing for the umpteenth-plus-two time as he tapped his fingers on the table. Waiting, impatient. 

"Dammit," Dean cursed as the phone went to voicemail again. He dropped the phone on the table without leaving a message this time, instead rubbing a hand down his face. Sam watched the whole scene over the top of his laptop and wondered if Dean would ever tell him anything about his time with Crowley. 

~*~

Sam hated jealousy. It was such a primeval emotion, the kind that he usually associated with the type of possessive guys who practically dragged their loved ones into caves by their hair. As much as Sam loved having his hair tugged, he couldn't bring himself to come to terms with something as possessive and crude as jealousy.

But if jealousy was green then Sam was Dean's-eyes with it.

He'd spent his teenage years torn between glaring at the girls Dean was enraptured with and wishing he was more like them. He'd had his fits of jealousy here and there, but he'd also been a kid going through puberty and hormones and the pressure of high school, of fucking course he got jealous sometimes.

But Sam was thirty and way more jealous right now than he had ever been back then. And if that wasn't enough, he was feeling shifty and uncomfortable in his own skin too. Unsure, of Dean, and of himself. Of what the hell was going on between Dean and Crowley and whatever the hell else he didn't know about.

And what the hell was up with Dean in general because half the time Dean's head wasn't even in the same room as his body. He kept getting the glazed over look in his eyes like he was slowly losing his sanity. It had been scary at first but now it was just pissing Sam off. Because worrying about Dean's mental health on top of the mark and his physical health and Crowley and all of that shit...fuck.

And because Sam was a jealous, worried, distrusting ex, he was currently researching what Crowley was supposed to be doing. Dean had said Cain threw the First Blade to the deepest ocean, which a quick google search instantly revealed as the Mariana Trench. Seriously, how had Crowley not brought the blade back yet?

Sam was reading the entry on the Mariana Trench when Dean walked in. Walked in like it could have been a fucking runway. If this exact moment was playing out in a bar instead of the bunker, the entire fucking room would have turned their heads, jaws dropping and weight shifting and eyes glued to the man that just sauntered into the room like the most gorgeous thing anyone had ever seen. 

Dean looked distracted, like he hadn't noticed the invisible crowds (and Sam) that were staring at him, in awe of the way he just stole the air from the room. He just kept walking, jeans hugging his legs as one of his big hands stretched around the tops of two beers. He was actually wearing the same clothes that he'd been in for summoning Snooki, except this time without the bulky denim jacket that hid everything. When Dean wasn't in a jacket he looked so much smaller, more human, vulnerable. And ungodly beautiful.

A white henley with double the amount of buttons, every single one of them undone. Dean was walking in here _unbuttoned._ As if that wasn't enough he was wearing some beautifully crisp overshirt in this gray blue color that looked like it might be somewhat silky to the touch. The sleeves of both were rolled up, revealing the long muscles of his forearms that stood out when he had his hands pressed against the wall, head hanging down and back arched as Sam fucked that gorgeous ass with his tongue. Shit. 

As if that wasn't enough, Sam's brain had to give him another image, something else to picture. Dean, in this outfit, but clean-shaven with his hair a little longer. He never wore light colors but when he did he was a knockout. And this outfit on the normal Dean? Where you would be able to see the faint blush in his scruff-less cheeks, no distractions from the sharp clarity of his eyes. The scruff made him rougher, which meant without it he looked angelic. So in the light colors he was wearing now, a clean-shaven Dean'd be even more surreally beautiful, somehow. 

Dean had already cleared the doorway before Sam managed out a kind of airy but otherwise-convincible "Hey." Playing it cool because he'd been doing that for most of his life. He was used to hiding everything he was feeling, especially in relation to the gorgeous, impossible man who was still walking over to him. Sam's eyes shot back to the computer, already staring too long.

"So...Cain said the First Blade was tossed in the deepest ocean, right?" The scent of Dean came with his proximity, heavier on the whiskey-portion than usual and lower on the just-Dean portion. He sat down a beer for Sam, standing close enough to see the screen but not so close that Sam could feel his body heat. Sam stared at his laptop screen, gesturing at what he'd found. "That's the Mariana Trench. Maybe Crowley found it, and it's a double-cross."

He had to tilt his head up to look at Dean from this angle and Sam wondered for a moment if this is what Dean felt like when they kissed. Dean's eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head, looking at Sam like he'd just said the craziest thing on the planet.

"That doesn't make sense. He wants me to power it up and kill the ginger. He set it up." Dean's voice went higher than usual at the end, confused but arguing with logic so crystal that there was no way Sam could retaliate. He sucked in a breath, looking back away from Dean a little disgruntled. Not really sure why Dean was saying all this like it was somehow _Sam's_ fault for thinking it.

 ~~Except it was because Sam was ridiculously jealous and just fishing for ways to throw Crowley under the bus any way he could~~.

"Okay. Assuming he does show up with it, Crowley is only useful to us until we have the Blade." Sam's reminder was sharper than necessary and Dean rolled his lips in, chewing on them as he looked at Sam skeptically like he was trying to figure out what the sharpness was for. Like he didn't _know_.

"Yeah. So?" Dean asked, still just confused sounding. Maybe a little offended too. Just standing there, just looking at Sam and waiting for the punchline.

He was going to _make_ Sam say it, wasn't he? Like the smug bastard didn't know exactly what the question was for. Sam reached out for his beer, using the movement to cover up how ridiculous he felt just bringing this up. ~~Jealous jealous jealous~~.

"So...There's nothing stopping us from using it on him, _right_?" Sam bit out, 100% sass and stuffed full of implication. The only way Dean could miss that, he'd have to be deaf and blind.

But oh, Dean gets it because his chin lifts up in surprise, in understanding. Finally, he gets what Sam's saying. Well, not all of it. Not the jealous part. But the _you do know Crowley's place in all this, right_ part. Then Dean put on his pretty acting face, eyebrows arched perfectly and lips curled just enough to be sincere and not condescending and Sam saw through that mask better than any one of Dean's, even if he'd never tell Dean that.

"Nothing at all," Dean said too innocently. Too seriously, like Sam was ridiculous for asking. 

Sam turned away and cleared his throat, deciding he felt absolutely no better after that exchange, and took a sip of his beer. 

The piercing ring of Dean's phone rattled in his pocket and Sam glanced over at the sound. Dean pulled out the phone, checking the caller ID. "Speak of the devil."

So it was Crowley then, finally and unfortunately. Dean answered, lifting the phone up to his ear as he took a few steps backwards, sitting on the table. Dean was always sitting on the table, feet dangling and brushing against Sam's outer thigh as he talked, Dean close enough to touch and content just sitting on the table by Sam. Except this time when Dean sat down, it was a terribly awkward length away. And if the distance wasn't enough, he'd turned his back to Sam (looking for privacy?) so that he had to lean back in his chair to even see Dean's face at all. 

"Did you find the First Blade?" In Sam's opinion, that was a little too gentle for a dick demon who had been missing for weeks. 

"Well, then, what, exactly?" Dean snapped into the phone, his annoyance starting to actually kick in. But he was still being too patient, too nice. It hadn't always been this bad, the Crowley thing. 

Wasn't there a time that Dean hated Crowley too? Crowley had kidnapped Lisa and Ben, shoved a demon in Lisa's body and a knife in her stomach. Crowley had taken away Dean's only shot at a normal life and Sam could bring that up, remind Dean (he must have forgotten - Sam would never forget how much that had broken his brother) except that Dean had told Sam he'd break his nose if he ever mentioned Lisa and Ben. And for once, Dean hadn't been kidding. 

Dean sighed loudly, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling but still looking stupidly patient as he spoke into the phone again. "Where are you?"

 

They made it to Crowley's hotel a little bit before Crowley did, and Sam was pretty sure the only good part about that whole show down was when Crowley came in, got the craziest look of surprise as he saw them, and then Sam got to wrestle him into handcuffs and shove him into a chair. It was probably the highlight of Sam's day so far.

He'd grabbed Crowley's arm way rougher than necessary, happy to push his ass into the chair Dean swung around for him. Then Sam got to handcuff him to it, and Dean didn't once make a comment about Sam's overexaggerated violence in the whole ordeal. Then Sam got to do it all over again when they got back to the bunker, got to slam Crowley down in a much less comfortable metal chair and lock him up there too. 

He hated Crowley and he hated having Crowley in the bunker with them, but if it meant Sam got to take out some of his anger with random acts of pissiness towards the demon then he could tolerate that trade.

Besides, Crowley had messed up big time and there was no way Dean could still be on Crowley's side 100% like he had been before. Crowley had let Abaddon in the know about the blade and then he'd been binging out on human blood and slacking off entirely while they were working their asses off. No matter how much Dean liked somebody, he hated liars and failures and right now Crowley was definitely both.

Even if when Dean had been lecturing Crowley about the human blood thing, he'd been leaning in way closer to Crowley's face than necessary. Sam had watched, uncomfortably shifting his weight, but saying nothing because it probably _was_ nothing. Dean was trained in intimidation and torture, and that sometimes meant getting up close and personal. That's all it was, right?

Fuck. Apparently Sam was jealous, pissed, _and_ paranoid. 

"Okay. You swept the Mariana Trench. And...?" Sam asked, looking over the top of his laptop at Crowley. He'd set up his computer in here to take notes on what bit of information the useless demon actually had managed to conjure up and honestly Sam should be given saint status or something because he was being so damn patient right now he was surprising even himself. 

He hadn't hit Crowley yet and he was even managing to keep his voice fairly level. Sam had the upperhand here and he wasn't stooping to Crowley's level and letting the sneering demon face get to him. Or the annoying British accent and inflated sense of self-importance.

"And the First Blade was not, as hoped, in the Trench," Crowley shot Sam a look like Sam was stupid for everything thinking it might have been. Sam somehow managed not to glare. "It had, in fact, been scooped up by an unmanned sub, from whom it was stolen by a research assistant, who reportedly sold it to Portuguese smugglers who, in turn, lost it to Moroccan pirates in a poker game."

"What?" Sam asked, because Crowley had basically blended all of those statements into one big runon sentence that slurred together and was that seriously all things they had to track through?

"Poor moose." Crowley drawled, making Sam bristle at the nickname. The nickname itself wasn't that bothersome, it was the way Crowley said it that was so damn annoying. Then he proceeded to be even more annoying. "It's always a little tricky keeping up, isn't it?"

Was that a shot at him and Dean? Was Crowley somehow implying that Sam's relationship with his brother was inferior to _Crowley's_ relationship with him? Just because they'd been buddy-buddy lately didn't mean--

No, you know what, Sam was just going to ignore that. Crowley was trying to get him worked up and if Sam was going to protest anything, it'd be Crowley getting what he wants. So he brushed aside the comment and just started typing on his laptop, pretending Crowley wasn't even in the room. 

Finally, the familiar tingling of someone-staring-at-you wouldn't stop running down Sam's spine so he glanced up, trying to figure out why the hell Crowley was looking at him. More importantly, why the hell Crowley was looking at Sam like he wanted to pet his hair or something. 

"What are you doing?" Sam asked disdainfully, shifting his weight in his chair. Crowley took a minute to answer, still looking at Sam in his creepy lick-your-face sort of way.

"I'm still a little tainted by humanity. Makes me sentimental." Like that was somehow an excuse for looking at Sam like that. That was just uncomfortable.

"Well, stop."

"You and I both know we shared a mo back in that church." No, they didn't. Dean and Sam were the only two who shared anything at that church. And that had ended terribly. No thanks to Crowley. "And on some level, we are bonded."

Bonded? _Bonded._ Seriously?

Whatever the hell level Crowley thought they were bonded on...that level had better not be Dean. Sam and Crowley had never been bonded before and they had never had anything in common before and if Crowley thought they shared something now just because of Dean and whatever the hell was going on between those two...

"Crowley, the only reason you are alive is that we need your help to deal with Abaddon 'cause she is an even worse pile of crap than you are. And that is the extent of my concern for you. Got it?" Sam was concerned about Crowley, sure, but he was definitely not concerned _for_ him. The only person that ever hit on his brother that Sam actually liked was Cas and that was an entirely different conversation because Cas wasn't a thieving, lying, scumbag dick. And Sam might hit Crowley after all if they didn't get back on track with this first blade thing. One more thought about Dean, and Sam was getting out of his chair and using some of the wall decorations on their guest.

"Okay. What happened after the pirates?"

~*~

And somehow, because the universe hates him, Sam ends up being the one stuck with Crowley when Dean gets trapped in Magnus's mansion. If it weren't for his brother being alone with the creepy guy with a zoo full of monsters, Sam would've taken the opportunity and just stabbed Crowley right now. But there was always the possibility Sam might actually need Crowley's help to get Dean back. And Sam would do anything - including work with the single creature he hated most right now - to get Dean back safe.

Although there was nothing in the trunk that looked like it would be particularly useful in breaking his brother out of a magical invisible mansion. There was just a very annoying, very nosy demon trying to poke his greasy face into the trunk of Dean's car, trying to look through Dean and Sam's things, trying to integrate himself even further into their life. 

Sam had absolutely zero qualms with pulling out Ruby's knife, making a show of unsheathing it and wielding it to Crowley with a clear warning to back the fuck up. "You mind?"

Crowley backed off at that with his hands in the air, so maybe he was a bit smarter than he looked. Sam went back to looking through the trunk, cataloging everything against the mental notes he kept on what they might need, anything that might help. And then Crowley opened his annoying British mouth and decided to distract Sam with his even more annoying words.

"Who would have thunk it, eh, moose -- you and me, same team, in the trenches." Sam didn't comment because they weren't on the same team, and Crowley was the last person he wanted to be working with right now. Besides, he wasn't going to give Crowley the satisfaction of letting him know just how annoying he was being.

"When this is over, we can get matching tattoos," Crowley offered, heavy emphasis on the matching tattoos part.

Okay. That was it. There was not a single way that Crowley could have made that statement more about Dean.

Was Dean the only thing Crowley knew how to talk about? And seriously, he was going to make fun of the fact that they had matching tattoos? What the fuck was he implying? Unless he was just reverting back to the days where he was constantly mocking them for their relationship. But Crowley knew they were fighting, knew that anything about Dean was going to piss Sam off.

Seriously? _Matching tattoos?_

Sam grabbed the file box out of the trunk, the only thing that might have a lead in it, and sucked in a breath before turning to the demon who could not stop bringing up his brother, the way Sam felt about his brother, the way Crowley felt about his brother, the way that Sam was apparently inferior in that department and Sam did not sign up for this. He was so close to just knifing the bastard.

Once Sam broke Dean out, the first thing they were going to do was gank this slimy son of a bitch and then maybe Sam could sleep at night.

"Just to be clear, Crowley, we are not on the same anything." _Especially regarding Dean_ , Sam tacked on with an evil glare before he brushed past the short little demon. "By the way, since the place is warded, your powers are useless."

Sam sat down in shotgun, the door open so he could plant his feet in the dirt and look through these files. It felt way too great to say the word useless so Sam reitterated the statement, digging his point in deeper. "Which means _you_ -" spiteful glare at Crowley "-are useless."

"Even more so than usual," Sam tacked on at the end, just so Crowley was sure just how useless and irrelevant and annoying he was. All the time. Forever. 

Sam hadn't laid on sass that thick in a long long time and it felt fan-fucking-tastic. Crowley kind of just dissipated into silence for a moment, shifting uncomfortably as Sam sifted through files. Sam - 1, Crowley - 0. Well, Crowley had made the matching tattoos comment, so at least they were tied now.

This was getting ridiculously childish.

"You're gonna need another set of hands when you get in there, unless you have...other volunteers in mind." Crowley sassed back. Sam stopped looking through files for a moment, glaring up at the demon with a bitchface instead.

"Thanks. Pass." Back to looking at files, ignoring Crowley. Who apparently couldn't stand to be ignored.

"If memory serves me, I'm the one who helped your brother find Cain." A flicker of anger made Sam's teeth clench, his eyes harden. Yes, Sam remembered perfectly well the little time that Crowley and Dean had spent together. Dean reminded him of it often enough, he didn't need Crowley's input too. 

"So that we could find the Blade, so that _Dean_ could receive the Mark." Extra emphasis on Dean's name, of course. But it was the way he said it, like it was something Crowley could own...it was a good thing Sam was one of those silent fumers or he'd be screaming right now. Then Crowley had to go and rub everything in even more. "I'm the one who flushed that lout Gadreel out of your noggin!"

"So, lately, big boy..." Sam breathed out a breath to try to calm himself, eyes squeezed shut as he ducked his head and tried to control the rage bubbling up inside him. Dean needed help, they had to find Dean. Not hash it out with some other guy who was puppy-dogging Dean for his affections. Sam had been in competition for Dean his _entire_ life, was he really going to break and lose his shit now?

"...I've seen more playing time than you." 

If Sam had given himself time to respond to that statement, he would have definitely lost his shit and he's basically 100% sure of that. More playing time, seen more playing time, the innuendo behind that when they were talking about _Dean_. But thankfully Sam was basically interrupting Crowley before he could finish talking because he was about to blow his top, he was about to lose years of careful training on controlling his temper.

"Crowley," Sam said as levely as possible, sounding about 900% exasperated which was at least better that the alternative, which would be killing this slimy muke who thought he could put his filthy hell-spawn paws on Sam's brother and then brag about it. "Will you _please_ shut. the hell. up?"

Crowley scrutinized him for a moment, tongue in cheek as Sam held the stare with the most deadly look he could give. Then Crowley just raised his eyebrows, turning away from the car so Sam didn't have to see his demonic little face anymore. Halle-fucking-lujah.

"You know, you really shouldn't mouth off like that, Samantha." 

Sam looked up again, about to throw a damn file or _something_ , when he saw Crowley was still turned around, not looking at him. No point in trying to throw paper when it'd flutter down to the ground wimpily anyways. There were a couple of phones in the glovebox, though. But Crowley's back was to Sam, which meant he probably wasn't trying to rile him up anymore. It was probably just Crowley trying to get the last word in so he could feel like he'd won or something. 

Whatever, like Sam had never been called Samantha before. He just snorted, looking back down at the files in his lap. Let Crowley say what he wants. 

"A mouth as soft as Dean's shouldn't have to kiss something so temperamental." 

Sam's world stopped spinning on its axis, everything freezing around him as the paper in his fingers suddenly turned to stone and slipped out of his hand, back into the box. Crowley had just said _a mouth as soft as Dean's._

Crowley knew what Dean's mouth felt like. 

"No." Sam said, his throat made of sandpaper and his words like sweetgumballs spitting out of his mouth. He blinked, trying to get his body back online, back to working like it should, back where he had control. "No. I'm not going to sit here and listen to you spout off shit about my brother. Just, no. You're lying, you're a _demon_ and he'd never, he'd never..."

Sam's hands ran down the sides of his jeans and back up, trying to wipe the sweat off them. His mouth was gaping at air like a fish on land but he couldn't say the words, couldn't even think the words. With Cas, sure, Dean might. That was different. Cas was an angel - not just species, either - and Dean's best friend, and relatively handsome and they had that profound bond or whatever that Sam may or may not be a little jealous of but this was _Crowley_. This was Crowley and Dean would never do that, he'd never go there.

"Wouldn't he?" Crowley asked, spinning back around. Sam blinked up at him a few times, then he looked back down at the files. Dean was alone right now, Dean needed them, and Sam had been able to overpower one of the strongest archangels of all time once, he could be strong enough to ignore a filthy, lying demon. 

"No. He wouldn't. Now, I'm going to ignore you and pretend that conversation didn't just happen, for Dean's sake, and then I'm going to get my brother back and then I'm going to slice your head off. In the meantime, you can stand and be quiet and not distract me. Okay? Okay."

Sam picked up the first file in the box. He'd start here, because that way it'd be an organized search. Start at the beginning, go through the steps methodically. Look for a spell that would help find Dean. Anything that will help find Dean. The more tolerant he was of Crowley, the faster they could find Dean and the faster that Crowley would be dead.

So Sam would be perfectly cordial. Hell, he may even let Crowley help.

Then, they'd save Dean. Then, Sam would watch on and cheer as Dean shoves his blade through Crowley's black, moldy heart.

Sounds like a plan. 

~*~*~*~

A month ago, Sam had told Dean that they couldn't be brothers. And now, with his heart pounding in his chest and adrenaline pumping through his body, Sam held a knife to Magnus's neck and growled at him with the most threatening voice he could:

"Take me to my brother." He didn't think of the wording before he said it, because they were still brothers physically after all. But walking with his knife to Magnus's neck, pushing him through the hallway's and getting closer to Dean with every step, Sam realized that maybe he'd started accepting Dean as his brother again mentally too. 

Honestly, it was probably due to that book Sam was reading. He'd just finished the halfway point before this case, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. It was making him wonder if maybe he'd been wrong about Dean. Maybe Dean did love Sam, maybe Sam had read it all wrong. It didn't change anything between them and it didn't change all of the mistakes Dean had made and was still so blinded to, but it did make breathing a little easier. All because of Healthcliff and Edgar, of true love an-

Sam's thoughts were interrupted as they rounded a wall and Dean was suddenly in sight. Tied up, (with his shirt sleeve rolled up?) chains around his biceps (odd), and ankles (also odd- he was against a column, shouldn't the chains be around his torso? This way gave him way too much freedom of movement). But Dean was here and alive and okay and suddenly looking at Sam like the monster was behind him instead of in front of him at knifepoint.

"Sam! No!" Dean shouted desperately. Sam looked at his brother's distraught face - which actually had been pretty upset before he saw Sam too - and Sam looked around in confusion. And saw another Magnus standing halfway across the room, arms behind his back and smug smile on his creepy face. Shit. 

The guy Sam was holding a knife to morphed, suddenly no longer Magnus, and reached for Sam's knife. Hunter instincts kicked in and then the guy was slumping to Sam's feet a blurry few seconds later, knife wound in his chest and blood on Sam's knife. When Sam looked back up, Magnus had a gun pointed at him - Dean's gun? - and another smug look on his face.

"Shape-shifter. You see? There are benefits to keeping a zoo." Sam sucked in another breath, looking in between the gun and his brother. Fuck, there was no way Sam could reach Dean in time to get him out before Sam would get shot. 

Magnus tilted the gun in clear indication for Sam to move to the other side of the room. Sam's face shot to look at Dean again as Dean banged his head back against the marble column behind him in desperation and anger. 

A few minutes later and now they were both tied up to marble columns. Unfortunately, all the way on opposite sides of the room. Dean was so far away and Magnus was too smart for either of them to break their chains by picking them. They were trapped and it was Sam's fault, for not recognizing the shifter earlier. For not doing some sort of shifter test. For failing to save his brother.

Then Magnus made his way over to Sam, twirling the blade in his hands. 

"You know, I discarded you far too quickly, Sam. You're way more valuable than I thought you were." Magnus turned to Dean, throwing his arms out widely in exaggeration. "Why would I knock myself out trying to sap your will? I think Sam here will get you to see things my way."

Shit, that was never good. Especially since now, with the threat of torturing Sam hanging in the air, Dean was sure to agree to whatever Magnus was trying to convince him into. And if Dean agreed and then they couldn't break out? Who knows where that could lead. 

"Magnus, I swear to God..." Dean threatened, his voice in the octave that even kind of scared Sam.

"What? What are you gonna do?" Magnus teased, his voice just on the side of creepy enough to make a shiver go down Sam's spine. Then he turned his creepiness towards Sam, repeating his rhetorical question. Clearly, he didn't know Dean very well. "What is he gonna do? Huh?"

The blade cut forward in a flash of light and then there was a splitting pain on Sam's cheek, the fire of a knife slicing into his skin. Sam bit back a shout, letting out a pained, tight groan instead. He turned his face away from Magnus and his vision dotted with red warning signs, brain fizzing with pain receptors. He'd had worse, he'd had worse, and he had to be quiet or anytime now Dean was going to speak up, sell off to whatever Magnus was wanting. 

From where he'd turned his head, Sam could see Dean through the blur of pain. Chains were rattling and Dean was thrashing but his mouth was shut. No verbal protests, no agreeing with Magnus. He hadn't said yes yet and that was a little out of character for him when Sam's face was bleeding.

"Yeah, look, look, Sam, I'm not gonna kill you. Of course not. But I am gonna make you suffer unimaginably, all right?" Magnus sliced at Sam again, the sharpness cutting into the skin of Sam's neck. Sam made another pained sound, eyes squeezed shut tight as the cold air on the cut ripped through him. His body was protesting and he just wanted to scream, to somehow get out of this situation but he couldn't, he was chained too tight and Dean would flip out if Sam screamed.

The sound of chains rattling onto marble floors shot Sam's head up and his eyes open, both he and Magnus looking over to Dean's marble column. Which was empty. 

Sam didn't even get the chance to feel relief before suddenly Magnus was pulling back the blade to make a final slice at Sam's throat and then Dean was grabbing Magnus's wrist, using the momentum to swing his body around and follow through with his hand, the First Blade moving so quickly in the air that Sam could hear the sound.

The teeth-edged bone slid cleanly through Magnus's neck like it was made of butter. Fine one moment and then a headless body the next, gravity taking a second to catch up before the bloody stump of a neck on a body tipped sideways and crumpled to the ground, Magnus's head already rolling in a pool of blood.

Sam breathed out, looking up at the sky in relief. His heart was still pounding, adrenaline and pain laced in every bit of oxygen he sucked into his lungs. Seeing somebody get beheaded wasn't exactly calming, but he was okay now and Dean was okay now. Dean.

He tilted his head back down, gaze catching on his brother. For a moment, it didn't even look like Dean. His eyes were lit up the way they got when he tortured things, that feral, almost animalistic glint that was barely human anymore. 

Dean was moving like he was swimming through water, head turning slowly to the other side of the room. The engrained glare lit on Crowley for a moment then dropped away, still moving as if he was in slow motion as the green cut down to look at his hand. Dean stared down like he wasn't even in his body, wasn't occupying his own head.

"Dean?" Sam called gently. He kept his voice soft, knowing how Dean got emotional and trigger-happy when he was in that torturing mode.

Dean didn't look up at his name. He was breathing out of his mouth now, body pipped up and buzzing with energy. Thrumming, wired so hard that Sam could physically feel the tension from all the way over here. Those usually soft eyes were diamonds, staring, refusing to break visual contact with the blade in his hands. Why the blade? Sam looked back and forth from the blade to Dean, the blade to Dean. Trying to figure out what the hell was happening. 

It was like Dean didn't even notice Sam was here anymore. His hand was shaking now, trembles that turned quickly to full on rattling back and forth. Sam couldn't see very well from this angle, but it looked like the burned mark on Dean's arm might be glowing.

"Dean," Sam said again. His words fell short of Dean's ears and his cognitive recognition. Absolutely no response.

The haunted look didn't leave Dean's face as he lifted his shaking hand, the rattling getting faster and faster and more sporadic. His arm bent at the elbow, lifting his hand up like the blade that was the one moving, not Dean. Sam might have been imagining it, but from here it looked like the mark was a burning red neon vegas sign and Dean still couldn't tear his eyes away from that damn blade.

"Hey, it's over." Sam tried to reason. Dean's mouth started to tremble, eyes still locked like glue to the weapon.

"He's dead." Sam said, like it was axiomatic, like Dean should get that, and just c'mon Dean, please, snap out of it. This was weird it was all too weird and Sam had no idea what was going on. Just that Dean wasn't listening to him, wasn't even hearing him, and that blade just kept getting lifted higher.

"Drop the Blade, Dean." Sam begged, the urgency starting to tug at his words. He wanted to reach out, take it from Dean's hand, take the responsibility and the burden of whatever the hell this was away from his trembling brother but he couldn't. He was a foot away and still chained up so he couldn't do _anything_ , couldn't help. 

Dean's lips were curling up in a snarl that didn't look human anymore.

There was still no indication that Dean had heard a word out of Sam's mouth and now Sam was watching his brother become something that was not his brother anymore and it was starting to get terrifying. He couldn't tear his eyes away, couldn't see anything but the emotions flickering through Dean's face. Magnus's entire zoo could come crashing down on them right now and Sam wouldn't notice until one of the two of them got gutted. He had to get through to his shaking brother.

"Dean!!" Sam finally shouted, his voice grating, the syllable sounding like it was made of rusted iron and nails ripped straight out of Sam's throat. The green diamonds blinked once, flickering to Sam's face. The iron in Sam's bones let up, releasing him from the center of the earth where he'd been flailing for his brother. Dean was looking at him. His eyes weren't on the blade anymore, they were on Sam.

And Dean looked confused, like he didn't know where he was. Like the only thing he recognized was Sam's voice. Then, slowly, with their eyes locked on each other, Dean recognized Sam himself. 

Sam held his gaze, didn't let Dean look away. Their entire bodies were matched in intensity, the same level of rage in Dean as there was worry in Sam. And maybe Sam could feel himself going just a little bit crazy with Dean was right now.

"Drop the Blade," he said again, a little gentle but forcing Dean to listen. Sam wouldn't have torn his eyes away from Dean for anything now.

The diamond hardness dulled down like someone was taking a grinder too it and Sam watched as Dean returned to him, the humanity spilling back into his face. Then Dean's clamped fingers let go and tossed the blade to the floor, the toothed bone making a hollow clanking sound. His hand was still shaking, his whole arm was shaking.

"Sam?" Dean asked, still sounding a little confused. He clutched his trembling arm to his chest, the last bit of fog lifting away from his expression. Sam breathed out, blinking a few times before dipping his head and looking back up at his brother.

"Yeah, Dean. It's me," Sam promised, relieved that that whole thing was over. Whatever the hell that thing was.

"Sam," Dean said again, like it was finally just dawning on him. Then his expression switched over from confused to determined, flicking back into the normal Dean like a damn light switch and then he was rushing forward to undo Sam's chains. Sam focused on filling his lungs back up with oxygen as Dean worked the chains through their loops, his voice as worried as ever. "You okay? How bad is it? You need stitches?" 

"No, no, I'm fine." Sam stepped out of the ankle chains, taking a few wobbly steps away from the column before he regained his balance, tipping his head towards the potion table. "Let's just get out of here."

Everyone seemed happy to oblige to that idea, although Sam was looking forward to more than just leaving. True, he hated Magnus's creepy palace and the whole beheaded-bloodiness was something he never really enjoyed seeing. But they had the blade now - Sam had picked it up - and they also had Crowley.

Which meant that finally, _finally_ , that evil bastard got to die. 

The debauchery of the car actually distracted Sam for a moment, but as soon as Crowley spoke up with the translated message, the tinny British voice reminded Sam of all the hate he'd bottled up earlier that could finally be put to rest with the blade he held in his hand. 

Sam turned to Dean, who was on the ground (on his knees dammit why) and basically stroking the car door in sorrow. Well, more anger than sorrow. He was basically emanating anger, enough that Sam was almost hesitant to call his name. Except that he knew Dean would never turn any of that anger on him. So he risked drawing Dean's attention away from the car because killing Crowley wasn't an opportunity Sam wanted to pass up. Ever.

 _Especially_ after that last stunt Crowley'd pulled. The one about knowing how Dean's mouth felt...Sam was still _boiling_ about that.

"Dean. Dean." For a moment Sam thought Dean would ignore him, but surprisingly he didn't. He got up off the ground, still livid, but he was actually paying attention to Sam. "Listen, you said Crowley was only useful till we got the Blade. We got the Blade."

Sam raised his eyebrows, clear implication of what he meant. Yes, it had been Sam that said the useless thing, however, Dean _had_ agreed. Even if it was probably BS at the time. But Sam was giving him the face that said _you better fucking do this or else_ because Sam was not going to go another day with Crowley dangling Dean over his head like a mouse. 

Dean's eyes flickered over to the demon, unsure and trying to decide, but before either of them could make a move, a wall smacked from behind and they were both flung through air, slammed up against familiar metal in a very unpleasant way. The First Blade slipped from Sam's fingers, making the same hollow sound as it landed in the dirt. 

Crowley had overheard them because now he was giving the "I can't believe you want to kill me speech" that made Sam want to kill him more. But Crowley had the upper hand and there was nothing they could do.

"Now, this is the way it's going to go -- I'll hang on to old donkey teeth here until such time as you locate Abaddon. Then you'll destroy her." Crowley's eyes turned on Sam, a grin at the corner of his mouth that was identical to their previous conversation, the one he was trying so hard not to think about. "You're right, moose. You can't trust me. But, sadly, I can't trust you, either."

Then Crowley disappeared and the weight on Sam's chest released, leaving him glaring at the air around them in frustration. They hadn't gotten to kill that bastard and Sam had been decent to him for _no reason_.

Although, there was a possibility that Crowley could have been admitting to lying with his "you're right, you can't trust me." If that was the case, then maybe he and Dean hadn't...done that. Sam was already pretty sure Dean wouldn't stoop that low, but that hadn't stopped it from nagging at him. So, even if Crowley had been trying to make a point with that final line, he also kind of soothed Sam's nerves a little. 

Besides, it was Crowley. He lied all the time and Sam trusted him less than he could throw him.

But there was nothing they could do about it now, so they might as well go back to the bunker. In their keyed, debauched car. 

 

~*~

Obviously, Dean was still fuming about the car on the ride back, which was to be expected. It wasn't the anger over the keyed paint that was getting at Sam though. 

It was that other anger, the violence from earlier, the entrancement with the blade. Those were all concerning. Really concerning. But that would all be research, field work, long term study. And since Crowley had the blade for now, it was an analyzation that could wait. 

There was one thing that couldn't wait, though, that Sam had to address right now or forever hold your peace. 

"So, uh," Sam started, clearing his throat as Dean glanced over from the driver's seat. They'd been steadily avoiding talking so far, just Dean's mutterings about the car filling the night-darkened space between them. The road was basically empty and straight, nothing but a two lane blacktop and they had just over an hour before they were back at the bunker. Basically it was nature's recipe for a Winchester talking session. 

"So," Sam started again, staring out at the yellow lines disappearing beneath the hood of the car. "What was Magnus trying to get you to see his way?" 

Dean's eyebrows went up a little at that then he turned back to the road, rolling his palms over the leather of the steering wheel like it was a comfort. The original plan was not bothering to ask, but considering the situation Sam was too damn curious not to. 

See, Magnus's offer had to have been extremely terrible in order for Dean to let Sam get knicked with a knife a few times before agreeing to it. Actually, there were only a couple of things Sam could think of that Dean would refuse to say yes to when Sam was on the line. 

Sam had had his cheek cut open, his neck cut open...and Dean still hadn't said yes to whatever it was Magnus was asking for. Plus there had been that whole "sap your will" thing that Magnus had said that had made basically no sense. Normally, whenever someone so much as drew a knife out Dean was all over the place agreeing and doing whatever he could to get the attention off of Sam.

And it wasn't like this was about their fight, because that hadn't stopped either of them from being protective of each other. Besides, Dean had looked so torn, like he wanted to do anything to help Sam but was terrified of whatever Magnus wanted him to say yes to. It had to have been something huge, then, for Dean to have still said no and put Sam at risk like that.

Not to mention that Dean had killed Magnus way unnecessarily violently. The beheading, of a human? It was brutal. Passionate, even. Like it was personal, about more than just blood on Sam's neck. 

Although out of everything, the most disconcerting part of it all was the stiff expression Dean had been wearing since the moment Sam had seen him tied to that pole. Before Sam had been zapped back into the woods, Dean had been fine. And then something must have happened because he had _that look_ on his face when Sam had seen him next. 

"Uh. Just, you know, his creepy evil master plan. Like always." Dean shrugged, his voice sounding deep in the echos of the car. The shrug and the tacked on two words at the end meant Dean was trying to blow the incident aside, make Magnus out to be any other killer they'd encountered. 

Which might have worked if Sam didn't know him so well, didn't see that stiffness all over him and that face, that one expression that had Sam's blood boiling. It hadn't been just another monster, and dammit Sam needed to know what happened. Otherwise he'd imagine the very worst things possible and that would be a terrible trip for all of them. 

"Well what was his plan, then?" Sam prodded casually, looking out the window like he was making small talk instead of trying to pry open the door on the time he'd missed. So much can happen in a few hours. 

Dean looked at him again, eyebrows furrowed this time like he was uncomfortable. And pissed, for whatever reason he was going to pin on Sam now. If only Dean told him what was really going on, then Sam wouldn't have to prod and Dean wouldn't get annoyed. 

Besides, he still had that tenseness and that terrible expression on, that face that was basically a one hundred percent guarantee that there was more to the story. 

Sam hated seeing that look on Dean's face. Every time they were out at a bar and Sam turned around from his game of pool to see Dean's expression turn from his contented watching one to _that_ look? Sam would drop his pool cue, waving a haste apology at whoever he'd been playing and making his way over to Dean, worried and protective and gently leading Dean towards the door with an arm slung around Dean's shoulders instead of his waist. 

There were a few bar fights associated with that look, not to mention a few monster fights as well. So, of course, when Sam could see "the look" on Dean's face right now, he had a pretty valid reason for his concern and his questioning.

"Why do you care?" Dean asked, his tone neutral with a side of bitter. Not anywhere near the way he usually snapped it, but still sharp enough to be a stab into Sam's stomach. 

Every other time Dean had thrown that line at him, Sam had just huffed in silence and glared at something or walked away or just ignored Dean. Or snapped back, once or twice. That line was apparently Dean's new favorite weapon and it was terrible. He used it all the time and Sam had yet to find a response to it that didn't make everything worse. 

Silence had been his default answer to all of the questions thrown around lately because what in the world else was he supposed to do? He couldn't look at his beautiful, terrified big brother clutching a death grip on Sam's wrist and flat out lie to him, say _No_ to that question that had been pouring through every ounce of Sam's body since the words had left Dean's lips. _Do you want me?_

Sam had nothing left but silence because silence was the only safe thing anymore. He didn't have Dean so he lived in the quiet now, let the lack of speaking envelop all the mistakes that may come tumbling out of Sam's lips at any moment. 

But right now, sitting in the dark with only the yellow glow of the headlights in front of them and the passing orange street lights over head, Sam couldn't let the chance slip by. The familiar comfort of darkness slid around Sam like a blanket and he was safe to speak, safe to break the silence because dammit Dean wasn't getting off the hook that easy. 

Dean had said _why do you care_ and Sam was going to give him an answer this time.

A few moments had passed since the question, so Dean had probably assumed the silence was Sam's answer, because he startled when Sam actually spoke again.

"Because your shoulders are stiff enough to need a back rub and you have that one look plastered all over your face." Sam pursed his lips, looking out the window. Dean was staring at him, scruffy jaw slack and eyes flicking back and forth between the road and Sam. Dean may actually be too surprised to answer. Which would have made sticking his neck out and the question itself entirely pointless--

"What look?" Dean demanded, some of his big brotherly annoyance creeping into his voice. For some reason, it was comforting to hear. So Sam finally risked a glance in Dean's direction, meeting his eyes for a moment before Dean glanced back at the road. Sam kept watching Dean's profile, cataloging his expression. 

"You know, that uh. That look that you get when..." Sam trailed off, his insides twisting and his mouth suddenly deciding that this might have been a really bad idea. Sam had no clue how Dean would react to Sam bringing this up, let alone that Sam had cataloged the facial expression that came with it. 

"When..." Dean prompted, making a rolling hand motion to continue, the fingers of one hand still clutching too tight to the steering wheel. Okay, if Sam just said it really fast then maybe it wouldn't be painful. He cleared his throat, not sure where to look.

"When somebody comes onto you," Sam said awkwardly, eyes flicking from the window to Dean. Dean's eyebrows hit the ceiling and his head turned to Sam, more incredulous than pissed. Shit, Sam had to explain that. 

"You know, like, when a guy hits on you or somebody calls you pretty or says something about, you know, uhm...DSL or your eyes or--"

"Okay, okay, yeah I get it," Dean interrupted, thankfully butting into Sam's rambling because he probably already dug a big enough hole for himself. Sam froze, his hands still in the air in front of him. Dammit he'd been talking with his hands again, that didn't make this conversation any easier. 

Dean was staring straight at the road now, not so much as even looking at Sam in his peripherals. His hands were doing that tighten, roll, untighten thing on the leather stitches of the steering wheel. He looked more neutral than pissed but Sam was still holding his breath, waiting for the next comment that would either tell Sam to fuck off or maybe? be okay with this conversation. 

His lungs eventually demanded oxygen in the stretched out silence so holding his breath was a futile effort when Dean was taking forever to respond. Sam finally got to where he figured Dean had decided to give Sam a dose of his own silence medicine, when Dean's gravely voice filled the car again, slightly quieter than usual. 

"I have a face for that?" The words were flatter than they should have been, less lighthearted and teasing than any other time period in their lives would have been. But Dean wasn't exploding or looking particularly pissed, which was a very good sign. 

Sam snorted a small, barely humorous laugh, feeling a little bit of the tension in the car drain out through the cracks under the doors. Dean wasn't ready to kill Sam and maybe, for once, they could actually accomplish something verbally. Maybe they could make vocal progress because they hadn't talked about anything relevant since this fight started and Sam was a little sick of 98% case talk. 

"Yeah, you do," Sam huffed, eyes flickering a little nervously between Dean's profile and the road. He wanted to stare at Dean and catalog every twitch of his face in reaction to this conversation because Sam had thought they'd _never_ have this conversation. Dean was way too sensitive about the subject, not to mention that he refused to talk about anything ever. Dean just didn't want to know, didn't want to ask. Sam was used to it, had given up trying to get answers to most of the questions he asked. 

Except that Dean hadn't shut Sam down yet, not this time, so Sam was going to keep asking until Dean did. Maybe a little longer, maybe he'd push it a little more. 

"So why do you have that look on your face? What did he...what did he say to you?" Sam paused, trying to get a grip on the tone of his voice, to stop the way his rage was slipping out in places. He had to keep it together, Magnus was already dead so Sam would have nowhere to channel his anger once he let himself get super pissed. Sam had almost just asked "what did he do to you" instead of what did he say to you and honestly Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to take it if the first question was more accurate. If Magnus had done _anything_ to Dean...so he changed his wording in mute hope that it hadn't been that bad. 

Dean cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side to stretch out his neck - they'd been driving for a while - before he got around to answering. 

"Magnus uh. He wanted to add me to his collection, you know?" Dean shot a glance at Sam to make sure Sam was still interested. Interested was the understatement of the year. His collection? That sounded damn creepy. The idea of Dean on _display_...Sam wasn't sure he could do this story in little pieces and bits.

"Just...it was what, an hour plus? Can I-- could you just tell me the whole story?" Sam held his breath after the question, pretty sure he'd just stepped over a boundary or two. Dean definitely looked surprised, but not necessarily put off. 

The thing was, Dean was still talking in fragments, they both were, more silence in between them than words, and when they did speak it was short, choppy sentences or prompting words and this conversation would take the rest of the car ride home if it went that way. Sam just wanted the whole story in story-mode so he didn't have to wait and prod for every sentence and detail. 

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess." Dean cleared his throat again, all this new talking between them making Sam's skin feel itchy, like he was trying to fit a conversation into a body that was used to minimal-communication-required. If _Sam_ felt weird by how much they were talking, by how much was actually getting said...Dean had to be overwhelmed. Dean hated sharing way more than Sam did, so the agreement to talk about this felt like it had to have come from someone else's mouth. 

But then Dean's hands twisted on the leather of the steering wheel a final time and he started talking, really talking and explaining and Sam just sat and listened and absorbed. 

"So, Magnus puffed you out with that spell, which I didn't take to too well. He said you were fine or whatever but I was still pretty pissed. Then he started in on his Evil Master Plan speech, which...which included some, uh, creepy plans." Dean shot a glance over at Sam and Sam nodded once, telling Dean to keep going. Dean looked back at the road, his voice a little more sure of himself now. 

"He wanted to add the Mark of Cain to his collection or whatever, which I told him was obviously not possible since its kind of attached to my arm. So, he said he wanted to add _me_ to his collection."

Sam's blood turned cold. Dean, part of some psycho's collection...just the word collection was making Sam cringe. A collection was something to be owned and displayed and just _no_...Sam wasn't sure what exactly Magnus had been intending to _do_ with Dean but he was already pretty sure Dean was justified in chopping his head off. 

Dean probably noticed Sam stiffen at the word collection, at the vagueness of it and what it could imply. So he went on, explaining further and actually clearing up the confusion in his words that Sam had spent most of his life just having to deal with. 

"He was going to make me young forever with him or whatever. Wanted to teach me his geeky spell stuff and...and." Dean grimaced, wincing at the memory before he said it out loud. "Said he needed a companion."

"Companion?" Sam echoed before he could stop himself. He wasn't supposed to interrupt, he was supposed to just let Dean talk, but fuck, what had this guy try to coerce Dean into? 

Dean snorted bitterly, glancing at Sam again before shifting self consciously in his seat. 

"Yeah. Apparently he was - how did he put it - 'lonely there over the years.'" Sam's fists tightened and clenched up, trying to control the red hot bubbling in his veins. Magnus was dead, Dean had already killed the creepy, rape-y bastard who'd tried to make Sam's Dean his _companion_ to save him from his _loneliness_. 

"Anyways, so I declined, obviously, and was going to hack out of there with my machete but the bastard spelled it useless and pickpocketed my gun. And, uh, then he tied me up." 

Sam remembered walking into the room and seeing Dean roped to a column, chains around his biceps. And for a brief moment, even in the haze of adrenaline, Sam had thought that was odd. Most people used roped around the chest area when a column was involved, immobilizing the body entirely and making it much more difficult to get out. Now, as Dean kept speaking, a pit in Sam's stomach was getting closer and closer to confirming why Magnus might have tied Dean up like he did: given him room to be flexible, room to still move. Especially if he pickpocketed Dean's gun too, because Dean kept that tucked in the back of his jeans. Which meant Magnus would have had to go under his clothes to grab it--

"I fought back pretty hard, but he did some stupid spell on the chains and I ended up being trapped anyways. I tried reasoning him out of it, talking some sense into him, but I'm pretty sure the wall listened better than he did."

Sam could picture it, Dean tressed up and pissed, but sugarcoating his words with reasons and logic first. Then when that didn't work, he'd turn bitter and spiteful and insulting. And eventually he'd start in on the threats, his past experience of torture giving him some pretty creative words to throw around. 

"He wanted to experiment with the blade, test out how it worked. Said we should fire it up, and I told him to go to hell. He...he wanted me to want it, tried to pin it on my curiosity and being a Men of Letters' and shit. So I would cooperate into his creepy collection." Dean sucked in a breath, words getting a little more hesitant. "He told me to give him my hand. I wouldn't and he kept asking and then he just grabbed me and shoved the blade at me." 

The whole car was tense now, both of them wound up tight with Dean's words. Sam wanted to be sick. He could see Dean struggling against his ropes, protesting and scared but unwilling to show it. Not sure if Sam could ever find him, if he could ever be free. And that slimy bastard Magnus grabbing Dean's beautifully callused hands and forcing him to play along with Magnus's little games. 

"It dropped out of my hand eventually and Magnus picked it up, smothering all this praise on me like I was his fucking pet or something. All 'good' and 'that's it' and shit like that." Dean's words had turned bitter, the memories reliving in his mind as he voiced it aloud to Sam. Sam felt wicked for asking Dean to do that, for making Dean relive the violation. But he had to know. He had to hear the rest of the story because somehow, Sam knew it got worse. 

"I think he was trying to condition me. Kept saying 'Next time, it'll be easier. You'll get used to the feelings.'" Dean snorted bitterly and Sam was staring out the passenger window now, trying to find some sense of calm in the passing landscape to counteract the way his brain was screaming. 

Next time it'll be easier? You'll get _used_ to the feelings? It sounded like the dialogue straight out of a movie-villain's mouth as the kidnapper soothed his pretty victim after, after... That. Like Sam had said earlier, creepy and rape-y. The idea that Magnus had been playing games with Dean, conditioning him like that? The blade had to have been just the beginning. If Sam hadn't been able to get to Dean, where would he be right now? Probably still tied up, possibly wearing a lot less clothing...Sam choked on the thought, shutting his eyes and trying to keep the burning tears at bay. 

If Sam had been slower, if Crowley hadn't had helped Dean out of the ropes...

His _Dean_. 

"He said I'd learn to welcome it. Want it." Dean muttered quietly, filling in more pieces of the story but still giving Sam the moment he needed to recooperate. 

Dean had to have been so scared. He would have hated himself for being scared but he had to have been. Especially if--

Sam's brain nearly short-circuited as a realization from the back of his mind suddenly flared up. If Sam'd been standing up he probably would have physically crumpled down with the thought. 

As fucking terrible as Dean's situation had been, there was a possibility that it could have been even worse than Dean was letting on because... because Dean had been _roofied_ once before. He'd refused to tell Sam about it, but if anything had happened then, if anyone had hurt Dean when he was roofied?

Then he would have been dealing with potential rape, a creepy and dangerously powerful guy, a magical evil blade, and gut-wrenching flashbacks to the another time someone had tried to take advantage of him. He'd have been reliving pieces of the roofies incident in his head while Magnus tried to steal the compliance of his body and Sam really was going to be sick. 

If he didn't think it would cut off the story right there, Sam would tell Dean to pull over. If it didn't mean never hearing the rest of what happened, Sam would tell Dean to pull over so he could stumble out of the car and hurl on the side of the road. 

As much as emptying his stomach onto the leather seats sounded like hell, Sam needed to hear Dean's story more than let his body freak out. So he swallowed back the urge to throw up everything he'd ever eaten, placing a shaking hand over his mouth. 

Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him but he kept his own eyes closed and his trembling fingers over his mouth anyways. He needed a moment, to steel himself for what else might have happened and to hold on to the breakfast he'd eaten. His stomach was churning dangerously just thinking about everything that Dean had to have been feeling.

His beautiful, precious, insecure Dean. Tied up and forced to play games and told that he'd start liking it eventually, that'd he'd welcome it. The places that could have led to were still making Sam want to burn down the world. That beautiful scarred and freckled body, touched by someone else, _used_ like he wasn't...like Dean wasn't everything. 

"You okay?" 

Sam opened his eyes, uncovering his mouth now that the urge to throw up wasn't so strong. He glanced at Dean, breathing a little shakily. Dean looked concerned but like he was afraid it wasn't his place to be. The words had been so low and gruff and attemptedly nonchalant but his eyes gave all his worry away. 

There Dean was, looking at Sam all worriedly when just hours ago it had been _Dean_ trapped and helpless. Sam drew a lungful of oxygen, clearing his throat and turning back to the windshield. 

"Yeah. Yeah, m'fine. So uh, what happened next?" Sam pretended he hadn't just been about to toss up his breakfast all over the seats. The mental image of Dean like that was too difficult. And on top of the roofies? It was too much. So Sam pushed aside the thoughts of the bitter-tasting white tablets for now, pushing as much as he could to the darkest places of his mind. Then he might be able to keep breathing through whatever else Dean told him. 

"So I think Magnus figured out pretty quickly that I wasn't going to just bend over--" Sam cringed at Dean's slang, at the choice of words, but Dean didn't notice and kept talking. "--and cooperate with him. Well, first he tried to convince me with all this sweet talk."

"Like, 'You'll come to understand, Dean -- nothing can stop us. Anything, anyone we want to own or destroy is ours.' Like I was-- like there was actually a _we_ involved. And that I would come to want to join his evil plan or something. Like if he gave me the world on a silver platter I'd take him along with it."

It was the first time Dean had hinted that he had the same suspicions that Sam did. That Dean admitted that he realized Magnus's wording was about more than just the mark. The mark was the "experiment" and the source of the fascination. But when Magnus was talking about a _companion_ and being _lonely_ and making the world _"ours,"_ the mark was just a bonus and the center of the attention was on Dean. The transfixation was with _Dean_. 

True, Dean had gotten into the mess because he had the mark. Which apparently made him worth of Magnus's collection. But then why would Magnus bother making Dean young forever, teaching him his ways, spouting of all those "us" and "ours?" That was where the lonely companion part came in. The apparently _chained-up_ lonely companion part.

Sam forced himself not to scream, Or maybe pray to Cas and get zapped back in time so he could behead Magnus himself before he laid a single finger or disgusting word on Sam's brother. 

"I told him to shove it. Asked him what he'd do if I refused. If I fought back against him forever, would he just kill me? But that would ruin the power of the First Blade, so I tried to logic him into letting me go again. I was never going to give in to him and there was nothing he could do to change that, he might as well let me go.

"And I'm pretty sure he got the message that I was never going to be hunky dory with being locked in an invisible mansion with his creepy self forever. He was pretty clever, too. Probably figured out that if it came down to it, I could overpower him before...before..." 

Dean squirmed and Sam wanted to reach over his hand, take Dean's fingers in his and squeeze them together until Dean never had to feel like he was alone again. Sam's hands stayed clenched in his lap but he nodded at Dean, just a snap of his head to encourage Dean to continue. 

"But he uh. He apparently had a way to deal with that. See, he knew this spell and it can, um...numb you? Makes it so you don't fight back." Sam was staring wide eyed at Dean and Dean was staring at the road, words getting slowly fast and faster as the Kansas landscape slid by and the memories tugged at Dean's brain while Sam could do nothing but stare. 

"Magnus told me he didn't need my cooperation. He wasn't asking for it he was taking it. Then he put his hands on my head and he chanted this thing and and-- Suddenly I didn't care anymore. There were no more emotions in my body I was just...there. And complacent and willing and if he'd have tried anything right then I might've... I-I w-would've let him." 

Dean's bottom lashes were shiny but Sam was on the wrong side of Dean's face to see if he was crying. Whenever there was a singular tear it was from the other eye so he couldn't tell. Dean's voice and his hands were shaking enough for there to be tear streaks, but Sam was just numb. He couldn't feel anything, not the calming rumble of engine, not the fingernails digging into his palms. Sam was just like the spell Dean had been describing, he just sat there on that familiar leather seat and looked at his brother. 

"And I don't-- it was so damn terrible, feeling the fight in me just, just die out like that. Knowing I didn't care anymore, not about the mark or the blade or my own body."

Dean had to stop to try to get his lungs and breathing back in order. They'd both had enough panic attacks to know how easy it was to slip into that. And just because they went through traumatizing things nearly every week of their lives didn't make the really big scary ones any less damaging. Dean had been tied up and his will had been taken away from him and he had been helpless and powerless and then forced to just accept it all with a spell. 

That was enough to knock anyone into a panic attack, let alone someone who had a history with them. Sam was numb and in pain at the same time but waiting, ready to grab the wheel if he had to. Dean looked like he had it under control though, he'd slowed his breathing back out and he was looking a lot less pale. 

"But it was temporary. And not very powerful because he said he'd have to condition that too. He said that if he did that spell enough, that I'd 'be ready for whatever he had in mind.'" 

"Fuck," Sam cursed harshly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he propped his elbow against his window and squeezed his eyes shut. Dean was looking at him but Sam couldn't care about that right now. "Fucking hell. And I-- he actually...your-- _fuck_."

"I know," Dean said quietly. 

Seriously, _be ready for whatever I have in mind?_ After taking away Dean's power to say no. After making it so Dean couldn't fight back. After tying him up and trying to bribe him. After trying to make Dean his _companion_ so he wouldn't be lonely. After trying to convince Dean to be forever young with him in his invisible palace.

How could that be taken any other way? After all that, what the fuck else was he implying? With those words, that be ready for _whatever_ he had in mind...

"He meant that sexually, didn't he?" Sam asked, hand gone from his face and head lifted but eyes still screwed shut. Fingers digging into palms. 

"Yeah, I think so," Dean answered quietly, his voice as gruff as the scratchy stubble on his cheeks. Sam kept his eyes shut for another who-knows-how-long, just trying to breathe. Nothing had happened, Sam had gotten there in time, everything had been okay. When Sam had first found Dean tressed to the column Dean had been terrified and freaking out but they were past that, they were fine. Magnus was dead. 

When Sam finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a flash of the bridge. The bridge that Dean had pulled over to, that they'd sat on and listened to the wind and then fessed up shit that had broken them even more. That bridge.

But they were almost home. Sam clenched his fists in his lap, dug the heels of his hands into the tops of his thighs, rough denim scratchy on his fingers and palms. His Dean. 

The rage bubbling in Sam's stomach made him restless, made him want to scream and run, just run and run as far as his legs could take him until he either passed out or hurled up his insides. 

Silent and fuming and refusing to look at Dean because Dean just looked worried about _Sam_. Dean didn't even care about himself right now. His stupid self-deprecating personality made him blow off this whole affair and Sam was _so mad_ about that. 

Dean had never planned to tell him. Even when Sam had asked the first time, Dean had dodged it. Said normal villainy stuff and tried to drop it. Sam had to poke and prod to even get any of this because Dean was just brushing it all aside. 

How the _hell_ do you brush something like that aside?

And if this was normal villainy stuff, had this happened other times too? Exactly how many monsters had tried to taint his brother while Sam was knocked out? Why was it that Dean never told him _anything_?

 

Sam didn't even wait to hear the bunker's front door slam behind him, he just started down the stairs before the loud sound crashed its finality. There was a delay as it swung open again, a second pair of loud and heavy bootsteps starting on the stairs behind Sam. Then came the slam, now that Dean was inside too. Following Sam, basically running after him as Sam stormed down the steps. He couldn't fucking take this. 

"He didn't even touch me, Sam!" Dean was right on his heels and Sam almost tripped on him as he reached the bottom of the stairs and spun around, pissed. Pissed that Dean was trying to make excuses for some dead bastard that had threatened the purity of Sam's _infuriating_ brother. They were standing too close with the way Dean had been puppy-dogging him so Sam backed up a few steps, trying to get breathing room. As if that might soothe the urge to burn down the world and anyone who had ever looked at his brother that way. 

"That's not the point, Dean!" Sam turned back around, stomping around the map table and up the three steps into the library. Dean was still following and Sam paused again, more space between them now as he turned to face Dean again. "He _tried_ , and I'm fucking sick of people taking passes at you like they can _own_ you just because you're gorgeous!"

Dean flinched at that, recoiling like Sam had insulted him. Like Sam had called him ugly instead of beautiful. For just a brief second Sam got a glimpse inside his brother's head and he could see just how upset it made Dean when people called him pretty. But Sam didn't have time to analyze it because he was still yelling, still ranting about how pissed he was about this whole thing and about how Dean was not _pissed enough_. 

"What, first... _Crowley_ now this Magnus bastard who tries to _rape_ you--"

"Wait, what, Crowley? What the fuck has Crowley got to do with this?" Dean interjected, taking a step towards Sam with his most confused expression on, eyebrows furrowed and face looking even more shadowed with the scruff on his cheeks. 

Sam took a breath, trying to calm down so he wasn't shouting every word that came out of his mouth. But Dean was seriously going to play oblivious to the whole Crowley thing? Sam stuck his tongue in his cheek, looking away from Dean and nodding because this was just like him, this was just like Dean to pretend like nothing had happened.

"He said. When you two were together that you'd..." Sam stopped speaking, just looking at Dean because he couldn't really do anything else. It wasn't like he could say out loud that Crowley had implied that they'd kissed. At the least. Dean was looking at him with that face that said _hello, keep going, I still don't know what you're talking about_. Sam still didn't say anything, just kept looking at Dean with his teeth clenched. Finally Dean rolled his hand in the air, his chin jerking forward as he waited for Sam to fill in the blank.

"That we'd what?" Dean accused and Sam kept staring. Maybe Crowley really had been lying because Dean looked pretty damn convincing right now. Then Dean took a step forward, brushing aside the whole thing with a wave of his hand. "You know what Sam, it doesn't matter what he said. _Crowley?_ You really think I'd get... _involved_ with _him?_ "

At one point, Sam would never have even considered it, but lately? It wasn't as stupid as an idea as Dean was making it out to be. Sam wasn't as stupid as Dean was making him out to be.

"I don't _know_ , Dean." Sam argued back, throwing both of his arms out wide and leaning his body weight forward, his defensive verbal-fighting stance for when things got heavy. If he talked with his hands normally, his body language got hugely exaggerated when they were fighting. 

Dean just looked at Sam for a moment, like he was entirely off-the-wall crazy. Then he snorted humorlessly, looking up and off to the side, staring at the ceiling over to the right like he just couldn't believe this at all.

"Man, it's like you don't even know me anymore." Dean's eyes cut back to him, throwing one hand up to gesture between the two of them as he took a decisive step forward and his distant words were suddenly biting, stuffed full of painful intentions. "We are complete strangers, you ever notice that Sam?"

The resentment in Dean's face looked painful, his pretty mouth breaking out in a bitter, broken smile. The worst expression, Sam's least favorite in the world. It was the one that Dean only carried when he was hurting. Hurting and when he had lost hope. That was Dean giving up. Dean had already given up on them and for some reason that hit Sam harder than anything else that had tried to touch him today.

Harder than Crowley's words, harder than the knife that had slashed through his skin and made him bleed. Harder than the lack of humanity in his brother's eyes as he stared at a foreign blade in his palm. 

Sam had seen it, he'd seen the violence in Dean earlier. Dean had been nearly gone but Sam had pulled him back. Sam had pulled Dean back from that ledge and that meant something. They may be fucked up and Sam may still be mad at Dean for this entire situation and the plethora of lies and stupid decisions but Dean didn't get to just give up like that when they were still the only thing keeping each other human.

Dean didn't get to give up on them and he didn't get to call them strangers. After all of this, after everything, they were still better than _that_.

Sam wasn't entirely sure how it happened because everything just kind of blurred and then he was across the room, his hands bunched up in Dean's jacket as he slammed his brother into the wall. Sam had done this once before, had been livid one moment and then felt the fabric of Dean's clothes in his hands the next moment, slamming Dean up against a wall and yelling at him through gritted teeth something like _don't you say that. Not you._ It had been something about Mom and Jess, something about the yellow-eyed demon.

But Sam remembered the feeling of it really damn well because that had been the first time they'd almost kissed, the first time that Sam had held Dean up against a wall and briefly wondered what would happen if he leaned forward and connected their lips.

Now, years and years later, Sam knew exactly what would have happened. Dean would have kissed him back, and how much heartache would they have saved? If they'd figured this all out back then?

But they hadn't, because they were fucked up and now Dean was looking at Sam with wide eyes and Sam had Dean's back pressed up against a wall. Actually, a pretty particular wall. They'd had sex up against this wall once, the first time they'd slept together in the bunker. Dean had walked in in that bathrobe and Sam had told him he should take off the dead guy robe and then...well, history is history. 

Except this time Dean's feet were only inches off the floor, enough that he could stand on his tiptoes. Sam didn't loosen his grip on Dean's jacket any less as he realized what this looked like, where they were. He just pressed his fists harder against Dean's chest, eyes locked on the green as he hissed in Dean's face, the anger and the bitter and the resentment and the pain all slicing through the air between them with his words. 

"You don't have the right. You don't -" Sam breathed right into Dean's open mouth, his words slamming against Dean's parted lips. They were too close, too close, and they'd been here before. Sam was so mad, so mad that Dean had just given up on them but Dean was right here breathing on Sam and - they hadn't been this close in how long? And Dean still didn't get it, did he? 

His stupid, infuriating brother still didn't get it. 

Suddenly the mood shifted, or maybe this was the mood the whole time, they just weren't close enough to recognize it. Maybe this was what was always between them and that's what made them so cranky because they were never close enough to place it, to feel it. 

Sam's eyes flicked down to Dean's mouth, to the parted lips that Dean had just wet subconsciously with his tongue. To the scruff on his cheeks, that Sam hadn't gotten to feel yet.

"Sam, this isn't what you want," Dean breathed, like he was feeling every ounce of it too. Or maybe he was just out of air from getting knocked against the wall. Pretty roughly. 

But you know what? Dean didn't get to tell Sam what he wanted. Sam's eyes snapped back up to Dean's, to the hardness and the anger there. Dean was serious about what he said then. The breathiness had to have been from the slam against the wall, not the situation or the proximity. Because Dean's eyes were diamonds again, the steel kind.

"Fuck you," Sam said back, because Dean didn't get to tell Sam what he wanted. Dean's mouth was right there and Sam was pretty sure his body wasn't gravitating towards it for no reason.

But Dean didn't take that for an answer, apparently.

"No, man, you're just upset. You're emotional. This isn't what you want." Dean's eyes cast away and he struggled lightly against Sam's clenched fists, just squirming enough to make a point. But not really trying to get away. It was like he wanted Sam to break it off, he wanted _Sam_ to be the one to back away so that he didn't have to blame himself. 

"And how would you know?" Sam spat back, because Dean didn't get to be some dickbag in a fedora who just blamed everything Sam was feeling on his "emotions" and that he was "upset." Dean latched onto Sam's question, gaze snapping back up to Sam's as he got his feet under him and stood up a little taller now that Sam wasn't supporting his weight.

"That's exactly my fucking point! We don't know _anything_ about each other anymore."

Dean was digging a trench between them but Sam wasn't ready to fall in it. He wasn't ready to climb over it either, he just wanted Dean. Now. He wanted people to stop trying to fucking take what was his and ruin it. He wanted people to leave his damn brother alone and he wanted Dean right now more than he'd ever wanted him before in his entire life.

"Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you," Sam warned, trying to make Dean just stop talking so they could _kiss_ , so he could have that perfect mouth under his until Sam could gnaw it bloody, until he could make Dean beg and scream for Sam, always Sam. Dean huffed at Sam's words, tilting his head back against the wall as he laughed in that cold, unfeeling way of his.

"What, you going to prove how much better you are than me now by making out to death?" Dean snorted again, mouth in a bitter, tight line as his eyes hardened against Sam's again. "Fucking genius, Sam."

The constant _Sam's_ felt so much more serious and detached than a _Sammy_ would have been. Sam repositioned his hands in Dean's jacket, loosening his grip a little and shifting it a bit lower. He looked down, breathing out as he tried to control his anger. The urge to just slam Dean into a thousand more walls was tempting, every word out of Dean's mouth making Sam more and more conflicted about this. 

But as conflicted as he was, Sam was sure he'd never be able to breathe again if he had to let go of Dean right now, if he had to step out of this space without having Dean's tongue in between his lips again. 

"Dean, you don't have to be like that," Sam half pleaded-half argued, staring at his hands on Dean's chest. Dean was making this a joke and Sam couldn't do that, he couldn't.

That must have been the wrong thing to say because something inside Dean snapped.

"Be like what??" A mountain of fury and disbelieving rage barreled between them as Dean shouted back, full-on pissed now. Sam's eyes shot back up to Dean's again and it was a game of cat and mouse, looking at each other and looking away, hazel on green and then running away, over and over. But now, with the way Dean was looking at him, wild-eyed and crazy, Sam was fairly sure he'd never be able to break eye contact again. "You still hate me!"

"I--" Sam started. Dean didn't give him the chance, interrupting to shout even more.

"Has the past month just slipped your mind? Or do you remember the crazy, big, _fucked up_ fight we're currently in?" Dean's voice had reached hysteria and one of Sam's fists uncurled, lifting Dean's jacket with it. Then his palm landed down on Dean's chest, open and touching and just wanting so so badly for Dean to understand.

"That doesn't matter." Sam was 100% sincerity right now and Dean's eyebrows shot up like Sam was being fucking crazy instead. His jaw dropped, _opening that mouth even more, dammit_ and the same humor-less irony sunk back into his voice as he argued back.

"It doesn't - what, so you have no problem fucking me just so long as we aren't brothers?" Dean spat out _fucking_ and _brothers_ like how Draco Malfoy said "Mudbloods." The tone, the dirty way he spit those words at Sam...something inside Sam just _shattered_. 

"That's not what I meant--" Sam tried to butt in, all seriousness and drawn eyebrows and _this is not about just fucking you_ but Dean wasn't having any of it.

"What then?" The hysterical huff of laughter broke between them then Dean was making his mocking face, getting an inch closer to Sam as his voice dripped with heavy, biting sarcasm. "Is it that you can't give me your forgiveness but you can give me a place to sleep?" 

Sam didn't even know that Dean knew that song. Let alone that Sam did, and that mocking him with it would feel like a punch to the gut. Sam had first heard it during the week he and Dean had been apart, after they'd offed the first horseman way back during the apocalypse days. Sam had been working as a bartender and the song - _This Night_ , by Black Lab - had come on over the bar radio. Obviously, Sam had attached to it like a bee to butter because the words were just perfect. Sam just wanted to be forgiven and he wanted Dean to hold him the whole night through. So he'd downloaded the song, played it when things got bad. It was a shallow comfort but one he'd allowed himself in the privacy of his head. Just a melody to relate to, a passionate singer to voice his desires. 

Apparently, Dean must have been going through Sam's iPod. Or maybe just heard it somewhere, but either way it felt like a kick to his stomach. The mocking tone, the way he was making fun of Sam's guilt and making fun of Sam and this whole situation...and Sam just wanted to fucking _kiss_ those evil, poisonous lips until he couldn't breathe or else his lungs might give out, his body might not be able to wake up tomorrow.

His eyes flickered all over Dean's face, over his jaw and his forehead and his neck and Sam used to press his mouth to that spot, used to cry out into Dean's skin right there as he wrapped his fingers tight enough to bruise on Dean's hips, as he rolled Dean onto his body and pulled him down into his lap for the thousandth time and came inside his beautiful, mocking, relentless brother.

Sam was going to kiss him anyways. Then at least Dean would stop murdering Sam with his words.

He moved in, eyes slipping shut. He was just going to kiss Dean and shut him up because dammit that was so much easier than talking about any of this shit. But suddenly Dean was really squirming under him, ducking his head to the side and trying to slip out of Sam's hands, get him to let Dean go.

Sam's eyes snapped open, still inches away from Dean's face - although, now, jaw - because Dean had turned his head when he'd dodged Sam's attempts to kiss him. Dean had started freaking out, trying to wrestle away from Sam and refusing to look him in the eyes, face turned to side and shoulders twitching under Sam's hands.

"You don't want this. C'mon, Sam, you don't want this." Dean pleaded, eyes squeezed shut tight so he didn't have to look at Sam. 

God, could Dean be any more infuriating? Sam was pretty sure he could tell Dean that he was the biggest pain-in-the-ass every day for the rest of his life and Dean would never even begin to comprehend the level of _infuriating bastard_ that he was. He would never fully understand how far deep under Sam's skin he was, how much he'd ruined Sam's life 9 ways to Sunday and saved him at least a thousand times that.

Sam wasn't in tears, he wasn't, his eyes were just getting a little damp on the edges.

"Don't tell me what I want!" Sam was struggling to keep it under control, to keep himself from just losing it and breaking down and _crying_ or maybe breaking Dean. In two. With his hands. 

"Well then _I_ don't want this!" Dean shouted, head snapping up. That froze Sam in his tracks. Because as much as he wanted Dean he would never, could never- not if Dean didn't want it, not if it wasn't mutual. Especially after the conversation they'd just had in the car, the one that had made Sam storm into the bunker pissed off in the first place. 

Before Sam could even try to decide if he'd been wrong about the whole Healthcliff-Edgar thing, Dean was pushing at his chest, hands big and warm but _shoving_ , _pushing_ , not to get away but to push Sam because he was pissed and his eyes were watering too and then he was shouting at Sam again, shouting and explaining and there probably hadn't been a break between the shouting in the first place, Sam's brain had just frozen time in its shock.

"You can't just do this to me and then be gone when I wake up, Sam! You can't! You can't. What would I-I..." Dean choked off, his words threatening to be taken over by sobs. His voice had cracked on the _I_ but Sam's heart wasn't pounding as fast anymore. Not like it had been a second ago, at least. Because it wasn't that Dean didn't want Sam, it was that Dean was terrified. This was still mutual. God, Dean still wanted him. 

Now Dean's fists were crumpled in Sam's clothes, both of them with handfuls of each others jackets with Dean's back still pressed against the wall, still caged where he couldn't run away. His eyes were locked on Sam's as he said it again. "You _don't_ want this."

"Dean," Sam said, the single word saying everything he needed to. And Dean got it, Dean understood. The clenched hands started pushing again, Dean started struggling again. Trying to get away this time, legitimately trying to get away because he was so scared. The words he had just shouted were still echoing in Sam's head.

_You can't just do this to me and then be gone when I wake up, Sam! You can't! You can't you can't you can't. And then be gone when I wake up, you can't._

Sam could never do that. He could never kiss Dean and then make love to him and then ditch him like some one night stand that had been filthy and meaningless. Dean was the only meaning in Sam's life, he couldn't do that. 

Dean was still struggling, thrashing, trying to get away. Sam couldn't let him get away, not anymore. Dean was trying to leave, had already fleeted mentally. He had that glazed over look in his eyes like he wasn't listening to a word out of Sam's mouth anymore and Sam just wanted to drag Dean back into the conversation by his stupid perfect bicep and strap him to something until he fucking listened to Sam. 

"Dean!" Sam shouted, just an ounce under the intensity of earlier, when it had been rakes and nails in his throat and Dean had shot away from the blade. For the second time today, Dean snapped out of it, froze, looked up at Sam. Sam held his gaze again, like he had a few hours ago, forcing Dean to look at him with an intensity between them so thick a freight train couldn't snap it. Dean was listening. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Dean was listening. 

"This is all I want. This is all I've wanted since you left that day on the bridge." Sam's voice dropped off, down to a whisper, the words suddenly heavy on his tongue but light in his chest. "This is all I've wanted since I was 13."

There, there it was. The big confession, the thing that had snapped them beyond repair. It was sitting between them now, the weight of their fight and a reminder every reason why they hadn't done this in more than a month. Every reason why they weren't together right now like a big flashing marquee all brought up by just that one sentence. 

Dean was staring at Sam. Both of them were just staring at each other. Sam had brought the reminder into it, had juxtaposed the lies and the confessions right up next to _I want this_. He'd put them in the same sentence and it was basically saying _This is what's wrong with us, but I want this anyways._

And Sam wasn't done. He wanted to say a thousand more things, things like _you asked me "do you want me" and here is my answer._ But Sam couldn't do that, he couldn't give that much away when the water under their feet was still so black. So his wording had been precise, saying I want _this_ instead of I want _you_.

Dean blinked and the staring contest kept going, a thousand different things processing through both of their heads and Sam should be waiting, watching, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that they were on the same wavelength. Because as soon as they agreed, that was Sam's moment to make his move.

But he couldn't, Sam couldn't stand here and wait for the right moments. This was so much more complicated for that. He was still so angry with Dean for his stupid stupid mistakes and his selfish decisions and the way he never wanted to talk about anything and how blind he was to the number of lives they'd destroyed. How he'd rack up the tally as high as he had to for the sake of his own loneliness. But he couldn't keep pretending that Dean didn't mean the world because it was ripping Sam to shreds.

But maybe, maybe, he still loved Sam. Maybe he loved Sam like Heathcliff, all fire and anger and _I'd rather have you haunting me the rest of my life than going on to heaven and peace_. Sam hadn't understood that that was even love for a long time, he had thought it was just selfishness, but maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe it was a kind of love that ran so deep and passionate that he couldn't physically let Sam go. Maybe that was still love.

And maybe Sam loved Dean with a different kind of love, like Edgar did. The kind of shining sunshine love that wanted Dean to be happy, even if that meant Sam couldn't have him. The kind of love that wanted Dean to have his choice, to go to heaven and be happy and okay without Sam because when you love someone you let them go. It was the exact opposite of the way that Dean loved him, and maybe that's why they were so fucked up.

Except they weren't in a Brontë book and there was no beautiful ending to their plot yet. There was nothing but each other's hands wrapped up in jackets, pressing to chests, touching and feeling every breath that pushed through their adrenaline filled bodies.

And Sam couldn't wait because he was so angry and he had to make Dean understand. He had to push himself so physically close to Dean that Dean wouldn't have the _room_ to shove doubt between them anymore. He had to be so connected to his brother that Dean blended into him, that Dean breathed life into him, that they both were finally existing on the same planet again. 

Sam's hands left Dean's chest, hardened palms and rough fingers curling around Dean's biceps. Holding him so he couldn't move, so he couldn't run away like Sam could tell he was debating to do. They couldn't run from this anymore, Sam would implode. His insides would cave in on himself if Dean walked away from this. Sam was reaching out a hand in the darkness, teetering on the edge of a cliff. And if his hand was met with nothing, he'd fall and he'd splat at the bottom and that would be the end of Sam Winchester. 

Dean's eyes weren't connecting to Sam's, his brain wasn't connecting to Sam's. They weren't breathing in sync and their hearts were beating at different rhythms and that was wrong, that was all wrong. Sam was missing a limb - was missing his own chest - and Dean was barely breathing with Sam's hands so tight on his biceps. 

Dean didn't get to leave. He didn't get to check out. He'd ruined Sam's life and he didn't get to walk away from that and leave Sam to try to pick up the shattered pieces of glass at his feet. Dean didn't get to walk away and leave Sam with everything he'd done to him since he was 13. 

Sam could register that he was squeezing Dean's arms too tight, that the grip had become something long past just holding and was probably painful now, maybe leaving bruises in the wake of his fingertips. But that didn't matter, all that mattered was holding Dean so tight that Dean was forced to understand, Dean was forced to get it all when their bodies were connected like this. Like that. Like how they should always be connected. Like how they should have never stopped being connected. 

They were built to be together, they were wasting away without each other and Sam couldn't go another night lying to himself about what this was all really about. 

He was too damn in love with his brother to ever go back.

He crushed his mouth down on Dean's, pushed his tongue in between Dean's lips and kissed him with every fiber he could. His lips were pressing hard enough to elicit bruises, hard enough that there was no way Dean had checked out now. Sam's head was going through apoptosis and Dean's the only thing in the universe and Sam pressed his mouth down harder. 

Dean's hands were weakly counteracting the weight of Sam's chest, squirming and barely pushing but still making an effort to get away. The last feeble attempts to run - driven by fear - and Sam wasn't going to give Dean the room to be afraid anymore. He destroyed the space between their chests, crumpling Dean's hands between them as he forced as much of their bodies to be touching as possible. He needed to crush Dean so hard that Dean would never feel anything but Sam again, that Dean would never be able to look in the mirror and not see the imprint Sam made on him, the scorching mark Sam had made on Dean's lips. 

But his need to rearrange Dean's pieces was countered by his need to hold Dean down somewhere and take, take every ounce of Dean's blood and his bones and their split soul until Dean could finally understand everything. 

So Sam hauled Dean off the wall, one arm wrapping tight over Dean's mid back, squeezing him so close that a pained whimper got swallowed by Sam's mouth, Dean's fingers smashed and maybe sprained now between their chests. Sam's free hand pushed them away from the wall and then they were stumbling into the library, bouncing off a table and headed clumsily for the doorway. The second they stumbled into the bedroom hallway, Sam had Dean pinned again, against a new wall, holding him tighter and tighter until they couldn't breathe and Sam didn't care. 

Dean's mouth was soft and pretty and his cheeks were scraping burns into Sam's face and Sam kissed him even harder, because it meant that Dean couldn't run away from him again when Sam could feel him like this. The copper taste rushed in around the kiss and the sharp hot red hit Sam like a hurricane. 

They'd had bloody kisses during the trials and after hunts and Sam knew the taste of Dean's blood almost as well as he knew the taste of Dean's come. And the seeping copper went straight to Sam's head, rushed logical thought into him like a splash of ice water to the face. Sam had kissed Dean bloody. 

He almost pulled away then, and he really would have. If Dean had still been struggling, if Dean had cried out or pushed or tried to get away in any way, Sam would have somehow found the willpower to unpry his arm from where it was barred on Dean's back. He'd somehow find a way to take a step backwards. 

But Dean's hands were tangled up in Sam's hair now and he was surging up his entire body, trying to pull Sam's mouth deeper on his own while simultaneously pushing up against whatever Sam had to give.

The flood of Dean kissing him back nearly knocked Sam off his feet. His knees felt like jello and if he didn't have Dean's solid, precious weight under him he may have collapsed to the floor. But Dean was strong, so strong that Sam wanted to break him down, wanted to _hurt_ Dean just so he could hear Dean screaming his name. 

Sam's cheek burned and the cut on his neck burned. He'd dressed them up earlier but it felt like they'd split open again. Except there was no warm blood tricking down Sam's face and basically everything in Sam's body felt like it had been split open. His head was dizzy, so dizzy that he nearly lost his balance as Dean pushed them both forward again, making Sam step backwards as they were suddenly moving, stumbling back down the hall towards Dean's bedroom. 

Jackets and button-ups were lost somewhere along the way, shoved off and out of the way without thought, just in their tshirts and jeans before they even made it down one of the hallways.

Dean's bed felt like it'd be years away. Falling down onto the mattress and climbing into the center meant breaking apart, meant spending a millisecond with Sam's attention and focus on anything but Dean. Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to do that.

They made it around the corner to Dean's bedroom, bumping up against the wall because neither of them bothered to look where they were going. But Sam's internal compass told him Dean's room was right there, the door just off to the right. He hauled Dean in that direction, nearly tripping over each other's feet and then Dean was being pushed up against something solid again and the wood of the closed door pressed into Sam's arm. Sam slipped the squeezing pressure of his arm down lower so that it could curve in the dip of Dean's lower back. Then he crowded them even closer together, Dean still shoved against the door. 

Sam wasn't going to be able to take his hands off Dean long enough to open it. He dragged Dean down to the ground, too wired and hung up on his brother to be careful like he should. Dean didn't bother complaining, just went down without a word and stretched out on his back, arching up into Sam as his hands scrambled over Sam's neck and his back, leaving red hot scratches wherever there was bare skin. 

Their mouths hadn't stopped kissing, hadn't stopped biting and sucking each other's tongues and lips and everything they could reach. There was no art or grace in their kisses, just desperation and need that ran so deep Sam could feel it vibrating in his core.

Sam laid Dean out fully on the ground as he slipped his arm out from under Dean's lower back, hands instantly flying to Dean's belt. Dean just let him, let Sam take and take and didn't even offer to help or act like he even knew what was going on as Sam's fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans, the sound of the zipper echoing loud in the hallway over the sound of their mouths pressing and pulling. 

Sam got his fingers under the hem of Dean's jeans and then he just yanked down, underwear and all as he shoved the clothes out from under Dean's ass. Dean finally cooperated, bending his knees up and to the side so their mouths didn't have to part as Sam wrestled Dean's pants off around his feet, shoving haphazardly at his boots until they both clunked to the floor with dull echoing sounds. Dean kept a hand tight on the back of Sam's head, making sure their mouths didn't break as the jangle of the jeans hitting cold tile came next. 

The second Dean's lower half was naked, Sam pressed his weight on top of him, pushing his body hard into the cold floor. Dean hissed into Sam's mouth at the cold, at the way his heavy length was trapped against the fabric of Sam's tshirt, rubbing against the top of his jeans. 

He couldn't help it, one of his hands just had to wrap around the base of Dean's cock, dragging upwards as Dean keened beneath him, making the prettiest noises into Sam's mouth. A few strokes more and he was verging on panting, a hand leaving Sam's back to scrape uselessly at Sam's stomach and paw at the top of his jeans like they were a serious offense in the situation. 

Sam trapped Dean's tongue in between his lips as Dean went in to sweep a taste of Sam's pallet, sucking hard on the wet muscle and forcing Dean to stay in his mouth, forcing that tongue to become his own as he sucked and scraped his teeth. Dean's hands fell limp on Sam's belt, his entire body shuddering like he could come from that alone. 

He kept sucking and sucking, swirling his tongue over the tip of Dean's like it was his cock Sam was sucking instead of his tongue. Dean cried out and scrambled his hands over Sam's back again, pushing up his tshirt to make red lines of nails that burned so badly Sam was fairly sure they broke skin in a few places. 

It was nearly impossible with the distraction of kissing Dean like this, but Sam somehow spared enough brain power to undo his own jeans, pushing them down past his knees and then ignoring them because it wasn't worth letting go of Dean's kisses.

The moment their cocks touched, rubbing hot skin on hot skin, a gasp ripped through Dean's body, his mouth breaking off of Sam's. Sam lunged back down to take those lips under his again because Dean may be gasping for air but Sam couldn't breathe at all without Dean's mouth under his. Dean whimpered into the consuming press of Sam's mouth, sounding broken. But Sam just couldn't allow that break to breathe. His hand found Dean's cock again, slicking it up with the precum pooling at the tip. 

He shoved Dean's tshirt up and out of the way, hitching it up far enough for Sam to rub a quick, violent circle against the stub of Dean's nipple. Dean jerked beneath him then Sam's hand was on Dean's length again, pulling and gathering up the wetness Dean was spilling all over. Sam grinded his hips down, bumping their cocks together again as he dragged the slickness of Dean all over his own cock, lubing himself up with every pearly white bead Dean leaked out. 

One of Dean's legs hooked up over Sam, spreading his body out further for Sam to touch, to take. Sam's slick hand ran down further, past the base of Dean's cock and palming at his sack before he slipped down even further, touching every inch of Dean he could until his fingers press against Dean's entrance, pushing to feel the give of the muscles around the tight hole. 

Dean arched up beautifully at the touch, his hips rocking upwards as more urgent noises get muffled by Sam's mouth. Suddenly Sam had to know what Dean looked like, had to memorize the exact look on Dean's face as Sam pressed part of his body inside of Dean's for the first time in more than a month. 

Every muscle inside him screamed in protest but Sam lifted his head away from Dean anyways. Their lips disconnected with a twisting pop that sounded so wet Sam wanted to just kiss Dean again, never let those puffy pink lips be anywhere but pressed to his own. 

Somehow he opened his eyes and every bone in Sam's body creaked and protested as inches of air - unwelcomed, invading space - forced its way between them with a whooshing sound that was loud enough to make Sam deaf. 

But then Dean's eyes fluttered open to meet Sam's and his heart stopped beating. The brief idea of cardiac arrest and irrhythmia crossed through the very back of Sam's mind but he ignored it because nothing mattered but those eyes, that face, the way that Dean was looking at him right now. 

Lips swollen and split and flecked with dots of blood on the inside, tongue red from where Sam could just barely see it in between the space of Dean's parted, panting lips. The scruff that had probably destroyed the skin on Sam's chin and jawline made everything else seem so contrasted, so bright and wet in comparison to the dark stubble of hair in sharp lines across Dean's jaw. His eyes were piercing and so so bright that Sam could see the entire world in them, could see so far deeply into Dean that he was terrified of what he might find. 

And Dean was looking at Sam like he loved him. No, better, like Dean was saying _I love you_. Three words Dean had never put in that order but were scrawled across his face now like an open book. 

It wasn't the endearing, sweet, sentimental kind of I love you. It was pissed, angry, emotional, attached. Codependent. Frustrated. Impatient. Devoted. And so so so painful, like every muscle in Dean's body was getting ripped to ribbons just by Sam looking at him like this. 

It was looking in a mirror now, not at Dean anymore. He was watching his own reflection, his own emotions, played out on a face with sharp angles and stubble but underneath all that - behind the mirror of Sam's emotions staring back at him - was the turmoil of a thousand different reasons, thoughts, things that kept them different and separate people and they were opposites just as much as they were identical and they attracted so much more than magnets. They attached and they welded together and nothing was ever going to be able to pry them off each other without taking such a significant chunk of the other one that they weren't even themselves anymore. 

Sam wanted to feel the burn of Dean's stubble against his ass, wanted to cry and beg as the fire and sharpness rippled over the most sensitive parts of Sam's body. But there wasn't time, there wasn't any time to have the one thousand and one things Sam wanted to do with Dean - to do _to_ Dean - and neither of them had the patience or finesse to come anywhere near that. 

He just needed to be inside his brother, right now. 

Sam sucked two fingers into his mouth and then he was sliding them into Dean, slipping past muscle with the twitching force of stretching it apart. Dean's eyes screwed shut and his head flung back, wordless curses falling from his perfect, swollen lips. 

"Look at me," Sam ordered, and Dean's head snapped back to meet Sam's eyes so fast that _Sam_ almost got a head rush. He just couldn't have Dean focused anywhere else, even if it was on the feeling of Sam's fingers. Sam wasn't going to let Dean lose himself until Sam pushed them both so far that they'd break if they didn't. Then they'd go together and they'd get swept up and nothing on the planet would matter except the way that Dean gave himself up to Sam. 

But not yet, Dean didn't get to check out and just feel yet. Sam needed Dean here, living and breathing every moment with him until the last possible second. 

He dug his fingers deeper inside his brother and soaked himself in the way Dean looked at him as he shouted and wondered if there was ever going to be a time that Sam didn't feel like this about Dean. 

Dean still hadn't said anything - not since _you don't want me_ \- and Sam needed that too, needed Dean's voice to tuck away in this moment and this memory, to add to the already overwhelming sensations ricketing through him. 

Sam added another finger, crooking them to brush at Dean's prostate and Dean almost gave up at that, almost shut his eyes and turned away and screamed. Sam could see every bit of it as Dean didn't, as he kept his eyes locked on Sam while they flooded with arousal and pleasure and aching need and desire and all the things that Sam needed to own from him. 

It was probably the most intense experience Sam could remember, forcing Dean to look at him in a moment where he needed to close his eyes and just scream instead. But Dean let him take that too, let Sam consume every bit of his body's reactions. They'd reached a level so powerful there was no way they'd been this in love before, this _passionate_ before and they weren't even fucking yet.

"Why?" Sam rasped, twisting his three fingers inside of Dean. He wasn't sure what he was asking, well, more like he wasn't sure what he _wasn't_ asking. It was the all encompassing question, everything Sam had never asked and everything Dean had never answered. 

Dean still didn't answer, just reached up off the floor and kissed Sam with his swollen mouth, peppering him with the soft texture and a kind of gentle sincerity that made Sam want to punch Dean. Fuck him and his stupid caring and his stupid mouth and the way he was always fucking silent. 

Just about fucking each other, my ass. There was so much love in that kiss that Sam was drowning in it and he couldn't breathe from all the shoving and prodding at his soul. Their soul, resting at the place where their mouths connected. Joined, for once, two halves to a whole like they were supposed to be and suddenly that just made Sam so much _madder_. 

They were so fucking ruined and they'd destroyed so much and right now with Dean's mouth on his, Sam felt more like he belonged than he'd ever had in his life.

A very long time ago, innocent and oblivious versions of themselves, Dean had shown up at his apartment at college and Sam had crawled back into the Impala to go hunt a woman in white, hot on the trail Dad had carved for them with no real intentions but to drag Sam out of the normalcy he'd been trying to shove himself into.

And climbing back into that car, letting his legs stretch out with the cool familiarity of leather against his back and the sleek black metal to box him into safety and family and home, Sam had suddenly gotten so _pissed_. He didn't want to belong here. He didn't want this to feel right because he knew what that meant. 

Sam knew what a dark and dangerous road that The Path of Dean Winchester was and Sam was an addict, always coming back for another hit because just one look could kill, just the taste of Dean's lips was the highest thrill in Sam's life.

Dean was the poison that had pumped through his veins long before any demon tried to shove its way in.

"Fuck me Sammy," Dean said as he finally pulled away, his head collapsing back down to the tile. It wasn't a request, it was a statement like Dean was on the stand and had vowed to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, in the power of the lord above, so help me God. 

Sam's spit-slicked fingers slipped out of Dean, wiping on his shirt on the way up to grab his face with both hands, thumbs buried in the scruffy stubble and palms scratching over his jaw. If this was Dean's answer to Sam's question of _why_ , it fit in a sort of depressing way. 

Sam bowed his head down, forehead against Dean's, and closed his eyes. He could feel Dean breathing. He could feel Dean's breath on his lips, could feel his pulse in the jaw under Sam's hands. They were breathing in sync. 

His palms raced back down Dean's neck, his head tilting, angling his mouth to bite across Dean's jaw. He hadn't done that yet, he hadn't tasted this new, sorrowful part of Dean and suddenly that felt like a sin. 

Using his tongue as much as his teeth, Sam bit along the stubble and Dean panted and tilted his head as Sam's palms ran down, over the bunched up tshirt and (too) flat stomach and jutting hip bones and wrapped around the inside of Dean's thighs, spreading his legs apart with Sam's palms. Dean's breathing hitched and his body tensed up. Not to fight Sam, but anticipating him. Waiting for him and wanting, wanting so bad that Sam could feel it.

His lips were raw and burning from the scrape of Dean's stubble but Sam kissed a final line back up Dean's jaw anyways. Then he lifted his head up to watch needing to see the moment that his body entered Dean's and disappeared between the spread legs.

He kept one hand on the pale thigh that wasn't wrapped over his waist, freeing a hand to guide the head of his cock to Dean's body. The air caught in Sam's chest as he nudged the slicked up head against the rim of Dean's hole. The muscles fluttered and Dean's spine jerked, towards Sam instead of away from him, trying to take more. Sam's hips flicked forward, inching inside Dean too slowly and Dean groaned painfully, rolling his hips down and bumping the head of Sam's cock all the way inside Dean's body. 

The compression in all directions on his cock felt like his entire body was being squeezed, suffocated to death by Dean. And Sam sunk in deeper, needing more. Dean's ass twitched and rolled, taking him in, all of him. Sam couldn't even pause when his hips landed flush against Dean's ass and thighs, buried so deep in his brother that he was fucking his brain, his heart, every inch of him and Sam couldn't get that image out of his head so he tilted back his hips and thrust forward again as deliberately as he could, filling Dean again. And again and again. And it was all Sam could think about, just filling Dean so full of him that there was no room for Dean to think. Coating his insides and the inner most layer of his skin so thickly in _Sam_ that there would never be a waking moment that Dean wouldn't feel Sam inside him.

Dean moaned filthily, head thrashing to the side as his nails were talons again, clawing over the marks he'd already made on Sam's back, his bare heel digging deeper into Sam's lower spine. The rhythm set so easily between them that it was like they'd never stopped doing this, this was all they'd done their entire lives. Dean rolled back into every punch of Sam's hips and the hits just kept coming because they were fighting as much as they were fucking and this was somehow a battle and a surrender at the same time.

Sam reached up and took Dean's mouth with his own, cutting short a vicious groan with his tongue, fucking in between those shiny, plump lips. Dean opened his mouth instantly, sliding wet and hot over Sam's in a way that was already making Sam's stomach tighten, making him fuck into Dean's body even harder. Here they were, on the floor outside Dean's room with clothes strewn about them as Sam thrust into Dean's body, one leg wrapped around Sam's back and the other spread open and held with one of Sam's bruising hands while they kissed and kissed and kissed. 

The rocking and the slide of Dean all around him made it hard to think, hard to do anything but just breathe for once and feel so alive that Sam could be physically glowing, his blood could be golden and it wouldn't surprise him in the least. Through what little brain process he did have, little flickers of thoughts and memories flashed in Sam's head, just pieces of a puzzle that made up the final image of this gorgeous, flawed man under his hands. 

This was the same person that didn't think twice about beheading a human who had dared touch Sam with a knife. The same person that had made a thousand deals, cheats, and stupid decisions to keep Sam alive and at his side. This man had spent an entire year in Purgatory, slicing and hacking his way through the bloodiest and most dangerous of monsters that had nearly shredded Sam inside of just 24 hours when _he'd_ gone. This man had given up the sanity of his best friend in order to save Sam, free him from the insomnia of Lucifer's clutch. This was the same person that had tortured souls in hell, had liked the feeling of blood rushing down his hands. 

This man had sold his soul when he was still just a boy, young and terrified and so lost that he would do anything for Sam to be breathing. This was the rock n' roll, give 'em hell, play my music too loud, leather-jacket clad boy who had worn a brass horned amulet around his neck for twenty years just because his little brother had given it to him. This was the teen that had ruffled Sam's hair and given up an amazing life at a boys' home for him. This was the little kid that gave up his childhood to be Sam's mother, father, brother, best friend. The was the four year old who had carried a baby out of a burning building at a single command from his father.

Dean was the rock in the center of Sam's universe, the blood that pumped through his veins, and Sam wanted to own Dean - integrate himself as much into Dean's life as Dean was into his. Dean saved him from nightmares and panic attacks and taught him how to drive but not how to kiss girls because _you gotta figure that one out on your own, Sammy._ Sam had spent so much time trying to figure it all out on his own when all along Dean had been here, Dean had always been there and it wasn't until he wasn't that Sam even realized how _there_ his brother had been. 

"Dean."

The word broke between them, Sam's vocal chords cracking on it, and he wondered if Dean could hear everything he had meant to say. It was all he could see, the only word his body seemed to always be able to say. The kiss had broken just before the word had but it had been basically one sided for the past few seconds anyways.

Dean was shaking and too worked up to breathe right, his mouth just open and letting Sam take and now that Sam had lifted his head, given Dean the space for oxygen, he was gasping and there was water pooling in the corners of his eyes. He didn't have enough sense left to kiss Sam back but Sam was fairly sure he'd still heard Sam's call of his name, the cross he had strung them both up to. He was fairly sure Dean could feel that call deep in his bones.

Sam dragged his lips up the side of Dean's face, reveling in every curve and texture of his skin. Salty sweat clung to Sam's lips and he flicked out his tongue to clear the taste into his mouth, to hold every part of Dean he could. Blood, sweat, and tears. 

He was almost hesitant, his body still so focused on pummeling into Dean's that he couldn't decide on what Dean's reaction would be, if Sam should just leave it be. He ended up not leaving it be - because this was all or nothing, they were all or nothing, and that meant the tears part too.

He pressed his lips to the corner of Dean's right eye, drawing the unfallen teardrop onto his tongue. A rush of air escaped Dean's mouth, sounding like it hurt, like Sam had slapped him instead of kissed him. The tip of Sam's tongue darted out from between his lips, gathering up all of the moisture on Dean's bottom eyelashes. Dean whined but he didn't move his head, he didn't make any move to stop Sam from mouthing over the watery tears in Dean's eyes.

The whine went straight to Sam's stomach, his body snapping up into Dean faster, harder, fuller. Dean choked like Sam was fucking his throat instead of his ass, air caught somewhere between his lips and his lungs and Sam wanted to suck it out of him, make the oxygen from his own lungs the only thing Dean could breathe on. 

Sam could feel himself getting close, the stark proximity - the closest two human beings could be - such a contrasted difference from the past month where it had all been not allowed to touch, not even allowed to look. This beautiful, panting thing underneath him had been the only thing Sam couldn't have for the majority of his life and now he was taking it all. 

He tucked his face into the crook of Dean's neck, breathing in the sweat and sex and brother, his hips rocking so fast now that he had to clutch at Dean's shoulders to keep him tight to Sam's body. Dean's throat started up a quiet chorus of _ah, ah, ah'_ s that Sam wouldn't be able to hear if he wasn't pressed so close to Dean's skin that he could feel every single cell rushing underneath their veins.

Every second building up to Dean's peak was integrated so deeply into Sam's brain that he might as well be there in Dean's head with him. He could feel both of them, twin sensations fighting and pushing and pulling to that edge, to when the coil would finally break. Sam squeezed Dean tighter to him, his lungs fighting for oxygen as his chest heaved against Dean's, both of them shaking now with the rocking, so fast and hard and real that Sam wasn't sure if he'd ever been alive before this moment. 

He chased Dean's physical distraught, absorbed and recorded every step closer Dean came to orgasming. Moments before he reached that peak Sam zoned in, so focused in on what Dean was feeling that he wasn't sure who was fucking who anymore. 

Then Dean arched up into his hands and came, splitting in two right down the middle as he screamed and everything became beautifully high and tight tight tight then so pliant and soft in Sam's arms, giving it all up to him. Pure surrender. For a brief second Sam wasn't sure whether or not Dean had passed out on him and that felt like it might be strangely fitting for a moment, Sam fucking into the limp body of his passed out brother. He was almost sure Dean had blacked out to the world until he heard the soft murmur of his name, the word _Sam_ breathed into the air like it was the last thing Dean would ever say. 

Dean was dying in that moment, wasting away from the earth but he hadn't left it yet, and Sam just held him tight and buried his mouth into Dean's skin and jerked his hips up, spilling warmth and promises into Dean's body, a haunted name on his lips that he couldn't say aloud with ripped, iron vocal chords.

Warm, rough hands grappled weakly against his hair, his shoulders. Dean was clutching at Sam with what minute energy he had, the last waves of shattering pleasure rushing over him as Sam shuddered and rode the sparks that just wouldn't stop coming. 

The world spun and Dean was here, Dean was under him, he was holding Dean and inside Dean and all around him and covering every inch of him and coated inside his skin and nothing else mattered but the divinity of their forever.

Their bodies were sticky with sweat and come and there were tears flecked in with blood on Sam's tongue and Dean felt sloppy and wet and too hot around Sam's softening cock. Dean's heartbeat was thudding against Sam's nose, steady and slow, the antithesis of the way everything had been only minutes ago. They were still tangled up in each other on the floor and Sam wasn't sure he ever wanted to move.

If he moved, it might break the spell, and who knows what would happen then? 

But he couldn't stay here crushing Dean into the cold tile with his dirty body because eventually Dean would tell him to get off and Sam wasn't sure he was ready to hear those words.

Sam slid a sweat-damp arm between Dean's freckled shoulders and the bunched up material of Dean's tshirt, the tile still freezing through the thin fabric. Through some power above, Sam managed to find the strength to lift Dean up, pulling up his shoulders with that barred arm and wrapping the other around his bare waist, moving to pull Dean into his lap.

Dean's head rolled backwards as Sam lifted up his shoulders, like some kind of princess in a fairytale book. Sam was careful, really careful, but Dean was still breathing and his eyes were fluttering so he was fine, just really really out of it. Once Dean was pulled all the way into Sam's lap - Sam's legs tucked under him and one of Dean's legs still wrapped loosely over Sam's hips - Sam pulled him in tight, gathering Dean as close to him as he could. 

Sitting back on his ass on the freezing ground, Sam kicked off the jeans he'd never gotten around to removing from his ankles. His boots got toed off too, because it would be useless to try to get dressed right now. Might as well just strip instead, it'd be easier. Then he could get up and get Dean into his bedroom faster.

The laxness of Dean's neck had his head rolling to the side now, tilted against Sam's with his chin resting over Sam's shoulder. The arm across Dean's shoulders reluctantly pushed up off the ground, lifting Dean up with him with their bodies still pressed close enough together that Dean wouldn't fall. 

As Sam straightened up, Dean dislodged from his lap and the head of Sam's cock slipped out of Dean's body with a wet sound that would normally have Sam wrinkling his nose and Dean complaining because he bitched about everything, even during sex, and Sam missed that. He missed this being a regular thing, he missed being able to put his hands wherever he wanted to on his brother.

He missed Dean's adorable morning crankiness or random overeagerness, he missed Dean wandering around aimlessly in his bathrobe until he found Sam and kissed him until he wasn't bored anymore. He missed Dean's bitching about Sam's hair and he missed Dean pulling it breathlessly when he told Sam to drop to his knees. He missed the smiles most of all, missed the way Dean's eyes would light up when he saw Sam for the first time every day. He missed the special smile, the one that was only for Sam, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen it.

Opening the door to Dean's room was a bit of a challenge when his legs wanted to give out and he had an extra 200 pounds limp against his chest. He finally managed though, nearly dropping Dean from his one-armed hold in the process. But he caught Dean's shoulders again in time, kicking the door wider with his foot as he carried Dean across the threshold and refused to think about what that meant.

Dean hadn't even made a noise of complaint at nearly being dropped. In fact, Dean hadn't made a sound past the terrifyingly final sounding _Sam_ he'd breathed after his body was empty, empty and so drained that it was no wonder he couldn't move. 

When he finally made it to the side of Dean's bed, after tripping over the clothes Dean had left on his floor, Sam turned over and sat down first. Dean's lax body came with and he was sitting in Sam's lap for a moment again until Sam scooted up further on the bed, rolling on his side to deposit Dean down onto the sheets next to him.

Dean blinked open his eyes once his head hit the pillow, the cushions depressing under his weight. Sam froze halfway through tugging the sheets out from under Dean's ass, the flicker open of Dean's eyelids shooting Sam's gaze up and then their eyes met. There were a thousand different ways that this could go and most of those options ended really really badly.

He hadn't been counting on Dean coming back to himself tonight, or maybe ever, because Sam had not thought through the after of this at all. He'd needed Dean more than anything else and something as simple as an awkward morning-after talk wasn't enough to stop him from kissing Dean, from fucking him into the floor because Sam had needed Dean so much his body was withering from not having him. 

They were both still, Sam's hands frozen mid-tug on the sheets, his fingers inches away from Dean's warm skin. Sam was looking at Dean and waiting for Dean to do something, say something, _anything_. Preferably something that didn't include yelling at Sam or being pissed or kicking Sam out or crying or grabbing the half-full bottle of whiskey on the bedside table. 

Dean shifted his hips, freeing the last corner of the sheets from where it had been trapped under him. He still didn't say anything, didn't look away from Sam's eyes, just shifted his body a fraction and the sheet went limp in Sam's hands. Dean's face was unreadable, masked over so perfectly that he looked photoshopped. Like he wasn't even real. 

But the sheet was free now, so Sam might as well pull it over Dean and crawl under it, because unless Dean was kicking him out then Sam wasn't going anywhere. He was never going to forget the look on Dean's face when he'd said he wouldn't sleep with Sam because of _you can't just do this to me and then be gone when I wake up, Sam! You can't! You can't._ Sam wasn't planning on leaving now, not after everything that had just happened. 

Sam pulled the sheets up to his chest, digging his shoulder into the memory foam and laying his head down on the pillow next to Dean's. Dean was on his back but his head was turned, looking at Sam. 

They were on the wrong sides of the bed, he realized belatedly. But it was too late to switch sides now. It didn't bother Sam, but Dean was the one who had named the different sides in the first place. If anything, something warm curled in Sam at the idea that he got to see the other side of Dean's face tonight. 

The door to Dean's room was open and they never kept the door open when they were sleeping - hunting habits - but it let the soft lights from down the corridor pour into the room, lighting up the angles and freckles on Dean's face in what would otherwise be pitch black darkness. 

Dean was still looking at him silently and Sam wasn't sure if they were supposed to be speaking or just staring. He craved the stillness and the silence of this moment with Dean, half afraid of what might come out of either of their mouths if they were to open them. But at the same time he wanted Dean to tell him stories, spin him a web of beautiful words. It didn't matter what they were, Sam just wanted to hear Dean's voice until he'd had every syllable memorized. And then he wanted to kiss Dean until he could taste what Dean's voice sounded like.

They weren't touching anymore and Sam's body realized it with a start, threatening to collapse and fall through the earth if he didn't ground himself, if he didn't find some source of gravity to hold on to. 

Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's hand, his gravity, and Dean's perfectly neutral face suddenly couldn't contain his emotions anymore and the surprise took over his features, blatant and obvious, and then it was like a wall had cracked. It was the brick that broke Jericho because now Dean's face was flickering through a hundred different things.

He wasn't just looking at Sam calmly and neutrally anymore, his eyes were searching back and forth back and forth, over and over on every inch of Sam's face like he was looking for answers, like he needed answers, like he was going to have a panic attack if he didn't get answers right now.

Sam would give Dean any answer he wanted right now, he'd fess up anything Dean wanted to know, he'd tell Dean any minute of his life that Dean asked about but Dean wasn't asking. Dean's lips hadn't parted, they were glued shut and Sam knew him better than anyone in the world but he couldn't draw anything but panic out of the look in Dean's eyes.

His fingers wrapped tighter around Dean's, squeezing his hand. It was more like a taser wake up call than it was intended to be comforting, but the panic subsided a little and Dean's eyes softened, blinking a few times. God, his brother was losing his mind, wasn't he?

"Sammy," Dean rasped out, his fingers pressing painfully hard against Sam's. Sam tugged his hand free from Dean's, quickly replacing it with the other hand so Dean wouldn't get the wrong idea. Then he scooped Dean into his body, a hand on the back of Dean's head as he tucked Dean against his chest. 

It was so warm and unnervingly comfortable with Dean against him that Sam wanted to cry. He hadn't had this, they'd been starving themselves of this and what had gone so wrong between them all of these years?

If he could choose any time in his life that he actually had to go out, that he had to die, he'd pick here. Sam would pick right here, laying with Dean, branded with the torch of Dean's too bright green eyes and the burning touch of his freckled skin. 

"I know," Sam whispered, fingers scratching lightly at the top of Dean's neck, shifting through the ends of Dean's hair. Dean stiffened at Sam's words, pushing back so that their lower halves were still tangled but he could see Sam's face.

"Do you?" Dean asked, words echoing strangely loud as the whispers were abandoned in favor of real words. Sam felt like the glass box he was in was slipping around him, cracks spindling up the walls as he tried not to let the storm crush the little bit of peace he had found. 

Sam studied Dean's face, his turn to look for answers to questions he wasn't asking. 

This would be a lot easier if Dean wasn't so tired that his eyelids were fighting him to keep the room in focus. They'd been on the road for what felt like forever and it was already late when they got home, and that was before the scene on the floor. Dean had been stressed and tied up and generally hadn't gotten enough sleep over the past month, his flashing eyes just didn't want to stay open anymore. 

"I don't know," Sam told him. Dean was blinking rapidly like it was the only way to make his brother's face swim back into clarity. Every flash of those long black eyelashes sweeping up and down made his eyes more mesmerizing and Sam couldn't help but study him, the green so bright against the pillow and the sheets that it looked like burning pennies. He was struggling to hold onto consciousness for a conversation they were probably going to fuck up anyways.

"Go to sleep," he said quietly, reaching out for Dean's hand again and feeling their fingers lace together like the mesh of puzzle pieces. Dean looked down at their hands then back up at Sam, eyelids fluttering for a final time before he gave in and let his body slip into unconsciousness.

Sam stayed awake to watch Dean sleep, trying to pretend that it wasn't because of the fear knotting his stomach that he might not get to have this again for another month. Or longer. Or maybe never. So Sam wasn't going to go to sleep, for as long as he could.

How had Sam tried to forget what this was like? He had been so sure it was the right thing to do, but lying here with Dean? It was so stupidly blatantly obvious that the right thing didn't matter to Sam's heart.

Dean may be wrong and Sam may be wrong and they may be wrong and being brothers and lovers may be wrong and destroying the world in their blindness was _definitely_ wrong. 

But this was love, whatever kind or whatever intensity, it was love. 

They had been running their entire lives from it, from what it really was. But Sam was always going to be Dean's, forever. They would always be suspended with the other, forever. 

Sam's fingers danced down the side of Dean's face, lightly touching with the gentle stroke so he wouldn't wake Dean. _I'm forever yours_.

Eventually his coronas started burning with the urge to rest. Sam's eyes blinked shut in the darkness, holding onto Dean. They were lying nose to nose with their arms wrapped around each other's bodies and Sam bathed in the invisible light of his lover's closed eyes. 

The moment Sam opened his eyes back up in the morning, he would able to see Dean. 

The first and last thing. 

From the day Sam was born til the day he died, always the first thing and the last thing he wanted to see. The first thing and last thing on his mind. Dean always had been.

The ceiling closed down on them like a blanket and no one dreamt, the blackness peacefully uninterrupted but for two chests breathing in sync and two broken hearts beating.


	29. Placebo (Mother's Little Helper 09x17)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Saba, because she made me finally crawl out of my writer's block hole and finish this xx

Falling asleep with Dean Winchester was divine. 

Which made blinking awake to an empty bed that much more painful. 

The first thing Sam had registered as his body slowly gained consciousness was how comfortable the bed was. And that everything smelled like Dean. As soon as he registered what that meant (he had to be in Dean's bed), last night all came flooding back like a tidal wave. They'd had sex - really really amazing passionate sex that was still making Sam's skin tingle. 

They'd fallen asleep holding each other, positioned just right so Sam could see Dean the second he woke up. Sam's eyes were still closed, the anticipation making his muscles tense up. Every morning for the past month Sam had woken up alone and it had ripped something in him so deep that he was afraid the damage might be permanent. Be he just knew, he was so sure that opening his eyes right now to see Dean's beautiful face would stitch up all the holes that loneliness had eaten away at. 

Sam fluttered open his eyes, lips already curling into a contented smile, when the stark white sheets stared back at him. Empty. 

He just stared for a moment, not understanding. Dean wasn't there. But they'd said-- Dean had made a _point_ to say...he had to be here. 

Sam lifted his head up, looking over his shoulder. Dean wasn't behind him. Dean wasn't even in the room. Sam slipped a hand forward, running over the spot he'd seen Dean last. It was bitter cold. 

Dean hadn't just left. He's been gone for a long time. 

He wasn't sure if he should be pissed or heartbroken or numb about the whole thing but he ended up just staring at the ceiling and cursing his life. 

Dean had said, very specifically yesterday, _You can't do this to me and be gone when I wake up, Sam! You can't! You can't. What would I-I_. And then he'd gotten so emotional over that thought that he almost lost it in tears. Sam was pretty sure they were rage-tears, really-overwhelmed-emotions tears, not the sad crying kind. 

And Sam had known he could never do that, he could never treat Dean like a meaningless one night stand, as just sex and a warm body. Apparently, Dean had no problem treating _Sam_ like that. 

The longer Sam was awake the more his brain was trying to convince him that last night was their biggest fuck up yet. If Dean had _left_ before Sam even got up? There were a thousand things that could mean and not one of them was good. Besides maybe if Dean had wanted to make surprise breakfast to eat in bed. Which Sam highly doubted, because he couldn't smell anything cooking and Dean hadn't made them breakfast - or food at all - in a hell of a long time. 

Which meant Dean had left for other reasons. Reasons Sam would never find out if he didn't get off his ass and go ask.

He tossed back the sheets, still naked from the waist down, and grabbed a pair of Dean's boxers. He stared at Dean's dead guy robe for a few moments before he decided _fuck it_ and tossed it on over his shoulders. He cinched the waist tight, glancing at the mirror as he walked by. He looked a little ridiculous, the bottom hem only came down to his knees, but whatever. It was actually pretty comfortable and it smelled like Dean. Which made it an extension of the empty bed Dean had left Sam in. 

As Sam crossed out onto the hallway, he nearly tripped on their jeans and boots. They were still strewn about the hall, not even scooted aside. He rounded the corner and their jackets and button-ups were the same. That was pretty out of character for Dean. He always made a point to keep the bunker as tidy as possible. 

So he might have left them there as a reminder for Sam, as a big shoutout that said "hey, look, we had wild sex last night and I ditched you before you could open your eyes!" Sam hosted at the clothes on the ground, stepping over them with an annoyed huff. He'd pick them up now, except that he needed to find Dean. 

Sam swung open the door to the left Barry, eyes scanning over the empty room, the empty adjacent rooms he could see from here. What if...what if Dean wasn't in the bunker at all? What if he'd packed his bags and just left? Decided last night was the final straw and abandoned Sam forever? 

His heart was thudding in his chest as he does walker to the kitchen, forcing himself to calm down as he rounded the doorway 

There was Dean. A rush of air escaped Sam's mouth as he saw his brother, sitting and staring at the glass in his hands. Sam really wished it was a mug instead. 

"Hey," Sam said, the worry draining from his body as the anger seeped back in. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as Dean looked up. 

"Hey," he responded, lifting the glass to his lips and tipping it back with shut eyes. A pretty extensive portion of the Amber liquid disappeared down Dean's throat, then the glass got say back down and his pretty (swollen) lips smacked together with a pop as the burn set in. 

"How long you been up?" Sam still had his arms crossed, watching as Dean looked him over, took in his stance and his crazy hair and Dean's bathrobe tugged over his clothes. Dean looked back down, swirling what was left in the glass. 

"Couple hours." He looked back up at Sam and Sam could see just a hint of a shadow under Dean's eyes, like he hadn't gotten near enough sleep. Which, if he'd been up for a couple of hours, would definitely been true. 

They were both silent for a little bit, Dean chewing at the corner of his lip as his eyes blanked out, his body so still it didn't look like he was breathing. Sam just grazed his gaze over every bit of Dean he could see. 

Dean was fully dressed - jeans, socks, a tshirt, an overshirt, a jacket. His hair was gelled up in perfect spikes too, and the scruff on his cheeks hid any bite marks Sam might have left there. 

He looked infuriatingly unaffected by last nights events. 

"Why'd you get up so early?" Sam asked, knowing his voice had started to sound a little annoyed. Dean looked up at him and looked away, staring at coffee pot as he answered. 

"Couldn't sleep." 

Oh really? Because he'd out like a light last night. He'd fallen asleep so fast that he'd barely gotten a word in. 

He had to have been warmer than he'd been in a long time, with Sam's arms wrapped around him, and he'd been so sated and worn out he'd probably still be fast asleep if this had been a normal day. If everything wasn't so complicated and they weren't in such a huge fight. 

So yeah, couldn't sleep my ass. 

Sam stuck his tongue in his cheek and snorted, looking down at his bare feet. How could Dean do this? After last night, after everything that had happened, how could Dean be so difficult? 

"Is this about last night? Because you said you didn't want to wake up and have me be gone. So, what, it's fine if you do that to me?" He was just so upset, how could Dean _do_ that? How could he treat Sam like he was just some girl in a bar that meant absolutely nothing?

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes like he had a terrible headache. 

"Sam--" he started, sounding impatient like Sam was being entirely ridiculous. 

"No, Dean. We have sex for the first time in more than a month, for the first time since I fessed up my unrequited _teenage feelings_ for you and you can't even bother to stuck around long enough to _pretend_ you care!" Sam waved his arm out exasperatedly, fighting back the burning water threatening his eyes. 

"Not everything's about you, Sam!" Dean shouted back, his quiet resolve snapping, and Sam's heart nearly stopped. 

That could have been a dismissal statement, trying to make Sam feel more like he meant nothing, but something in the way Dean was staring at his alcohol again, something about the way his lip was trembling told Sam it wasn't that. 

It was a confession. Dean had shrunk down instantly after he'd said it, guiltily like he hadn't wanted Sam to hear that. If glasses could burn from the heat of states, Dean's glass would be on fire right now. He didn't want Sam to see his eyes because he thought it'd give him away. 

There was something else, something that was nagging at Dean so strongly he'd given up a warm bed and poured out the whiskey instead. 

Sam's eyes searched all over Dean's body, looking for any sign of what might be wrong. His lip was still trembling slightly, and his hand was shaking a little, but that could be just wired up energy. The shadows under his eyes didn't say anything either. Dean's sleeves were rolled up, but that was really the only unusual thing about his appearance. And he'd been rolling his sleeves up a lot lately, so it wasn't exactly a clue. 

He could just flat out ask Dean what was wrong but he had a feeling Dean would laugh in his face, tell him to fuck off. Sam could take a lot of things but that would be too painful after this morning. 

At least Dean hadn't left because he'd thought last night was meaningless. What had Sam been expecting anyways? To wake up in Dean's bed and kiss him awake and roll in between the jeers until they forgot all about their fight? 

Sam still didn't want to just throw this under the bridge and ignore it. Dean was still the deuschwad who'd taken away Sam's free will and gone against his wishes to bring him back from the dead. That hadn't changed, and they still hadn't talked over any kind of a solution. 

And based on the way Dean's shoulders were tensed up as he poured himself more whiskey with shaking hands, Sam could guess they weren't going to be taking about it any time soon. 

Whatever was nagging at Dean must have been pretty bad for him to be acting like this. And it wasn't like Sam could help him any either, Dean didn't want to talk about it. Dean never wanted to talk about it. 

Although there may be one other way Sam could help. Maybe. It was still murky water and Sam wasn't sure where either of them stood on the topic, but...

"Okay," Sam said at last, his voice nowhere near the level of pisses as before. Dean glanced at him, rim of the glass perched between his lips. "I'm going to go take a shower. Did you, uh. Did you wanna..."

Sam gestured vaguely over his shoulder in the direction of the shower room. He hadn't said the words _join me_ because they sounded too lighthearted and teasing for the situation. So he just gestured instead. The implication was pretty clear what he was asking, too. 

Would you like to come figure our way through complicated shower sex? Dean studied Sam for a moment, scrutinizing and deciding. Or maybe just trying to figure out why Sam had asked, what last night was going to mean for their future. 

Had one night literally changed everything? Sam didn't know. He wasn't sure how it couldn't, last night had been like opening his eyes after staying asleep for a month. 

Finally Dean sat down his glass, shifting on the bench seat and looking up at Sam all nonchalant. 

"I already showered," he said simply and Sam wondered if Dean realized he took way too long to answer if that was all he needed to say. 

But if that's how it was going to be, fine. It wasn't like physical comfort would help Dean with whatever was fucking with his head or anything. It wasn't like they could both really use this, figuring out where they stood now that they'd had sex again. 

Except apparently, Dean already knew where he stood because he'd turned down the offer, blew Sam off with an _I already showered_ like that had stopped him from invading half of Sam's showers before. 

"Yeah, okay," Sam said back, pretending it all _was_ okay as he backed a step out of the doorway. He watched Dean for one more precious moment, wishing he could pry into Dean's brain and figure out what was so wrong. 

Then he was off to shower, alone, but in the big shower room anyways. Just in case Dean changed his mind and came running in after Sam. 

He didn't. 

~*~*~*~

Dean was sitting at a library table when Sam came and found him again. His long hair was still wet from his shower, but at least he was wearing real clothes now. The image of Sammy in _Dean's_ bathrobe, standing in the doorway and looking at Dean like Dean was supposed to be somebody else....

It wasn't Dean's fault he couldn't sleep (well, he'd gotten a few hours in just because his body was so exhausted from last night, but he'd still woken up somewhere around 2am) and it wasn't like he was just going to lay there in that bed next to his sleeping brother and stare at the ceiling lamenting for hours. So yeah, he'd gotten up. He'd needed a shower and whiskey, badly. And then he'd researched for a bit until his eyes started hurting from the dim lights and he'd given up to just go nurse a bottle in the kitchen, try to get his mind off of everything.

And then Sam had found him and been so pissed off that Dean had left. Dean wasn't expecting Sam to understand, so he didn't bother explaining. 

But now, Dean was still drinking and attempting research and Sam was back with that same concerned look on his face. 

He'd looked so disappointed when Dean had denied his offer of a shower but Dean wasn't sure he could front that, he wasn't sure he had deep enough masks to carry himself through something like that in broad daylight with every pore of himself open to Sam's eyes. Sam was still looking vaguely put off by the whole thing, but whatever. Like he said, Dean wasn't expecting Sam to understand. 

"Hey." Sam pulled out the chair next to Dean and Dean tried not to bristle at the proximity but probably stiffened up obviously anyways. 

"Hey," he said back, short and proficient so Sam would leave him alone. Preferably way alone. He could feel the weight of Sam's eyes on his face but Dean didn't look up from the book he was scanning through. 

Since he'd been awake he'd been running intervals: stop at the kitchen to numb himself a bit more, head to the library with a tumbler and go through books until his eyes burned, then head back to the kitchen to hit up another round. So far, he hadn't found anything useful at all in the men of letters' documents, and the bottom of the two bottles he'd knocked out so far proved just as blank. 

"How are you doing?" Sam's voice finally came, tentative like he was afraid Dean might snap and punch him. He wasn't planning on it, its not like it would fix anything. 

"Researching," Dean answered, like Sam had said _what_ instead of _how_. Sam was asking him how he was feeling, how he was holding up, how much his body still ached, if he was mad at Sam or not, what last night had meant to him. That's what Sam had meant by the "how" and those were all questions that Dean didn't care to answer. So he just dodged them all, waiting to see if Sam would take the bait of the topic change. 

Sam nodded, eyes flicking from Dean to the books on the table. There was a haphazard stack off to the right, books Dean had already sifted through. It was a pretty high stack, but barely a dent in the Letters' material. 

"What are you looking for?" 

"Anything on Abaddon." Dean flipped another few pages, because nothing about new electrocution methods for Rawheads was going to be helpful in the least for finding where a Knight of Hell would be hiding out. Or how to track one. Or summon one. 

There was nothing about the blade yet, either. Dean refuse to admit that he was looking for information on the blade too, anything that would explain...well. Just anything in general. But so far everything was drawing up blank and it was a little infuriating. 

Sam cleared his throat, shifting in his chair and making Dean that much more aware of how close Sam was. He wondered how obvious it would be if he scooted away, if he just picked up his book and took it to the next table over. 

"Okay, well. About last night," Sam started, pausing to gauge Dean's reaction. Dean wasn't going to scream or snap or go storming away. But he also wasn't going to talk about that. 

"What about it?" Dean asked dully, not looking up as he flipped another page in the Book of Monster Methods. 

"Listen, I. I, uh. Are you...I mean, we should--" Sam was stumbling over his words like a toddler in an iron man race and it wasn't like they had ever talked about it before, why start now, right? Why should they ever need to talk about anything? No, no, instead they should just kiss and forget that they have a pile of unspoken crap they've been hauling around since the beginning of time. That was such a great solution to all of their problems.

"Sam." Sam froze next to him, his eyes still hot on the side of Dean's face. Dean glanced up at him, made sure Sam was paying attention, before he looked back down at the worn pages under his hand. "We don't have to talk about it." 

His brother fell into silence, sitting and blinking at the side of Dean's face like he was entirely unsurprised but also kind of peeved. And confused. And like he might be disappointed, like he'd actually wanted to talk about something this time. Yeah, right, Dean was sure Sam wanted to actually talk about something.

"Can you hand me that pile of books?" Dean asked, pointing at the table to the left of them. Sam blinked, sighed, and finally got out of the chair he'd been plastered to Dean's side in, muttering a _yeah_ under his breath like Dean had asked him something extremely annoying. Whatever. Dean wasn't going to think about Sam's poutiness and what it meant because he had a lot more important things to worry about.

Like finding Abaddon so he could kill her. So he could slice her head off with the blade the way he'd sliced off Magnus's.

Sam dropped the books down on the table with a resonating sound probably intending to make Dean flinch. And he would have, especially now because he was on edge and jumpy and just overwhelmed in general, except that he was 100% anticipating it. That's how Sam got when he was upset, all slam-oriented and subtle stabs that hurt a lot more than just shouting and taking it out on Dean. Whatever. 

The next two days, Sam kept up his vaguely pissed aura. And managed to bring up trying to talk about That Night (yes, it got caps now) at least four more times. Since when did they ever talk about things? Even if they did, even if Dean finally caved to the worried glances and mothering looks, what were they supposed to say?

Hey, I know you hate me but it was really great to touch your skin again? 

Yeah, no, there was a reason they didn't talk about anything. Neither of them knew where to even begin. 

So Dean just kept ignoring the way Sam stared and the fragmented phrases and questions Sam kept dumping on him. It didn't matter, none of it did. Or maybe it was all that mattered. Dean didn't know anymore. He didn't know anything anymore, not except the bottom of a bottle and the burn in his throat, the burn in his arm, the burn in his eyes as he pulled just another all-nighter, the burn of Sam's heavy hazel eyes on him as Dean tipped back the bottle again, asked for another pile of books. 

It was a big library and they had a lot of material to go through. They had to find Abaddon, they _had_ to. Dean could say he wasn't going to sleep until they did, but he had a feeling that wasn't what was keeping him up at night. 

It was the morning of day 3 after That Night that Sam finally butted in, finally decided he'd had enough. He'd been eyeing Dean in pissy caution and worry but apparently eyeing wasn't getting the results Sam wanted. Which made sense, because Dean was entirely ignoring Sam's judgemental looks. Actually, it was more like entirely ignoring _Sam_ but who was counting?

Until day 3, when Dean couldn't exactly ignore Sam anymore when he was all up in Dean's space, his body suddenly right _there_ , leaning over Dean from behind him. Dean jerked to the side, giving Sam's arm just enough space to snatch the bottle of the table. It took a second too long to register what was happening, and by then Sam was already making off to the kitchen with Dean's bottle of whiskey. 

He knew exactly why, knew exactly what Sam was doing, but he'll if he was giving Sam the advantage of pissing him off. 

"If you wanted a drink, you could have just asked," Dean intoned boredly, flipping open the cover on yet another file because something had to have a demon-summoning formula for knights of hell, didn't it? 

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because suddenly Sam spun around, shaking the glass bottle like it had personally offended him. Dean glanced up at the movement, meeting Sam's eyes. He held the gaze, waiting out whatever the explanation for the current bitchface was going to be. Like he didn't know. 

"Really, Dean? It's not even eight o'clock in the morning! I've been letting you drink yourself half to death over the past two days and I'm not going to just stand by idly anymore as you give yourself alcohol poisoning!" 

Whatever Sam was looking for from him, Dean wasn't planning on giving it to him. He looked away, spreading out a few papers from the file in front of him. He had more important things to deal with right now than his health-nut mother-hen little brother who couldn't keep his nose out of Dean's business. 

He could see Sam deflate in his peripherals, all the fight drained out of him after the snap. It'd be even better if Sam would bring his bottle back, but it wasn't like that was the only one in the bunker, so it didn't matter much anyways. 

"Do you wanna at least tell me why you've switched out oxygen for Jack?" Sam asked, sounding smaller than he was. He didn't sound exactly defeated, but not quite hopeful either. Just wishing things were different than he knew they were. 

"I still breathe oxygen," Dean pointed out, eyes scanning over the list of spells. Object summoning, fire starting, small animal control. Something or another about electrocution that looked downright nasty. 

There was an exasperated huff in between _energy transferring_ and the footnotes on the fire starting spell. Dean ignored it the way he ignored everything else, then Sam's boots were leaving the room. Hopefully, giving Dean space so he could actually research and think and maybe get something useful done for once in his miserable life. 

It was really hard to focus now that Sam had disappeared with his reading-helper drink, but drumming his fingers and tapping the table took out some of the extra energy he'd been wanting to lose in the bottle. He wasn't an alcoholic, he could go a few hours without a drink. Hell, he could go all day without a drink. 

Although the thought of having to attempt his one or two hours of sleep without the familiar burn on his tongue, the numbing sensation in his brain, the crackle in his throat...the one or two hours that Dean had been shooting for lately (and failing) would be even more impossible without at least _some_ bit of help. 

The plus side, though, meant that Sam didn't have any more obvious reasons to give Dean his judgy, worried looks. With the whiskey out of the picture, Sam would have to either find something else to complain about or just shut up for once. Dean wasn't all that hopeful though, odds are Sam would just pick something else to worry over. 

And Dean was right, because 24 hours (and absolutely no sleep) later, Sam came waltzing in to the library (again) with a new look of determination. And shifted worry. 

"Hey," Sam greeted, the regular false jovial greeting tugging at Dean's concentration. Dean only glanced up long enough to see the attitude shift on Sam's face and then he was looking back down at the big red book he'd found. 

"Hey." Dean replied just so Sam would leave him alone. Although apparently Sam was either ignoring his tone and body language or had gone blind and deaf over night because he didn't leave Dean alone at all. 

"You catch any shut-eye last night?" Sam poked, words hidden in casualness. Dean knew that Sam was keeping track of Dean's sleep, at least what he could because Sam was actually sleeping like a normal person. Well, normal for them. 

He hadn't outright asked Dean that question yet, but there had been forms of similar questions. The most memorable being _"Did you want to. Uh. Maybe come sleep in my room tonight? The heat's turned up in there and -"_ to which Dean had cut him off and responded that he had another few piles to go through. Sam had probably figured out that Dean wasn't sleeping just from that comment alone. There wasn't any point in trying to hide it or lie, it'd just exacerbate it bigger than it needed to be.

"Nope." The quickest, easiest way to cut off this conversation. He hadn't gotten sleep and nope, it wasn't a big deal. This wasn't another of the things they suddenly needed to talk about, like the new list Sam kept trying to make. He didn't look up as he said it, forcibly keeping his body completely still, his tone uninterested.

"Guess I'm driving, then," Sam said, offhand and casual like is was the most axiomatic thing in the world. Just the nonchalance of his mood was enough to make Dean finally look up, his attention diverted from the research by the words. 

"Driving where?" The surprise and skepticism was pretty clear in his tone now and Dean really wished he hadn't been so caught off guard. Sam just tossed out a paper in his direction, the sheet landing on top of one of Dean's open books. Dean's eyes followed the paper down, automatically glancing at it as Sam pointed. He cocked his head to read it better, getting a better angle on the picture. 

"Caught wind of a case online. A 1st-grade teacher came home and killed her husband." Sam narrated and Dean's eyebrows twitched before his stupid, needy eyes glanced up to Sam's.

"Well, maybe she snapped." Their eyes met and Dean felt like he was getting flayed out raw on a grill, split open for Sam to pick apart with all the vulnerability he knew had to be in his eyes. He couldn't look back down at his research books fast enough. Thankfully, the snarky part of his brain hadn't entirely failed him yet. "Ankle biters can do that to you."

"Dude, she pounded him, into ground chuck." Sam argued and Dean tried not to glance at him, glanced anyways, and looked back down at the book like he would light on fire if he didn't. He might. As much as he hated acting, there was a possibility that he was coming across as not-paying-attention. It was only half-faked. He _needed_ to find intel on Abaddon. And he also needed Sam to stop trying to dissect him with his eyes. 

"So, what are you thinking?" He asked offhandedly. This was basically the longest conversation they'd had for a while. The word "summon" caught his eye and suddenly he was zoning back in on the book. Summon, summon - there it is - _shit_ what the hell was a water-summoning spell going to do for him? He needed something on demons. Knights of hell. The letters had to have something, they had to. 

"Best guess -- possession."

Dean heard Sam but he didn't absorb the words enough to listen to them. There was something in the margins about other summoning spells, referencing another folder. Dean was pretty sure he knew the folder it was talking about, he'd probably read it upwards of six times now, just hoping he'd missed something the first time. But just in case, he could check it again. 

"Why don't you go?" he suggested, walking over to the box where he'd last set the file down. Yeah, there it was, third one in. 

Sam's lecturing voice started up behind him. The concerned lecturing voice, unfortunately not the I'm-fed-up-with-your-shit lecturing voice.

"Dean, look. I want to find Abaddon, too, but we've been combing through this stuff for days." Dean hadn't turned around but he could picture the little hand gesture Sam made on days. He still didn't turn around as he huffed back an answer. 

"Well, maybe we missed something." He'd been pretty tired and worn out from reading the last time he'd looked at these files, maybe there was a footnote somewhere that pointed to another box?

"And maybe there are better ways to spend our time than just spin our --"

"Maybe we don't have time!" He snapped, interrupting Sam and looking out to the side, his hands heavy and frozen on the files. He hadn't meant to snap. Losing his temper like that, losing what thread of patience he was holding onto...

It just felt like other things (like his sanity) would unravel with it. But they didn't have time, there wasn't _time_ , there was only that blade and the burning in Dean's arm and the burning in his eyes and Sam's pestering and Dean was so heavy with it, so heavy with it all and he had to shove something off of his shoulder or he would drown here, down under the waves trying to press him into the concrete or into the tiles, the cool cool tiles against his back, so stark of a contrast to the warmth of Sam above him--

"What's up with you?" Sam accused. Well, maybe it was a question but it felt like an accusation. 

The flickering images of That Night and the shaking sensation of the Mark and the tugging gravity of _blood_ and the _blade_ \--

"Nothing," Dean said, staring down at a paper and reading it silently. He'd pulled it out because it was dog-eared but there was nothing relevant on it so far.

"Yeah?" Sam prompted. Dean lifted the paper up higher, his body suddenly acutely aware of approaching footsteps. Heavy boots condemning him, crushing him into the ground with each step. "See, because ever since you killed Magnus, you've been acting sort of...obsessed."

The silence of the lack of mentioning That Night spoke louder than anything about Magnus. Sam thought Dean was avoiding him. Dean had told him once - not everything was about Sam.

Except maybe it really, really was. 

He finally turned around to face Sam, hating how much closer Sam was now and how awkwardly far away he was standing, like he was afraid Dean might lash out at him. Or maybe he was trying to give Dean space.

If he was trying to give Dean space, he should give him back his whiskey and leave him the fuck alone. But Dean just nodded, acknowledging everything Sam was saying, everything he wasn't saying. It had been four days since he'd killed Magnus and four days since That Night and it didn't feel like a coincidence that those lined up.

"Well, maybe because I want an end to all this." Dean's eyes landed on Sam's steely, his voice bitter. Sam sucked in a breath, the instinct of _is Dean talking about_ **that** making his eyes flash with pain. Dean barreled on, ignoring Sam's self-consciousness because this was so much bigger than all of that right now. 

They couldn't just sleep together in the middle of fight. They couldn't do that. 

"Maybe because if we find Abaddon, then Crowley ponies up the First Blade, and we kill her and him. Both." Dean put a bit of extra emphasis on the _both_ , eyes narrowed so Sam would get what he was referencing. Sam got it, his eyes casting down in some form of embarrassment or reference over his previous jealousy. 

"So, what you call being "obsessed," I call doing my job." His words felt like little blades, slicing at his skin as he tried to lodge them in Sam's. He felt so bitter, his words sounded so much more shaken than he wanted to sound. His head was screaming and banging to get out but his mouth was steel and barbed wires. 

He brushed past Sam with the new gashes, sliding out his chair and sitting back down with the sort of finality that Sam wasn't going to not get. He stared down at the books in front of him, words swimming and blending together. 

"Okay. Um..." Sam turned back to face him, a tower of worry over Dean's shoulder as Dean tried not to look up and tie himself onto his own cross all over again. 

"I get it, Dean. I'm just checking in." Sam's voice softened just a little bit, still concerned instead of pissed and that made Dean so much _more_ pissed because why wouldn't Sam just get mad at him and leave him alone? Instead of getting all concerned and so...

Old Sam. He was acting like old Sam. Pre-fight Sam. Pre-Gadreel Sam. Pre-"I've been in love with you since I was thirteen" Sam. 

It wasn't him that decided to look up but then Dean was watching Sam again, his words sounding unconvincing even to his own ears. "I'm fine," he tried. He just wanted Sam not to give a damn about him. And he also wanted Sam to burn down the world for him and hold Dean in his arms until they never had to see the blinding harsh light of the daylight again. 

Dean looked back down before he saw Sam's skeptical nod but he knew Sam did it anyways. He had a constant loop in his head, a constant movie playing of exactly what Sam would be looking like, how the corners of his mouth would tighten, how his eyes would shift. A perfectly sculpted response at every moment and it wouldn't leave Dean alone, poking at him and tugging at his brain until he had to drown it out or he'd break. Whiskey made it go away. Whiskey made a lot of things go away.

"All right." Sam walked behind him, not touching him in any way, just snatching up the paper from the table offensively. "Hit me up if you find anything."

His entire body was frozen as his bones focused in on the sounds of Sam walking out of the room. He needed to jump up out of his chair and scream, shout at Sam to stop stop stop come back and please please don't ever leave me save me from this there is something trying to drag me into the dark and I'm so so scared I hadn't wanted you to really go without me I needed you to fight to protest to take me with you or save me or just teach me what to say because I'm mute and you're taking all the gravity with you when you go and I have nothing to hold on and nowhere I want to float to just teach me how to _speak_.

Sam's footsteps faded from his earshot and Dean snapped back to some form of faded reality, his temporary brain lapse shoved aside. He was fucking fine without Sam, he needed Sam gone.

He couldn't think with Sam here. 

Sam was still in his head. But if he wasn't actually _here_ here...

Dean reached for his bag before Sam probably even got the keys to one of the cars. With no one here to _snatch_ it from him, no one here to entirely rip the only sense of safety and numbness he had left...

Sam had never taken alcohol away from him before. He'd bitched and whined and cajoled and worried and complained but he'd never been childish enough to snatch it out of Dean's hands. Even after Dean got back from Hell, Sam just worried and tugged at Dean and begged him to stop drinking so much. But he'd never done this, he'd never banned Dean from his lifeline. Sam had been shooting sideways glances at Dean's glass bottles and metal flasks for as long as Dean could remember, always fretting when he'd thought Dean had too much. But he'd never stopped this low before, never outright banned it for non-medical reasons. Maybe it shouldn't seem like it mattered but for some reason it felt pretty relevant. 

Maybe that was another reason Dean lunged for the bag the second Sam was out of sight. Just to spite him. But he could pretend that all he wanted - he knew he just needed to drown.

The bottle of whiskey he'd been hiding in his bag was nearly full. He unscrewed the cap, flicking it off the bottle and listening to the hollow clanking sound in the distance. The bunker door opened, Sam leaving. Dean pressed the mouth of the bottle to his lips, eyes slipping shut as the liquid pooled over his tongue. 

The craving in his gut - it had been nearly 9 hours since he'd last been able to sneak a sip while Sam was in the shower - seized at his head and his hands and he wasn't shaking, he wasn't trembling for a moment.

It wasn't amber liquid anymore. The bottle was the trigger, his index finger twitching against the rounded glass and feeling exactly like it was his ivory-gripped beauty pressed to his lips instead. 

The whiskey clawing its way into Dean's mouth was metal, shots of bullets bloodying his insides and ripping out pieces of him that he couldn't take anymore. 

His memories hunted down and dragged under the waves. Dean drank away every flashing image in his head. 

The smooth glass was as cold as the floor had been That Night and the fire licking inside of Dean was the same temperature as the burning that had surrounded him as he rushed out of an apartment at Stanford, the smell of smoke eating away at Dean's senses. 

The flooding wasn't enough to make all the memories die and when the bottle-gun left his mouth it was with a loud pop that sounded almost as wet as the inside of Dean's eyes felt from stalked up oceans of unshed tears. 

The unshed tears kept locked away in their cage as Dean kept his eyes closed when he swallowed. The ripping down his throat felt like it was shredding his esophagus, and if he couldn't talk before...

A strangled sound came out of his mouth and it was followed by the familiar clink of the bottle landing on the wood of the table where his hand had sat it down. His head came down the same time the bottle did, lips parted and not caring about how he might look. Eyes still closed, hand still curled over the cold glass of the bottle. 

The last things his hand had been curled around before this bottle was Sam. 

Dean lifted the bottle up again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a 7 hour drive to Milton, Illinois which meant Sam could do it in six. Dean researched. And drank. And researched more. And drank more. 

He thought about going down to the shooting range and brushing up on his skills but decided to take another drink instead. 

Eventually, the cell sitting on one of Dean's open books starting ringing. He didn't even realize what the sound was until after the first ring, then he stared at the lit up blue screen accusingly for a second before he picked it up, looking at who was calling. 

Sam Calling his phone announced. 

Dean looked up, sucking in a breath. He felt sticky and wet and not nearly numb enough to be talking to Sam about anything. But it was Sammy. And Dean was supposed to be okay, was supposed to acting okay. Fine. 

He should answer. Really. 

Finally he pressed the button, putting it on speaker before tossing the phone back onto an open book. His hands crossed together, fingers weaving out of a habit of loneliness. He stared off into space, thinking about if Sam could hear his heartbeat over the phone. 

"How's Mrs. Manson doing?" Dean asked, feeling like maybe he wasn't here at all.

"Dead. Hung herself in her cell," Sam said back congenially. Dean just stared off into space, not thinking about how sweet Sam's voice sounded, even talking about death. 

"Lovely," Dean responded, absolutely not talking about Sam. "The demon smoke out?"

It was like he was suspended again - waiting and dangling for the thin line holding him up to snap, dumping him into the world below. His eyes couldn't keep still, flicking back and forth and finding absolutely nothing that he wanted to look at. 

But even worse was the attention he had zoned in on the cell. He was listening, hanging onto Sam's every word because Sam's presence was holding back the whirlwind in his head. Sam's voice was calming him and he hated that but the fight was draining out of him with every second Sam was focusing on him and now he was calmer there was nothing he could exactly do about that.

"...said she was totally fine," Sam finished. The empty stage he was standing on had blaring lights and he couldn't see but someone was moving his mouth without his permission, a puppet to something in the shadows because he was digging his grave the moment his lips parted. 

"What are you still doing there?" The words came out haughty and lonely. "This sounds like a case of the crazies to me," Dean dug deeper. He wasn't asking Sam to come home. He wasn't. But that didn't stop the words from sounding so desperately lonely and Dean decided he hated that too. 

"Well, if nothing kicks up by morning, I'm out of here. How's the research going?"

The question was soft and caring and so so sweet it could have been dripping honey. Dean was choking on it, on how sweet Sam's concern sounded. The cloying was clawing at him and Dean wanted to end the phone call right _now_.

But at least if Sam was staying there until morning, he would be gone tonight. At least it meant Dean didn't have to pretend he was getting any sleep, he could pull an allnighter out here and Sam wouldn't know. It wasn't like he could get any sleep anyways, not with the sickly sweet tone of Sam's threatening to drive him mad. 

"It's going," Dean finally choked out lamely. His eyes skirted around, taking in the piles of films and book and letters and tried not to think about how far away Sam was. 

A crushing silence fell over the line and Dean didn't have to be in the same state as his brother to know that Sam wanted to say something, that his mouth was probably open to say something, hesitating but tense and willing to deliver whatever the next cannonball line might be. . 

If it was something even remotely sweet, Dean might actually puke. Not from the sweetness, but from a sudden overload of emotion after feeling shut out and cold for so long. 

There used to be a time that they would have coffee dates over the phone - on the rare occasion they were on separate cases - which always ended in some flushed, cute _I miss you_ or a soft, caring _be safe_ that made Dean blush for the next half hour. And suddenly Dean couldn't stand listening to the static waves of Sam's metallic voice anymore. 

"All right. Well, uh...Good luck." He hung up before Sam could throw more thorns at him disguised as roses. 

The line cut off and suddenly Sam's warm, engulfing presence was gone. Dean felt like he'd had his insides vacuumed out, sucked dry and cold and empty. 

His eyes stared at the table but he couldn't see anything. Some part of him wondered if he was losing his mind. He needed a drink. Dean flicked his eyes to the empty bottle of whiskey sitting an arm's length away. The empty glass shone and reflected and it was blinding and then Dean wasn't seeing it anymore, he was being dragged, dragged out of his mind, out of now and back back back, words echoing in his head as he disappeared into another room, another time.

 _"I can give you the Mark, Dean, if it's what you truly want."_ His jaw tightened, clenched, grinding his teeth like they were standing for every bone in his body, the ones he wanted to just crush and grind until there was nothing solid enough left in him to feel. 

_"Can I use it to kill that bitch?" "Yes. But you have to know with the Mark comes a great burden."_ The image flashed, inescapable, colors sucked out of the memory to leave it a desaturated, black and white grasp with the flash of brilliant, blood red on the edges. 

The poisonous pain shot into his veins, consuming up his arm as Dean tried not to scream. He'd said he was poison once and now he was, and he dimly thought that in the moments afterwards, staring at the mark. The pain was immense, out of control, and then Dean was swinging the First Blade through Magnus's neck, watching through the burn as the head fell to the floor, body crumpling. His brain had been on fire and his body wasn't his own - he didn't have a body at all. There was only the blade, the burning red, the need, the _need_ to dip his hands in blood, to take life and to twist it under his palms and to own the last gasping moments of that drain and to _kill_ and _destroy_ and he was shaking with it, his entire arm was shaking with his fingers curled around that blade, the blade that could give it all to him--

Reality hit him like lightning, an electrical shock as he blinked back into now, into the library of the bunker, staring at that empty whiskey bottle. The jerk left him feeling like his mind was gasping for air, stuck underwater too long with the fear of inhaling the flood into protesting lungs. 

His hand was shaking. Dean lifted his trembling hand away from where it had been gripping the table. Shaking and it was still shaking, still not in Dean's control and he looked at it with surprise, because when had he lost control of his hand? He was shaking? He tried to still the movements and realized it wasn't his body making him shake, there was nothing he could do about it. 

Shit. Dean turned his hand over in morbid fascination, trying to source his trembling. Fuck. He blinked and looked away from his hand, setting it back down so he could ignore it, shove that all down. He was losing his fucking mind. 

He needed answers. The non-shaking hand picked up his phone, dialing a number that would at least give him some fucking clue as to what he he'll was wrong with him. 

No, fuck, since when did Crowley help anyone? Dean wasn't reaching out to a demon for help. 

He hung up faster than he'd dialed. What the hell was he doing? He kept blinking, eyes shifting all over the room in front of him. He wasn't seeing anything, not really. The bottle still glinting at him was whining it's emptiness into the air a d Dean couldn't do it. 

Everything -- That Night, Sam, the sudden concern and sweet phone calls, the insomnia, the blade, the shaking, the need for blood, the intrinsic drag of that power, the burning of the mark -- it was all just too much. It was too much and Dean couldn't do it and he had to be numb, he had to. He had to get his head out of his body or he was going to lose his sanity even more. 

Fuck it. 

He shot out of his chair, quickly grabbing his coat and leaving. He couldn't stick around anymore just wallowing, he needed the soft promise of alcohol to drown. 

Bars really were the best invention ever. 

~*~*~

There was literally nothing in Lebanon Kansas. 214 people, and the single landmark: a tiny chapel that got flattened by a car once and replaced with a tinier one. The chapel marked the geographical center of the United States, which was kind of fitting because of all places for Sam and Dean to end up permanently, the very center of all the states they'd roamed was kind of brilliant irony. Plus it was in Kansas, which is where it had all started, so that was fitting too. 

But there was nothing in Lebanon but that little chapel so Dean would have to drive for a bit before he found a place he could drink. 

There weren't a plethora of bars in Kansas but they were close enough to the border that he could head up north too. He tended to avoid all the bars closest to the bunker just in case Sam ever went with him. Because lately (especially the last time Dean went drinking alone) he always caused some sort of trouble. Like pissing off half the patrons and getting thrown outside by the bartender and then getting his ass destroyed by six pissed off guys with pool cues. 

He couldn't just waltz back in the same bar after that, so that crossed that one off the list. Which was fine with Dean because it had been a shitty bar anyways. 

He wasn't planning a repeat of last times escapade, but he drove for a while anyways. Somewhere an hour away sounded like a great idea.

He'd barely been sitting down for ten minutes before the delicate illusion of potential numbness was shattered by a soft ringing. 

The ringing drew him out of his headspace and his eyes focused in on his phone. It rang again. And again. And again. 

He was not drunk enough for this. 

The level of drunk enough he'd have to be at to talk comfortably to Sam right now was unfortunately an alcohol consumption rate that had gotten him in a lot of trouble recently. He was not going to get hammered off his ass and have a repeat of last time's performance. Especially since Sam was gone, meaning there would be no one to take care of his dumb ass when he stumbled back to the bunker broken and bloody and so hammered he couldn't keep himself upright. Dean may be stupid but he wasn't suicidal. 

But finally he sighed, thumbing the "answer" button and trying to will himself not to sound as shaky as he felt. 

His eyes slipped shut, gathering all of his masks and shoving out emotions. Getting a grip on himself. It felt weak, having to close his eyes like this before he could even speak a word, but finally he managed. 

"Hey," Dean spoke into the reciever, the word echoing and bouncing off the bar walls. Thank goodness the music wasn't loud enough that Sam would be able to hear it. 

"Well, that took forever," Sam responded, his voice sounding metallic and not as impatient as it should have. Dean ignores the jolt that shot into his bone marrow.

"Uh, well, I'm working." The lie slid off his tongue, easy as you please. It felt unconvincing and heinous but Dean didn't immediately refute him. Dean's body felt like trembling but he kept a clamp on it, just stared ahead at nothing and trying to separate his two worlds so he could breathe right. "You got anything?"

Casual, if he could convince himself than he could convince Sam. Dean lifted his hand and signaled for another beer. Just the motion felt familiar, comforting in a way that only the promise of a little more pain chipped off at the bottom of a bottle could be.

"Not sure. But, um, a handful of other people have started acting out, too." Sam probably hand motioned at that and Dean didn't want to have the mental image of Sam engrained into his senses for just _one minute_. 

"Acting out how?" Dean parakeeted back, just a string puppet barking words back because he didn't trust his head to make any of his own. 

"Well, same as the woman -- aggressive, violent, impulsive." Aggressive. Violent. Impulsive. The words branded under his skin and Dean had to remind himsf he wasn't even in the same state as Sam, Sam wasn't talking about him. It was the case -- all case. 

"Sounds like you're in a Gold's gym." The joke fell flat and useless. It was the automatic part of his brain taking over, just talking back and Dean wasn't thinking about that at all. 

His fingers traced over the surface of the booth's table. It was slightly sticky but the grain of the wood were captivating in the way only simple, stagnant thing could be. The loops diddled out under his fingertips, burning darker under his blinking eyes.

What was he doing? Dean felt like such a desperate loser, on the phone with Sammy as he tried to get drunk-without-being-drunk in some bar.  
That was the same name as the town his baby brother was taking a case in. 

He'd pulled up, seen the sign, laughed humorlessly and then felt like crying and then felt like ripping out his steering wheel but just got out of the car and walked inside. He wasn't letting God's stupid pranks or whoever upstairs was trying to ruin his life with parallels and irony beat him out of getting a beer.

Sam kept talkin and Dean wasn't listening all that well, just thinking about "Milton" and wondering why the hell this was his life.

"...Kind of like me." Sam finished and Dean was definitely listening now, because they were taking about impulsive and aggressive and murder, where the hell was Sam drawing a parallel?

"You?" Dean asked, probably sounding annoying panicked. 

Sam had been a dick in the past, but impulsive was not something Dean would peg him as. Or murderous, really. Unless you count Dean's internal organs - especially his heart and his lungs - then yeah, Sam was murderous.

"Yeah, uh, soulless me." Sam clarified. "Remember that?"

Dean snorted, a humorless ghost of a smile on his mouth. "Yeah, how could I forget?" The goal was to not fill that with insinuation and pain but he couldn't tell how much of his tone was going through the phone speaker to Sam's ear. So he diverted immediately, bringing the case back to life. Anything to get his head away from his body. "But you weren't out of control like these people.

"Yeah, well, maybe everyone has a different reaction to losing their soul." Sam had a valid point, a philosophical one that Dean might have once wanted to get in a discussion about, maybe spend a few hours in the car analyzing different possibilities of the reach of a soul on one's personality with Sam. Now, though, Dean didn't give a damn about any philosophical thing or another. 

"Possible," Dean just said instead. The fewer words the better. "So, what? A crossroads demon making deals and taking people's souls?"

His waitress chose that moment to arrive with Dean's next beer and Dean didn't give her a second glance, even though she'd been checking him out. Those things didn't even make him think anymore. Like there was ever going to be sex appeal in anything besides Sam.

"No, I don't think so. I mean, it's not as if these people are winning the lotto." So much case talk and all of this philosophical shit and it was too much to think about. Dean would not have picked up the phone if he knew this conversation was going to be so long. It was a drawn out, pensive conversation from Sam's point and that was infuriating because it felt so damn much like the old days. Like they were okay, like everything wasn't totally screwed to hell and Dean hadn't been able to sleep since That Night and killing Magnus and he wasn't shaking all the time and Sam hadn't been _ignoring him_ and _hating him_ since the Gadreel thing and now it was all supposed to just be okay? 

"Okay. Uh, well, that was my best swing." Dean glanced out the window, eyes trying to find anything to focus on besides this conversation, besides Sam in his ear. There was nothing even vaguely distracting past the dirty glass. But what could Sam say to that besides, _okay, bye, good luck?_ Dean had basically just ended the conversation, right? He was going to be free in just a few seconds. 

But of course, Sam had to throw another curve ball in there. Sweetness hit Dean like a baseball bat to the knees. The caring felt like a shot to the chest. The long, pensive phone call of normalcy felt like a knife slash to the gut. But it was the needy, hopefulness of Sam's next words that compressed Dean's heart in his chest until he couldn't breathe, until he wasn't pumping blood anymore. "I hope not, Dean. I-I could really use your help down here."

The words were so hopeful, so _young naïve Sammy_ that Dean might as well be in a flashback. Sam calling him when Dean was on a hunt with Dad, the soft, hopeful shy words of _Dean, how do you talk to girls?_ coming over the line. Dean suddenly being struck silent at the clench of his lungs. He didn't want Sammy talking to girls. Still doesn't. But he doesn't want to be talking to Sam either, not now. He couldn't, not when Sammy was being so sweet and caring and pensive and hopeful and needy. 

Because the stupid stupid part of Dean's brain couldn't help the flash of hopefulness that struck into his conscious in immediate response to Sam's. Sam wanted him there. Dean wanted to be there, and he also kind of wanted to be six feet under ground in that choking, enclosing coffin again. 

He just stared at the wood of the booth table, tracing his finger over the grains. Trace trace trace. Loop swirl, straight line. Three straight lines. Trace trace trace.

Finally his eyes caught up to his brain and he watched the pattern his finger was drawing. Shit, it was an SW. 

It was an obsession, maybe, and he really wished he could get stupid drunk tonight. Instead he was sitting here in radio silence, tracing initials onto a sticky table and craving the dark quiet of being buried alive. 

"Dean?" Sam asked, the name cutting a visible swipe through the image in Dean's head. No coffin for him. No getting stupid wasted. And definitely no joining Sam. 

"Yeah, no, I -- I heard you." Dean stuttered. Stuttered, fuck why was he stuttering, his heart was _pounding_ why was he so nervous? _Am I seriously nervous about this?_ What is _this_? Did the oxygen leave my body because I'm lying to Sam or because Sam wants my help? Because for some reason, Sam suddenly wants everything to do with him? WHY.

Dean's tongue wet his lips, a nervous habit that drove him crazy and got him in lots of trouble fairly often. The last person to lick Dean's lips was Sam. Fuck, Dean was upset. But he was trying to figure out what the fuck to say here that wouldn't dig that grave and wouldn't make Sam hate him (wouldn't this be easier if Sam hated him? Would this be easier if Sam hated him?) and wouldn't give away what a fucking mess he was right now. 

"I just, uh...I'm getting close, Sam. I can't drop the ball on Abaddon right now." Dean toted the familiar line and took a deep drink of his beer and tried not to think about what a shitty person he was.

There was a brief pause and Dean held his breath, wondering if he was going to be called out. If Sam would fight him on this. If Sam would hang up in anger.

"All right," finally came over the line. Sam's voice softened, sugar laced with cyanide. "Be safe."

The _be safe hit Dean so hard that he nearly cried on the spot. His fingers hung up the phone so fast he could't remember doing it, just left staring at the blank wallpaper of his phone with his eyes watering._

He couldn't do the sweet.

It was too much. 

Sam calling him, checking up on him. Caring for the first time in months, and what for? Because they'd slept together again? Because Dean was "drinking alcohol like it was oxygen?" Because Sam was bored? Because, god forbid, Sam was actually starting to care about him again? Fuck.

 _Be safe, be safe._ Dean was thinking about it, was going to carve that into his next grave, was about to go off on a whole tangent of a train ride thinking about it when a voice suddenly interrupted him, from behind the back of his booth.

"You're lying to Sam like he's your wife." 

Dean started at the sound, nearly jumping a foot in the air but somehow managing not to hurl his beer everywhere. And does not think at all about what Crowley is saying. Especially anything that has to do with Sam.

With Sam and _marriage_ , the sick fuck had actually just _brought that up_ right now and Dean was supposed to be so numb to Crowley's stupid words but fuck this was Sam. 

Thankfully, the stupid mook kept talking and then Dean had something to focus on, something else to get pissed about.

"...which kind of makes me your mistress."

Dean sucked in a breath, looking back down at the table. 

"Yeah, except I'm not having sex with you," Dean said gruffly and stared at his hands, pocketing his phone as Crowley slid into the booth across from him.

"You're not having sex with Sam either," Crowley pointed out. 

Dean did everything he could not to react but he flinched at the words anyways. His eyes stayed glued downwards, his mind too raw after that phone call to be able to hold a proper mask without giving everything away in his eyes. The full body flinch and sudden muscle tenseness probably gave him away anyways, but Dean held his breath.

"Unless..." Crowley paused, that annoying thing he did for dramatic effect. "...Unless of course you _are_ having sex with Sam. Oh, well, that certainly changes things."

Dean closed his eyes, trying not to let his head pound from the mocking tone. A shaky hand lifted the beer to his lips and he tipped his head back with his eyes still shut, swallowing a mouthful of poison that wasn't going to be anywhere near strong enough to make a difference in this conversation. It was a pretty clear cue of being upset, but Crowley clearly had not idea how to shut up at a cue.

"My my, that's complicated. It certainly explains why you're sitting all fragile and whatnot. You don't have to try pretending you didn't bottom, I think we both know you'd give just about _anything_ to make the baby brother Moose happy."

"You wanna shut up?" Dean suggested, tipping his beer back again as he eyed Crowley warningly, the faint etch of a deadly smile ghosting the corners of his lips. 

"Oh, come on. You can't pretend you don't begrudgingly bottom _every time_ , can you? It's in the way you walk." Crowley made an exaggerated hand motion on the word walk, his English accent coming across raspy and confident. Dean's hand danged the beer an inch above the surface of the table, elbow propped up and wrist loose as he fixed Crowley with a serious glare.

"It's been four days, first of all, so I'm pretty sure I'm sitting - and walking - pretty damn normally." Dean's eyebrows were lifted slightly, just enough to say _don't test me on this and **don't** keep talking about it_. Of course, Crowley didn't even stutter before his own eyebrows went up in amusement, tongue sticking in the side of his cheek. 

"Four days...that's when you sliced off Magnus's head. What, nothing like a little blood and beheadings to get the ol' sex drive up and going again?"

"You're a dick, you know that?"

"Coming from the guy who likes dick up his ass--" Crowley said pointedly before smiling one of his terribly smug grins, "--you can call me that anytime, darling."

The sound of the bottom of Dean's beer bottle hitting the table was loud enough to echo a bit over the music in the bar. He slammed it down but Crowley didn't even flinch, just looking at Dean with an amused smile that was just trying to egg him on more. Dean lifted up a hand, pointing a finger accusingly at the demon and wishing that it was a little less shaky, a little more steady.

"Okay, that's enough. If this is some ploy to get me to sleep with you, it's not working." Dean spat out the word _ploy_ the same way he said the phrase _you made a deal with a demon??_ because they were basically the same thing and Dean may deal away his soul, but this bastard was never laying a hand on Dean's body. Frankly, Dean would like him to not be present in Dean's head either, but he had the blade (The Blade, fuck) and Dean needed him and that was just _infuriating._

"Oh, I don't have to _con_ you. C'mon, Dean, face it. Before the post-beheading-hotness, you and Sam hadn't had sex in what...months? Seriously, since before the whole Gadreel business, right? Surely a married couple owes each other more than that." Crowley's eyes were shining with something that looked almost falsely pitying and Dean wanted to punch him.

This was all just way too much to take right now, after the shaking flashbacks to the blade earlier and that raw, exposing phone call with Sam less than five minutes ago. How was Dean supposed to be able to even hold his own in a fight like this right now?

"First of all, we aren't married anymore. Second of a--"

"But you admit you _were_ married!" Crowley interrupted, latching onto that before Dean could bother taking it back or amending his words. Fuck. Well, it wasn't like Crowley hadn't been the one to throw them that bone in the first place. "That would explain all the honeymoon sex and loud noises--"

Something inside Dean snapped. He didn't see red exactly, and it wasn't the lack of control that he'd felt with the rushing power of the Blade in his hands. But it was still a snap, the sudden breaking sound somewhere in his reserve and then he was snapping, leaning across the table and lowering his voice an octave, growling as his hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into palms.

"I am fucking _not_ discussing my sex life with Sam with you. Okay? You didn't come here to play Doctor Phil, and I wouldn't take your stupid advice if you _did_ , so spit it out. What the fuck did you actually come to talk about? Because I'm pretty sure it wasn't about me banging my brother." Dean was fuming to the point he wouldn't be all that surprised if steam was coming out of his ears.

"Technically, it'd be Sam banging you," Crowley corrected with that _tone_ and a flash of red spit into Dean's vision, just a temporary shot of the disease that was coursing through his veins and if they weren't in public, if he wasn't even more depressed than he was pissed, Crowley might be flashing red and gold with a demon knife in his gut right now and wasn't _that_ a fucking beautiful mental image, Crowley's spouting mouth stuck in gaping disbelief as he looked down and realized that Dean owned him, Dean owned his entire life because he was the one that got to hand out his death--

The flash was gone just as fast at it had come and the red was shoved so far down that the anger was entirely gone, replaced with shame and avoidance and everything trying to gnaw at Dean but he couldn't let that out, couldn't let Crowley see how out of control he was right now. His masks didn't betray him, and he knew he had to still act pissed or Crowley would know something was up. Something besides the numbness tugging at Dean's head, trying to get him to crawl down to it and just become nothing nothing. Act. Pissed. Now.

He slammed down his beer on the wood table again with much more gusto than necessary, successfully making Crowley flinch this time. Good, fucking good. Dean's glare felt like it was made of cellophane, so maybe that was why Crowley wasn't cowering away. The flinch had been enough though. Any fear that Crowley was feeling right now was masked with the same see-through plastered smugness as his voiced dipped sweet and mocking. Crowley was nowhere near as shaken as Dean, not in the least, but at least he wasn't as invincible as he was pretending. At least he was a little scared of Dean. Crowley wasn't the only one at this table who was a little scared of Dean, but that was something he could deal with later. Aka never. 

"Aw, c'mon squirrel," the persistent accent cajoled.

"Fuck you. No." He rose to his feet without falling over somehow. The world was swimming but he managed the simple task of tossing out a few bills of cash and not looking Crowley in the eye as he brushed past his still-sitting form. 

As much as Dean could wish that he was ending it, walking out the door, there was only one door to this dive and it wasn't in the direction Dean was walking. He was pretty sure Crowley wasn't going to miss that fact. And as much as Dean hated it - hated himself for it - he wasn't going to stop Crowley from following him over here. 

He just needed a few seconds to breathe without the piercing British eyes trying to rip apart his insides. It was stupid, letting Crowley follow him back to the pool tables, especially when Dean was so pissed and sensitive and still really fucking overwhelmed and upset and you know what, killing something sounded like it would be really damn therapeutic right now. The red wasn't in sight but its absence was starting to feel more consuming than its presence.

One of the billiard tables was open in the back, dark enough for a smidgen of privacy. The last time Dean had played billiards, it had ended with him on the table, legs wrapped around Sam's waist as Sam kissed him feverishly, both of them so hot they nearly screwed right there on the public table. 

He shook his head, trying to wash out the thoughts, and started picking up pool balls out of their pockets. A measured wrist flicked them all to one side of the table, watching them roll evenly over the green felt. 

It was another one of those vaguely comforting things, like how burgers from Wendy's tasted the exact same, everywhere across the nation. The weight of a pool ball in Dean's hand was always the same, a heavy familiarity that drew back all the way to when Dean was ten and was first given a pool cue that was basically bigger than his body.

Crowley hadn't been right on his heels, surprisingly. He'd kept sitting in the booth for a bit, being the drama queen that he was, but eventually he meandered his way over to the billiards table. Dean swept up the balls in between his forearms, ignoring the demon that was now standing a few feet away. He scooted his arms closer together, forming a triangle, but he wasn't here to let Crowley just be a voyeur for his billiards game.

"What do you want?" Dean said sourly, reiterating his earlier question that had been dodged. 

"You tell me, Romeo." Crowley replied and Dean almost punched him. Almost. Hadn't he _just_ said they weren't talking about that anymore? Then the snide tone crept back into the accent, setting Dean's teeth on edge. " _You_ rang. Let me guess -- you butt-dialed me?"

"Whatever the hell that is." Dean wasn't going to be talking about butt-anything anymore. He'd reached his final toleration level of that. Actually, scratch that, he was fairly sure he'd reached his toleration level of everything generally Crowley. "Either way, we done here?"

Unfortunately, Crowley didn't leave. Although, thankfully, the topic did change off of the mess they'd been talking about earlier. One more word about Sam or sex or Romeo and Dean was going to crack his pool stick over that bastard's head.

"Actually, long as I'm here, last time we chitchatted, we agreed that you were gonna line up Carrot Top."

Dean finished straightening up the pool balls, actively avoiding looking at Crowley's face. "Yep, well...I'm on it."

Which he was. Mostly. Kind of. He'd needed some time to breathe. Especially if it meant breathing out of the top of a glass bottle full of promises of numbness.

"Unless Abaddon likes 10-cent wings, stale beer, and the clap, I doubt that she's here," Crowley snarked back.

"Go to hell." That would feel a hell of a lot better if Crowley didn't actually rule the place.

"Oh, if only." Crowley was giving Dean that look like Dean was off his rocker. And yeah, okay, so it wasn't Dean's best comeback but he was _not in a good place right now_ and he just wanted to _kill something_ or get so drunk that he forgot his name or strangle the air out of Crowley's neck or haul ass to wherever the hell Sam was and hold him and apologize and cry or cut his damn arm off from the stupid burning of the mark or really just really, could use a monster right now, something he could gut and stab and rip apart with his hands, get some of that fading control back in his life... 

"What's going on with you, huh? You call me, you hang up. You want Abaddon, you don't want Abaddon. You want the Blade, you don't want the Blade." Crowley made it sound like Dean was on menopause. He wasn't exactly wrong though, which was the really annoying part. It was way more complicated than Crowley would ever know, but Dean's emotions and decisions and fucking _brain_ had been tugged in a thousand different directions lately. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're stalling."

Dean ignored him. Stalling. Crowley had no fucking idea. If only it was as simple as fucking stalling. He lined up the pool cue, too zoned in to the shot and too focused but it was the only thing that wasn't threatening to eat him alive as he exerted the last bit of control he had, tugging back his wrist and pushing his arm forward in a snap. The extension of his arm shot out and tapped the cue ball, sending it flying across the table.

The rest of the pool balls scattered like bats from a cave, like the devil himself was coming for them. Dean straightened up slightly, looked at the pool balls and wondered if they knew just how accurate that statement was starting to feel. The pool cue was heavy in his hand and it was strange to wrap his fingers around it, thinking that the last time he'd been around one of these it had been used as a weapon to beat him in, crumpled in an alley. Now it was the only thing he could hold onto for his sanity. 

The increasingly-more-familiar voice broke into Dean's head again, scattering his thoughts the way the cue had just scattered the round flashes of color across the pool table. "Just between us girls, how did you feel when you sunk the First Blade into Magnus' head?"

Condescending but curious and Dean looked up from his next shot before he could stop himself. He fucking hated Crowley. He hated him for how on target he was, for how he could see something so vividly that Sam still couldn't figure out. He hated that Crowley had this piece of him before Sam did, that Crowley had figured out what Dean had been trying so hard to shove away. And when Dean responded, he was fairly sure it was the most truthful thing he'd said all day. 

"Not half as good as I'm gonna feel when it's yours." The glimpsing image of Crowley dying again, what that would be like to swing off his head, watch the smug expression roll across the floor with a trail of blood in its wake...

"Love it when you talk dirty." Crowley was the only creature on the planet that took Dean's threats and made them sexual instead of being scared. Reason number 800 to hate Crowley, to kill him when he got that blade back. He was the most persistent bastard in the world and Dean could have NOT INTERESTED IN THE KING OF HELL CROWLEY tattooed to his forehead and Crowley still wasn't going to get it. He was never going to get it and Dean could barely find it in himself to care anymore. 

"You know what I think? I think you felt powerful...Virile...And afraid."

"Afraid?" Dean scoffed. He wasn't going to fight against the powerful thing because he'd get called bullshit and he didn't have the brain cells left to find a good reason to fight it. But afraid? He wasn't fucking afraid. What the fuck did he have to be afraid of? ~~Besides himself, besides that red that was just under the surface, trying to creep into his vision and take him down down down...~~

"Don't scam a scam artist, darling." Dean didn't even feel the regular wave of nausea at the _darling_ , he didn't have the energy left to. "You're stalling 'cause you're scared."

How the fuck was Dean supposed to stand here and knock around a cue ball when he was getting accused of shit like that, shit that was trying to edge itself down into his world and fuck everything up even more and Dean needed more alcohol _right now_.

It could probably be scientifically tested that alcohol was just a placebo for Dean now. He'd had a lifetime to handle his alcohol, to learn how not to get affected by it. But still, somehow, that first sip of a new beer felt like it was a damn savior, like it was numbing every inch of him. Even if when he pulled his lips away from the bottle the feeling dissipated, he had a few seconds of blissful numbness.

Obviously, it wasn't physically numbing anything. But like that Placebo guy said, it was the idea of getting drunk that was giving him false symptoms of it. He didn't need the actual alcohol content in his blood anymore to feel the buzz in his blood. His mind told him he was getting number no matter whether or not he was, it was that blissed placebo effect that had probably turned a bottle into his new best friend. 

A sharp whistle pierced through Dean's thoughts again and he had been spending way too much time inside his head lately if everything, even a whistle to call down a drink, was making him jump internally. It was a good thing he checked back in though, because Crowley (who had followed him over here, the bastard) decided he was going to not take the hint for the 500th time in his life and keep talking to Dean. 

"I love this. I really do. Couple of cold ones, a kind jukebox... Good and evil, bro-in down." Yeah, except they weren't bro-in down. And this wasn't about a couple of cold ones. Dean was here to get blissedly numb and you can't do that when you keep up conversation so the whole talking thing had to stop like now. 

"Shut your pie hole, Crowley." Dean pointedly did not notice the way he wasn't telling Crowley to leave. Dean didn't care if Crowley stayed so long as he shut up and Dean wasn't going to torture himself trying to figure out why that was.

"Yeah, you said that already. Look, I merely suggested you might be a bit scared." That. Again. 

"Yeah. No, I heard you the first time. You still don't know what the hell you're talking about." It was the understatement of the century, but Crowley just had to prove himself in every way imaginable so here he was, going off on a rant like he had any idea of the storm that was raging inside of Dean right now.

"I know that Cain gave you his Mark for a reason. And I know that rather than embracing it, rather than looking at it as the gift that it is, you're sulking like you lost your knuffle bunny. Why are you fighting what you really are?"

What he really is. What exactly was that? A lunatic? Because that was the only thing flooding through his veins right now. ~~And red, red, so much angry red just waiting to get out...~~

"I'm a hunter," Dean argued, more to convince himself than Crowley. It didn't feel like a lie exactly, but it didn't feel like he was shouting truths either. Maybe Dean just couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"Who's a chip off the old Mark of Cain."

"No. When I kill, I kill for a reason. I'm nothing like Cain." Rehearsed speech, might as well have been in front of a mirror. But honestly, he wasn't Cain. ~~Cain killed his brother and Dean could never never do that and that's what he meant when he said he wasn't like Cain but he couldn't say that out loud. Not to Crowley, not to Crowley who so very clearly saw right through him to Sam. Sam might have been the only thing anchoring Dean to _not like Cain_ right now and that thought was terrifying, too terrifying to really face. Because he didn't have Sam, not really. And if he didn't, then he might as well be Cain and--~~

"Nothing like -- who are you talking to? I know you're not talking to me." Like Crowley had any idea.

"Eat me," Dean said, but it felt sideways and weak. 

"I saw you. I saw the two of you together. Nothing like Cain? What's in that bottle? Delusion? I'm really starting to worry about you, Dean." Crowley, a demon, worrying about him. But Dean couldn't be like Cain, he couldn't. Because if he was like Cain, then... _Sam_. What the fuck was Dean supposed to do about Sam? He wasn't stupid, Dean knew that Cain and Colette were a hell of a lot closer story to Dean and Sam than Cain and Abel were, but _still_. Neither one of Cain's parallels ended well and this was Sam they were talking about. Dean couldn't be like Cain because then either Sam was killed by Dean's hand or Dean loses him to a demon. (Hadn't he already done that once or twice?)

"Yeah, well, why don't you worry about yourself?" Dean shot back, although that was pot calling the kettle black because Dean sure as hell didn't want to worry about himself, didn't want to think about anything having to do with himself.

"I will. 'Cause like it or not, we're in this together. Your problems, my problems... Our problems." 

Our. The word sounded strange coming out of Crowley's mouth, but it didn't make Dean want to gag the way it should have. He wasn't going to think about why. Especially not when he had a nagging feeling that it had something to do with the _killer_ thing that they had in common. But Dean wasn't a demon, he wasn't. He didn't need a demon buddy he wasn't a demon and he wasn't Cain and--

Apparently now he was getting abandoned?

"Where you going now?" Dean accused as Crowley got out of his stool and the distance in between them increased. He shouldn't care, he didn't need a fucking _companion_ , especially not a demon. ~~Being alone right now might be even worse, though. Especially since Crowley got it. He was the only one that really understood the red pumping through Dean's veins right now and Dean needed him to stick around for that because otherwise he was on his own and alone in this and...~~

"I'm going to go water the lily. Care to cross streams?" Dean rolled his eyes but the joke made him feel a fraction of a percent better. Maybe not better, just closer to the balance of the world. Everything had gone to shit but at least Crowley still made really lame jokes with old wording nobody used anymore. "So serious," Crowley chided. How sad was it that Dean was holding onto stupid teasing from the king of hell as the only normal thing he had left?

The red burn shot at him out of nowhere and it was an automatic move that had Dean's hand suddenly engulfing the mark on his arm, fingers curled in too tightly as the raised skin heat up so hot he could feel the burn through his clothes. His head felt like it was getting compressed down, like squishing an entire loaf of wonderbread into a little condensed square of whitish material. All the focus compressed and condensed down, sole focus on the pain, on the red ripping through him and into him and over him and surrounding him all over.

 _That's it. Good. You'll get used to the feelings, even welcome them._ Magnus's voice echoed in his head as Dean stared in the direction Crowley had disappeared. God, he was so fucked up. _You'll get used to the feelings_.

_Even welcome them._

Dean was never gladder to get an excuse to get out of his barstool. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The bunker looked the exact same as how he'd left it. It was a shame, really, that the placebo effect couldn't last longer. If he could be not-drunk and feel drunk, that would be the best thing that ever happened to him. Hell, maybe the Men of Letters could be not-useless for one moment and write a spell about that. Because they sure as hell didn't have anything useful in all of those boxes and books. 

The mark was still trying to destroy him and Abaddon was still gone and Dean wasn't feeling any better about anything in the world than he did on his drive to the bar. Well, except that maybe he was a little more self-aware. Which wasn't a good thing, so in fact he was probably feeling _worse_.

Crowley's words as they parted ways were still ringing in Dean's head as he plopped back down in a stiff library chair, staring hopelessly out at the books on the table and not seeing them, just seeing the scene play out in his head.

_"I decided to embrace my addiction. What about you? Takes a junkie to know a junkie. You just want to touch that precious again, don't you?"_

_"I want to kill Abaddon. That's what I want. So, whatever happens with the Blade, I can't worry about that." Can't. Can't worry about it, not won't because he physically couldn't. If Dean started worrying about it he'd never damn stop and then his world would implode and he'd probably jump off something really high just so he could feel his ankles shatter when he hit the bottom._

_"Sure. Whatever you got to tell yourself so you can sleep better at night." The joke's on Crowley there, because Dean doesn't sleep at night. Not anymore._

_"Look, what I want, what I fear-" what I fear what I fear what I fear what do I fear? - "none of that means squat. Because this is the one chance that we have to kill Abaddon. So, I'm all in, no matter what the consequences." I'm all in. Every ounce, and his mind was already in a thousand pieces, it wouldn't kill him to devote them all or maybe it would and maybe that might be better for everyone and then the pounding in his head might just go away._

Dean groaned, running his hands through his hair. The pounding in his head was never going to go away is what it felt like. If only he could have some whiskey, maybe that'd take off the edge. He wasn't going to be driving anytime soon, it wouldn't kill him to get entirely smashed. Right? Except Sam was coming home soon and Dean couldn't let Sam see that.

Sam couldn't know how bad it'd gotten. How bad it'd been. If he had any idea...

Dean didn't know what Sam would do.

He didn't know and he didn't want to know because that was almost more terrifying than this entire thing put together and what the fuck would Sam do if he knew everything Dean wasn't telling him?

If he knew about how much Dean was screaming inside to _talk_ to Sam. Although that particular urge had started fading in comparison to everything else ripping through his veins. (He was still Ariel without a voice and he still couldn't do anything about it and that day in the shower still haunted him but he still couldn't do anything about it.)

What if Sam knew about the red? About the way Dean felt waking up after a fitful hour of sleep the night Sam had slept with him? What if he told Sam about the urge to kill something? What if Sam knew how desperate Dean was for that power, that control over something else?

What if he told Sam that the only thing that saved him anymore was the bottom of a bottle?

What if Sam knew about the flashbacks? What if he knew about the insomnia and the why? What if Dean told him how amazing it felt to have blood dripping down his hands?

What the fuck would Sam even do?

Dean stared at the book in front of him. It wasn't going to tell him anything. He knew that. He opened it up anyways. 

~*~*~

Sam got home about an hour later. No preamble, no hello. Just the sound of a door closing and boots on marble before his voice came up behind Dean.

"Still plugging away?" The concern from the phone was carefully on a leash now. Dean wasn't even in his body. Sam was here but it wasn't changing anything and Dean just stared at the book in front of him, letting his mouth speak for him as his mind stayed disconnected from everything. If he didn't disconnect he'd start going into his mad thoughts again. His hands would shake. 

He stayed disconnected.

"Like a dog with a bone. You?" 

Sam's hands grabbed some of the files from Dean's table. He didn't say anything. Dean didn't want noise right now anyways. He didn't want anything but to go to the nearest ocean and sink to the bottom. Sam started reading and Dean let him go, let him drift away like the way Dean's mind was drifting away.

He had no idea if it was an hour or three seconds before Sam spoke again.

"You were right," Sam said. The silence was broken and Dean didn't register the words so much as he did that Sam was talking, so he zoned in a little more. He had to be able to pay attention enough that Sam didn't know how not-here he was. How much more not-here he wanted to be, he was before Sam stepped into the room. 

"About what?" Dean asked, saying exactly what he should. Sam looked at him and Dean's eyes went somewhere else, even if they were still on Sam. He wasn't seeing Sam, the image was too big and too real for him to take right now. Maybe ever. 

"Finding Abaddon ASAP. She's mining souls." 

The hunter inside him snapped at that and that little part of Dean's brain that was still safe, that hadn't been entirely twisted and broken yet managed to screw his face up in concern. Because that really wasn't good, he could at least fucking see that. 

"Why?" He didn't even have to fake the worry. Especially when he was only saying one word. 

"To create an army."

The words sounded final, resolute. If Dean didn't get the blade fast enough, he'd have to hack through an entire army.

He absolutely did not let himself feel a glimmer of excitement at that. 

All that blood, all those bodies with an excuse to kill...

They needed to find Abaddon. Like, now. ASAP

Maybe more of Dean's sake than the world's. Or maybe for the world's, because if Dean was ever allowed to get that far...it wouldn't matter if he suffered anymore. Dean wouldn't need saving. 

It'd be the world that needed saving from _Dean._


	30. Smothering (Meta Fiction 09x18)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is a deuzy. A lot happens and it gets incredibly dark. 
> 
> Suicidal intentions and mentions of self-harm. Loss of sanity and worth issues. And lots of violence
> 
> (Aka a very heavy dose of moc!Dean) 
> 
> Disclaimer: Okay so I put a classic novel in here that I've been mentioning lately and I may totally be a literature-nerd but you don't really have to read the book to understand, I just found it striking how similar those character's ideals were to the boys. So. Sorry if you hate Brontë (I actually am not a fan, in exception for just that book) and I hope you enjoy otherwise!

The sharp worry that tugged at his gut didn't get any better now that he was back in the bunker with Dean. It wasn't just over the Abaddon problems, although that added a big cherry on top of issues they already were trying to deal with. No, not even the soul-war and Crowley were nagging at Sam that much. All of that was just a spell away, a physical battle they needed to initiate as soon as possible. But none of it felt impossible. 

No, what felt impossible was Dean. If this demon battle felt just around the corner, Dean was on a different continent. He felt so damn far away, just sitting at the next table over. And it wasn't the exaggerated feet of distance between them Sam was referring to either. He was fairly sure he could be smothering Dean with his body, holding Dean tight and safe to his chest, and Dean would still be somewhere in Europe. 

Not that Dean would let Sam hold him anymore. 

He was flailing in Dean's direction, arms outstretched and fingers reaching and Dean was retreating back more, shying away like his life depended on it. Frankly, it was terrifying. 

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Dean thought Sam had fucked up. Dean clearly thought it was a disaster that they slept together. Maybe it wasn't the soundest idea, but honestly they'd been stuck in this rut for such a long time that they'd needed the change, needed to freaking do something about it. So Sam finally had, and he was fairly sure Dean hated him for it. 

The swings never came, though. Neither did the yelling. No shouting, shoving. Not really even the cold shoulder. Dean wasn't doing any of the normal things he did when he was pissed at Sam and it wasn't fair because Sam didn't know how to handle all this. 

Instead of the anger, Dean just seemed to shrink down. He curled up into himself at first, retreated into his own head and threw up cellophane walls to hide behind. The shrunken down, clammed up version of his brother was way more terrifying than any sort of anger Sam had seen out of his yet. Or, so he thought. 

But as the days wore on, it was less like Dean had retreated into his head and more like he wasn't in his head at all. Watching him, Sam could practically see the moment when Dean's mind disassociated with his body. He didn't curl up deep inside himself anymore, he just _left_. 

His mouth would fall limply into a lax line that fit the rest of his face, expression careless and neutral. The light and fire of his brilliant green eyes snuffed out like a quick breath to a candle. His eyes became glass and it was like looking at the dead version of his brother all over again - a sight Sam was all too familiar with. 

The first time it had happened, Sam had said "Dean?" in an overly loud, worried sound of desperation. Dean hadn't so much as hummed a sound of acknowledgement to him. For a second Sam thought maybe he had been poisoned or just stabbed himself in the gut or something except there was no blood and Dean was still perfectly upright --

Until Dean suddenly snapped his eyes over to Sam. The foggy glass was gone, his eyes flashing with a burning so hot that Sam felt scorched from over here, actually physically flinched away from the gaze. 

There was the rage that Sam had been wondering about earlier, except it was no version of angry Sam had ever seen before. Dean's body was a high tension wire, a too-tight guitar string just waiting to snap. But instead of an acrobat falling or a guitarist getting whipper across the hand with the sharp string of broken metal recoiling, when Dean snapped it looked like he might not even be Dean anymore. There was a raw sort of feral hunger in his eyes, in the way he held the taughtness of his body that should have been familiar but had all the wrong edge to it. 

When Dean had come back from hell, he'd been haunted. When a knife had been placed in one hand and a syringe was placed in the other, Dean had become a snarling animal creature of calculated, learned strokes bleeding out himself with every cut he made into a tortuure victim. He'd been a master, in full control of something bloody and violent and evil. 

This kind of burning rage didn't have that carefully calculated control and intentional gashes like finely sculpted paintings. There was no sadiatic art in the way Dean held himself now. 

When Dean had come back from Purgatory, he'd been exposed and instinctual and brutal. He wielded knives like they were fingers, like the ability to hack through things was something in his bones. Hack was the perfect word there - chopping up monsters and slicing his way through the grayed, bitter land. Clawing his way to the top like a monster from hell, except that he was nothing like a monster then. No, that had been the most human Dean had ever been. He'd acted everything on base human instinct of _survival_ , had been all focused on the purity of his goal, the sharp crystal way he could execute his execution plan. Even when he'd gotten back, it was like a man out of time. He was a war vet who thought his bed felt like a marshmallow, was used to sleeping on rocks. Survival was in his every step, so calculated and precise and deadly. 

The kind of burning rage bubbling inside of Dean right now didn't share any of the humanity and the raw purpose of survival and the simplicity of "out." There was no purity in the tremor of his body now, no clawing and hacking and calculated strategies.

There was no strategy at all, now. Burning, shaking rage. It was so new, so unlike anything Sam had ever seen in Dean before. But that wasn't even the worst part, the scariest part about this new kind of anger. (How many different types of angry deadliness could be housed in one man?) 

The worst part was the silence of it. It was a purely silent anger, not bubbling or fighting to claw out of Dean. Not shredding up his core and tugging at his brutality and instinct. He didn't make a single noise, didn't even breath loud enough to hear. It was a silent growing thing, so deep inside Dean that Sam couldn't claw at its origins without maybe unleashing that anger on himself. 

It was like going into a science experiment without the slightest clue of what the different vials of chemicals on the table were. Which ones you were supposed to use to fix things, which ones would have you dead inside of three seconds of touching it. 

Sam had never been more scared for Dean in his life. He wasn't letting himself worry about any bodily concern for himself, he had to hold on to the idea that Dean wouldn't hurt him because Dean _wouldn't._ It was just that sometimes Sam felt Dean couldn't even see him. Wasn't even there in his head at all. And then when he snapped back, a bit wave of that unidentifiable anger would rush through his veins like a particularly nasty shot. 

Eventually he'd curl into himself again, going numb and looking a little horrified as he drew out of the anger. It scared Dean too, and every time he caught himself from the anger he retreated a little deeper. And then the blankness would take over that, yank Dean out of his head and making him unaware of everything in the present. His body in one place and his mind physically somewhere else. 

Then he'd get that burn of rage when he came back. At first, Sam had assumed it was internalized. He guessed that Dean got mad at himself for disappearing, for turning to a state of blankness and snapped at his own weakness when he came back. Hence the timing of the anger. 

But the closer Sam looked, the less it felt like Dean was mad at himself. No, he looked positively in rage with the world. It was outward anger and was just barely seething under control and it was absolutely terrifying. 

Like a parasite was chewing at Dean's insides and Dean wasn't doing a single thing to stop it. 

So yeah, to say Sam was worried lately was a bit of an understatement.

When he'd taken that case three days ago, he thought that maybe some time apart might be good for both of them. It gave the space to think, to process everything over the past couple of months. And oh, did Sam process a lot. 

He was already feeling empty and missing Dean's presence an hour into the drive. He was worrying constantly, holding on to the hope that Dean was doing some healing instead of trying to drown himself in a lake of whiskey. It had gotten to the point that Sam was terribly concerned about that too. Dean's body had to be suffering from it, but his mind was even more messes up. How could Dean possibly be okay in the head when he thought he needed to constantly have his mouth plastered to a bottle top to breathe? There was nothing alright with that, nothing healthy at all. As much as Sam didn't want to face it, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of what this had to mean about Dean. His brother was an alcoholic now, well and truly. He was addicted. It wasn't like hell where he'd just been trying to forget. It wasn't like the usual drunk he got after tough cases (usually involving little kids that they hadn't been able to save). And it was nothing like the totally-smashed (in both ways - drunk and beaten bloody) he'd gotten at the peak of their terrible disastrous fight. It was like Dean had chosen a new something to be codependent on. It was like that one country song, the one about the bottle being the trigger to put his thoughts away. 

Sam hated it. He hated it more than anything and he needed, just needed to draw Dean out of that dark place. He had no idea how though. And he couldn't help but feel like it had to be at least partially his fault. 

It'd only really gotten that bad after that heated night together on the floor outside Dean's room. Dean had snapped at him the next morning that not everything was about Sam, but he couldn't help the guilty pit in his stomach anyways. 

He was worried about Dean and worried for him and felt so stupid for mucking things up, but hadn't they needed it? Shouldn't this be helping them, moving them forward? Their relationship had always been tactile. They had their own language of communication that included pointed looks and raised eyebrows and certain smiles and fleeting touches and pressing mouth and sliding bodies. 

He'd called Dean a few times, but Dean had been remarkably quiet. Drawn in. He outright refused to come help Sam on the case. Sam was lonely and worried and guilty and he really just wanted to be at Dean's side again. 

Then came that lone night in the motel. It'd been an overnight case and Sam had been so used to sleeping alone lately that it shouldn't have been a problem. Except as soon as he swung open the door to his room at whatever nameless green motel he'd just found, he realized his mistake. When he and Dean had split up the first time, he'd gotten the bunker. He'd worked a few cases on his own before he met back up with Dean, but he'd been in a way different mindset than he'd been lately. Now, he'd gotten used to having Dean at his side again. 

His brain had been on automatic when he'd checked in and that was why he was staring blankly at two twin beds. One for Dean, who wasn't here. Who didn't want to come. Which, fine. Sam could handle this.

Except he really couldn't, because he spent two hours trying to fall asleep to no avail. So he'd fished Wuthering Heights out of his duffel and that's how he ended up doing all of that processing. Reading let him think with a clear mind. He could see the characters so clearly, could see their misgivings and their problems and some of their solutions. If he inserted himself into those characters, it was like stepping outside of the problem and being able to look at it from an outside's point of view. It was like finally seeing everything between him and Dean without the bias of being half the problem. 

And that's how Sam figured out that maybe Dean really did love him after all. 

It sounds crazy, to find that out from a book he'd already read before. But it wasn't the book really, it was more the situation. Catherine, the lead girl, was in love with these two different guys who both loved her. It should have been classic love triangle material, and it kind of was, except that there was no winner. The thing about love triangles is that someone always ends up with a broken heart while someone else always ends up happy. Except in Wuthering Heights, were everyone ends up _dying_ of broken hearts. 

But the most striking part of the whole thing was how Catherine hadn't been able to choose between the two men in her life. The first time Sam read the novel, he was fairly sure that Edward had loved Catherine more than Heathcliff had. He'd been able to let her go - that was love, right? "If you love them, let them go." He wanted the best for her, even if that meant not being with him. He needed her to be happy more than he needed her for himself. That was love, right? 

Now that he was reading it a second time, Sam wasn't so sure. Yes, Edward loved her, but didn't Heathcliff too? Heathcliff was crazy and possessive and physically could not function without Catherine in his life. He begged her ghost to haunt him, so he didn't have to live without her. He'd rather she be stuck in the afterlife than go on to heaven and be at peace. He was selfish, self-sacrificing, and - for the first time that Sam realized - entirely in love with her.

He'd never looked at Heathcliff's obsession and seen love before. He'd only seen obsession and selfishness. What kind of person would beg to be haunted by someone's ghost because they couldn't bear their absence? Maybe a person who felt an even stronger type of love than Sam could imagine. The kind that Dean had for him. 

Heathcliff was the drag of the moon, the pull of the dark and his love was consuming, dedicated, and irrationally crazy. Erotic. Codependent. 

Edward was the bright of the sun, happiness and forgiveness and holding on and letting go. Willing to love so selflessly that he wanted peace more than he could ever ask the one he loved to stay. 

It was two different kinds of love, but they were both still love. 

Sam had no idea how he'd missed that before.

He didn't love Dean any less, just because he could let him ago. And...and maybe Dean didn't love _Sam_ any less because he _couldn't_.

They just loved each other with a different _kind_ of love. One selfless and one dedicated.

Sam put down the book and stared off into the darkness. 

He'd fucked this whole thing up.

He could not have been more wrong. 

He'd had the audacity to think that Dean's obsession to keep Sam alive - no matter the hell it put Sam through - as some form of self-loss, fear of being alone and all of that. When in fact, the whole time, it had been for Sam. It had all been about how much Dean _loved_ Sam. 

Sam almost felt inadequate in the face of that. 

But they loved each other differently, and that was okay. Dean throwing both of their lives on the line all the time for it was still something that wasn't okay, still something they needed to work on, but Sam was pretty sure he finally got it. He finally understood Dean because god _damn_ Dean loved him and Sam was such an idiot. 

Sitting there in some lame motel in the darkness, a lifetime away from his brother, and Sam had been a week too late with this sudden realization. He'd ruined this all by pushing the physical, by trying to get Dean to understand him that way. When really, he hadn't even understood Dean.

He'd had some flash of thinking that if he didn't give Dean the physical _room_ to push away and reject Sam's mind and body and ideas and love, then maybe Dean would finally understand. But it wasn't going to work like that, that wasn't something that actually happened.

He suddenly had the crazy urge to drive back home and throw Wuthering Heights in Dean's face and shout at him to read it goddammit or else he'd never understand why they fought all the time about love, why they were so goddamn different. Dean hated Brontë, but Sam could try. Sam was Edward and Dean was Heathcliff, it was just that there was no Catherine in between them. The only thing between them was this barrier of misunderstanding. This barrier of miscommunication.

When was the last time Dean wanted to talk about _anything_? But maybe if Dean read the book then they wouldn't have to talk, because Dean would get it and then they might finally be able to start healing after all of this. 

That was the first night in a long long time that Sam fell asleep with the curve of a smile on his face.

 

And then he'd gotten back to the bunker. He'd still been pretty shaken about the Abaddon thing. Figured he'd wait it out until tomorrow to give Dean the book and a brief explanation. He needed to make sure Dean was alright first, before they took on something this big.

Dean shrunk away. 

Dean went blank to the world.

Dean flashed with silent, terrifying rage.

Dean shrunk deeper away.

Sam didn't even have a shot at keeping up. 

~*~*~*~

"When's the last time you slept?" 

The attempt was to be as casual as possible without letting Dean off the hook with just a shrug or a mumble. Dean glanced up at Sam and shrugged. Okay, so apparently that was going to be the response Sam got no matter how he asked it. 

"You can't function if you don't stop to take care of yoursel--"

"Yeah, I know," Dean interrupted with a bit of a glare. Sam closed the book in front of him, sliding it across the table and angling his body obviously more towards Dean. 

"If you knew, you'd take care of yourself. When's the last time you slept?" Sam hated to pull the parent card (well, what he figured would be the parent card he didn't exactly have any personal experience to compare it to) but Dean was being ridiculous. He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows in something like Jodi Mills' glare.

Dean didn't even look at Sam or his crossed arms. He just totally ignored him, kept on reading. So either the answer was one that Sam would get pissed at or Dean didn't know. Either one was not good news. 

"Look, Dean. I'll finish up this stack, but it's late and you can't run on zero. Even for the sake of research, you're going to start missing things if you don't sleep for at least four hours. That's all I'm asking - four hours." 

For a moment, Sam was pretty sure Dean was going to ignore him again. He wasn't sure what he'd do then. He could try to haul Dean out of his chair and take him bodily into a room with a bed, but if Dean was fighting him the whole way, what was the point? Besides, Sam wasn't exactly sure he'd win that fight, Dean's lack of sleep or not. For every inch of height Sam had on Dean, Dean made up for in arm strength and stubbornness. They hadn't had a physical fight in a long time, but they were pretty damn well matched. 

But thankfully, Dean eventually sighed quietly and closed the book in front of him. His chair scooted back with a scraping sound, then Dean was busy avoiding Sam's eyes as he stood. "Fine. Night."

Two words, then Dean was awkwardly backing away from the table and turning out of the room, the sound of his boots retreating echoing back to Sam's ears. He was so damn difficult lately Sam didn't know what to do with him. 

Obviously, bunking down in the same room wasn't an option. He knew better to even ask if it was. They had solved literally nothing since that evening together. Sam had been so sure everything would change. And then he'd had that sudden realization that maybe Dean loved him back and he was so sure _that_ would change everything. 

Dean didn't seem any more interested in fixing this than he did before. Hell, he seemed less interested. More like he couldn't give a damn if Sam was mad at him anymore or not. Which was just Sam's luck, because the angry fire had finally tampered down into something they could discuss, something they could maybe fix with words and promises and understanding and _change_. Dean just wasn't interested.

He wasn't interested in anything besides finding Abaddon. The obsession was almost scary, it was so intense. He'd never gotten this hung up on a single monster before, especially when they knew the odds of finding her without some huge clue from either her or Crowley was next to impossible. That hadn't stopped Dean from skipping out on hunting, from abandoning Sam to the field.

And going crazy in the meantime. 

Sam would be worried about Dean's drinking if he hadn't gotten rid of every drop of alcohol he could find. Dean did not need that on top of everything. The paranoid part of Sam made him want to check Dean's room, just in case he'd found a way around Sam's attempt to help him. Knowing Dean, the odds were pretty likely. But if Sam wanted to fix things with Dean, he had to start trusting him sometime, right?

He breathed out a melodramatic huff, staring at the chair Dean had just left. Everything felt about as empty as that chair lately. Once occupied and left in a haste, just like how Sam's heart felt. 

Sitting and wallowing in his loneliness wasn't going to do anything about missing Dean, though. It was just so painful to miss someone so badly that was right there, in arm's length, but a thousand miles too far away to ever touch. 

With another sigh, Sam stood up and headed to his bedroom too. It was going to be a long night.

~*~*~

The long night was cut into a particularly short night as Sam's eyes shot open at somewhere around 1 am, the rough scream snapping him out of his sleep so fast that he was stumbling towards the door, gun in hand, before he even realized he was awake. 

His fingers fumbled over the switch in the hallway before everything lit up, then he was running off in the direction of Dean's room. Again. Last time Dean had shouted, it had been early morning and Sam's name. This time it was a shout that sounded more like a scream and it was the damn middle of the night. 

On his way skidding around corners to Dean's room, Sam's heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The scream didn't come a second time though, in the few (too many) seconds it took for him to get to Dean's door. He didn't even think to bother knocking before he turned the knob and swung the door open, gun raised as he stepped inside. They did have a deadly witch and a haunting in here, Sam wasn't going to show up without a weapon.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sam lowered the gun back down and tried to catch his breath. Dean was sitting up in his bed, fists gripped tightly in the sheets with wild eyes now settling on Sam's silhouette. The relief of seeing him okay - just a nightmare - hit Sam like it always did, making him deflate against the doorframe. The solid wood wasn't the slightest bit comforting underneath his shoulder but Sam wasn't sure he could stay on his feet without rushing to Dean's bed and scooping that distant body to his and never letting go. 

Sam slowed his breathing a little more, watching as Dean did the same, his hands slowly uncurling in the bedsheets. They were shaking. Dean lifted one, turning it over and looking at it like it belonged to someone else. He was still trembling, all over, the look on his face somewhere between his purgatory nightmares and his hell ones. Purgatory nightmares he was getting chased and everything around him was bloody - he let Sam hold him after those. Hell nightmares he was carving something up and _he_ was bloody. He had to walk those off, wouldn't let Sam anywhere near him. It had something to do with Dean being afraid of hurting Sam, even though they both knew he was long past that. 

But here Sam was, standing across the room from his brother as Dean shook with the aftershocks of a nightmare unlike anything Sam had seen before. As if the blood-curdling scream wasn't enough of a twist to give Sam a purpose, to have Dean surrender to letting Sam back in. But Dean wasn't giving him any sort of indication that he could come over, that he could at least _talk_ him through his nightmare.

Maybe this was why Dean had been avoiding sleeping for the past week. Maybe he knew he'd have nightmares.

If that was the case, this was a hell of a lot bigger than Sam thought it was. This wasn't just some passing phase - something was going on and Dean was aware enough of it to try to avoid it. 

The shaking hands came up to Dean's forehead as he rocked forwards, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Sam just wanted to reach out, touch him, comfort him. Tell him that whatever this was, dammit, Dean did not have to go through this alone. 

"You can go," Dean finally said, his voice raspy and shaking. 

Sam could go. Like it was a burden to stay. Like he was only staying out of guilt. Like he was just waiting for Dean to dismiss him so he could complete his duty and go on his merry way while his brother suffered and shook in the dark alone. 

Was that _seriously_ what Dean just said. 

"Fuck," Sam cursed sharply, the bite of the word sounding even harsher in the quiet of the room. Dean looked up at that, his eyes landing on Sam's with a bit of shock in them. His hair was rused, the way it used to be after sleep when he was younger. Their first case together with demons, Sam had come in with a cup of coffee and Dean had been so gorgeous, lying there asleep. Then he'd looked over his shoulder, his hair a spiky mess as he grumbled something and shoved a knife back under his pillow. 

That's what Dean looked like now, except about fifteen years older. It hadn't been that long, but purgatory had hit Dean hard. The trials had hit them both. Their entire lives, actually, made Dean look older than his 34 years. But with his hair that spiky mess that Sam never got to see anymore he might as well have been 26 all over again. 

It wasn't fucking fair. None of this was.

Dean was just looking at him now, fingers of one hand back in his messy hair as he propped his head on his hand and his elbow on his knee again, this time leaning to the side and looking up at Sam instead of curling up. He had this expectant, dubious look on his face. Waiting for Sam to say something else. Or to leave. 

"I'm not leaving you here like this," Sam said pointedly, a little pissedly, taking a step inside the room to put his gun down on the dresser. When he turned back to face the bed he crossed his arms and Dean just glared at him. 

"Well what the fuck are you going to do about it? There's nothing you _can_ do. Go." Dean's beautiful mouth twisted down into an angry tight line, his eyes hardened against Sam like he was the one who'd been torturing Dean in his sleep. 

Sam glared back. They were fucked up, sure, but he hadn't turned into Dean's worst enemy overnight or anything. Dean was just as stubborn as Sam was though, so they could have this argument all night if Sam didn't do something about it. Giving in definitely wasn't an option though. He was pissed but not inhumane.

His hands went up in the air as he stepped closer, like he was calming a wild animal. Dean scowled at him as Sam sat down carefully on the furthest edge of the bed. With a sigh, Sam mimicked Dean's pose and ran his fingers through his hair, propping his head up. Dean just stared at him like he was off his rocker. 

"It wasn't Purgatory, and it wasn't Hell--" Sam started. 

"Do you actually care?"

"-so," Sam kept going, ignoring Dean's interruption, "What was it?"

Dean lifted his head from his hand, twisting his fingers back in the sheets and staring at them like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. Sam waited. He could wait Dean out. They may be normally matched on stubbornness, but when Dean woke up screaming from a nightmare there was an exception. Sam wasn't budging. 

"Nothing." Dean lied, not even bothering looking at Sam to try to sell it. Sam stuck his tongue in his cheek, lifting his head too and staring off at Dean's wall. Funny how quickly this room had become Dean's Room when it had spent so much longer being _their_ room. He turned back to his brother, scooting a fraction closer on the bed.

"Why don't you tell me anything anymore?"

"There's nothing to tell," Dean snapped, glaring at Sam for a millisecond before he flopped back on his bed, turning to face away from Sam and tugging the blankets up over his shoulders with a huff. 

The urge to reach over and rub his hand over the bow of Dean's back was stronger than any urge Sam had had in a long time. He clasped his hands together in his lap so tightly that he might leave bruises. Why was Dean doing this to him? It wasn't fair. 

A tug of anger coiled in Sam's stomach. He was trying to fix things here, trying to help, and Dean just kept shutting him out. Ever since That Night he'd been distant, but this was downright cold. Nightmares were supposed to be the exception, weren't they? The truce from no matter how mad they were, at least they were there for each other for that? 

The blanket over Dean's shoulders was rising and falling too quickly for him to be anywhere near sleeping. He wouldn't go back to sleep, Sam already knew that. Dean never could after his nightmares. Which meant he'd only gotten an hour and a half of sleep, maybe. Two hours if he fell asleep right as he laid down earlier. 

He needed four at a very minimum. It had been years since Dean hadn't been able to at least get four hours every now and then, regardless of how bad the nightmares were. They found ways around the nightmares, held each other in the dark and whispered reassurances until body lines relaxed and sleep came back. 

It wasn't fair that Sam couldn't do that for Dean anymore. Sam watched Dean feign sleep or anger or whatever he was doing, wondering what would happen if he laid down next to Dean, scooted their bodies flush. Dean would probably throw him off, storm out or something else dramatic and heartbreaking. It'd be easier and better for them both not to. 

He scooted a little on the bed, giving himself enough room before he laid down at Dean's feet. Perpendicular to Dean's body, with his legs hanging off the side because if normal beds were a little short than laying on them sideways was way too short. Dean's head lifted from the pillow, looking down at Sam laying there, staring with open eyes at the ceiling. He blinked a few times in Sam's peripheral, like he was trying to clear his vision and make sure what he was seeing was real. 

Finally, the tension in Dean's shoulders drained. When he spoke, his voice was soft and almost gentle. Resigned, like he was just too tired for this anymore. "Go to bed, Sam. I can't sleep with you down there like an obedient dog." 

The long hair brushed into his eyes as Sam rolled his head on the bed to look at Dean. Dean looked almost patient now, eyes blinking tiredly and his anger gone. Well, at least he'd stopped being pointlessly pissed. He'd even kind of gone for a joke, although it had come out too soft and flat to be a real one. Sam's eyes searched over Dean's face again, checking to make sure Dean really was okay.

He looked tired as hell, maybe more than the last time Sam had seen him. And if he honestly was planning on going to sleep again then Sam could leave him in peace for that. Based on his drooping eyes and slow blinks, it looked like Dean might fall asleep soon if he was planning to or not. 

"Fine," Sam relented, sitting back up. He hesitated slightly, then he reached out and bumped Dean's ankle with the back of his hand. "You know where to find me." 

It wasn't the _I love you_ Sam should have said, but it would have to do. Dean just laid his head back down, his eyes drifting shut. Sam got up, picking his gun back up before heading back out towards the hallway. He paused in the door, looking back at Dean's near-sleeping figure. 

If only they didn't have to be so far apart. 

He shut the door softly behind him before leaning on the other side of it, tipping his head back as he sucked in a breath. This was so damn hard. Why did this all have to be so damn hard?

Eventually he trudged back to his room, but there was no way in hell he was getting any more sleep tonight. Instead he stared at his ceiling from his cold, hard bed and imagined he was back in the warmth and comfort of Dean's arms. 

Maybe if he wished it hard enough he'd find a way to bring them back to that. 

~*~*~

Hot, pounding water. Sometimes the fog made his brain seem that much clearer, just by comparison. 

Today he was drowning. 

The heat was suffocating but Dean couldn't imagine turning it any colder. His skin was already red. Trying to burn out something that didn't just scrub clean. 

He was never going to be clean.

It wasn't a feeling he could explain. It wasn't something he could wish away or cry to Sam about. Like apparently, after that stubborn episode last night, Sam wanted from him. 

Dean's insides didn't belong to him anymore. 

That wasn't something you could explain away. That wasn't something there are words for, regardless of how much they'd sucked at talking before. 

No one could have that conversation and make it out alive. 

He might not make it out alive without having to say a word about it. All he knew was that his insides didn't belong to him anymore and he had no idea where to start searching to get them back. 

Maybe they were obliterated to dust. Maybe there was nothing to get back. Maybe Dean should care more, but he couldn't bring himself to. If he opened up any of his veins it would be like busting a dam. 

His blood would pour out of his body and he would bleed out right here, on the shower floor. Let the suffocating water wash all his blood down the drain until he was nothing left. 

Dead. Dead didn't even seem like the big black scary eminent thing anymore. He knew too much about it. 

He was acquainted with Death himself. 

Maybe that's why he was running towards it. Not for himself, but to take that power, to hold that life in his hands...

It burned. Dean burned. All over, burning like Mary. Burning like Jessica. Burning like all of those souls in hell that he'd force fed to the flames with a grin on his face. 

He gasped up into the shower water, droplets of hellfire pattering onto his face as Dean blinked open his eyes. 

Everything was white around him. 

Hospitalized. Institutionalized. 

~~Nut house nut house asylum asylum you're crazy!~~

He ducked his head back down, sucking some of the hellfire into his mouth. It didn't taste like blood. It tasted too clean. Dean couldn't have that inside his body. He'd melt it. He'd melt. 

Shower. He was in a shower. Not in hell, not in an asylum. Shower. 

Slick white walls. Pounding heavy rain. Heat, so much heat. But where was the source of the Flames? 

It was inside him it was inside him it was inside and Dean was going to _scream_ \--

He shut off the water. 

The pounding let him go. 

He was drifting now, loose limbs, unattached to his body. Where was he? Shower. Fumbling for a towel. Perfunctory, acting with muscle memory. 

Instinct. ~~It's inside you Dean. You have it inside you. The instinct to kill. You murderer. You murderer you murderer you MURDERER!!~~

Dean pulled his head away from the shower wall. He was shaking. Slow breathing, body functions. This vessel was his, he owned this. He lives here this was his brain this was his body and he was going to be okay. He was going to be okay. 

Dry. Wipe off the blood. No, water. It's all just water. Dry it away. No, don't scrub. Dry. It's never coming out anyways. Sandpaper to your skin and it's never coming out anyways. 

Dean stumbled his footing on the floor, sharing down at two foreign feet. Those were his feet. He was in the bathroom and he was having a mental breakdown. In the shower, of all places. 

He could laugh, except it wasn't funny. Who was he? Would he even recognize --

He stepped up to the mirror. It was foggy. Like his mind. Just a swipe and he'd see clear again. He'd think clear again. He'd be clear again. 

His palm pressed to the cool glass and carved into it, spun away the fog into the air like wisps of cotton candy from that fair in New York. 

Green eyes and stubble stared back at him. That's what he was supposed to look like. For some reason, it still came as a surprise. The rush of air left his mouth before he could stop it. 

You couldn't see any of it on his face. His nose wasn't melting, his cheeks weren't caving into his face, morphing into bone against his skeleton. It was all in his head, every ounce of it. 

Dean Winchester stared back at him in the mirror with depressed, broken eyes. 

He didn't want to know that man. 

Dean turned away.

~*~*~*~*~

Even when his world and mind were falling apart, there was one thing Dean had always been able to hold on to. No matter how bad it got, Dean was pretty good at putting on a brave face for Sam. If Dean were to have a middle name it'd probably be "putting on a brave face for Sam."

When he first walked into the library, Sam had shot him a hey. Dean pretended he hadn't just gone a little out of his mind in the shower and instead just instantly set out in case talk. 

"Anything?" He'd asked in response, nodding at the tables of research. 

Dissolving into case talk was so much easier than everything else. There wasn't much else they _could_ talk about. Because no way in hell was Dean going to talk about the nightmare incident last night. Or anything regarding his emotional or physical state or the mark or anything else at all. 

At one point, Sam stopped going over the research and had outright gestured at Dean (he was rubbing his arm again dammit), pursing his lips as he posed the question Dean didn't want to hear. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," Dean dismissed, turning the switch for conversation off. "Let's get back to work." 

He didn't want to talk to Sam about this and he didn't want to fall apart either. He could already feel Sam's judgy, concerning eyes on him and Dean was being crushed under the pressure. 

Sam knew him too well and saw through the cellophane and painted blood red streaks where there were none. Dean couldn't handle that on top of everything. The constant pressure of Sam's worry was exhausting. 

Then the phone rang - shrill and piercing and Dean tried not to flinch but did anyways - and suddenly Dean wasn't so alone under Sam's scrutiny anymore.

Sam picked up - Dean couldn't bring himself to reach for that terribly loud noise - but he could still hear the voice on the other line muffled against Sam's ear. Cas. Cas had called and Dean suddenly really really wished he'd been brave enough to be the one to pick up the phone. 

Cas and Sam started talking, loud worried tones. It felt a little ironic, to watch Sam absentmindedly pace and talk over the phone with the other man in Dean's life. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten so lucky as to have them both, to be able to call on them both, to take them both for his keeping. 

It wasn't that Dean was tired of Sam. Sam was just trying to rip Dean to shreds to inspect him and figure out what was wrong with him and Dean was dying on the medical table with open heart surgery. Cas wouldn't do that do him. Cas was quietly concerned. Cas was constant, steady, and he didn't collide into Dean like Sam did. 

Dean and Sam were opposites that butted heads, reversed puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly sometimes and were each other's worst disaster other times. Not Cas. Cas was the soft, understanding, _comforting_ , collected one. He nestled up at Dean's side and would probably make him damn cookies if he knew how. 

Dean forced himself to pay attention to what Sam and Cas were saying - from what he could hear - because tje case was the only way he could focus at all anymore. Then Sam said the surprised, loud, _Gadreel?_ and Dean flinched.

The angel Dean let in to his brother was not only one of the most evil angels of existence and time ever, he was also working with the guy who had stolen his best friend's grace and tried to destroy the planet by sending all the angels down to earth. That, and he wrote the damn tablets and didn't warn them that the trials would _kill_ Sammy. 

Gadreel worked for this guy. Although that could mean other things too...

"So, Metatron made Gadreel kill Kevin?" Dean asked, piping up for the first time. He could hold a normal face when it was just case talk. He wouldn't have said anything at all, but this was _Kevin_. Dean was still responsible for that.

Cas was the one who answered him, rich voice contemplative over the speaker. "It would explain a lot, and there have been no new prophets, which Metatron could have fixed to his advantage." Dean really wished it wasn't over the speaker. He could use softness right now, he was getting scrapes and cuts from Sam's rough edges. 

"And Gadreel said that angels are returning to heaven?" Dean asked, basically just repeating everything Sam and Cas had already said. He'd been listening at least subconsciously then, which was good. "How? I thought that the spell was irreversible."

Now Sam spoke up, his shoulder pressed close to Dean's. It was a burning, branding rod through Dean's clothes and it was the only thing to keep him from floating away. Sam was a curse and his salvation and Dean just really needed something simpler than that right now. 

"That's what Crowley said," Sam accused, the name like gravel scraping knees. Sam still hated Crowley but Dean couldn't bring himself to defend him, it'd be pointless right now. Besides, how could he explain that even _Crowley_ was easier to be around than Sam right now? Sam was just so. damn. complicated. It made Dean's brain want to think and Dean didn't want to think, he wanted to submerge himself in a pile of lava and burn to a crisp, rid himself of everything fleshy and wrong with him. 

"Look, let's just find Gadreel and... and beat some answers out of him." The declaration was a little unlike Sam, but maybe it was signature Sam and Dean just _didn'tknowanymore_. But what he did know? Beating anything or anyone right now sounded a hell of a lot more healing than "talking about his nightmares" or whatever that shit had been.

"Yeah, here's something to start with that. Uh... Hold on, I'm, uh... Sending you a photo of the symbol that drew all the angels in," Cas said over the line. Dean's mouth almost curved into an involuntary smile. Cas was figuring out technology. That was so damn adorable. And distracting. Distractions were Dean's favorite thing.

Sam opened his laptop and he and Cas went over details, chatting a bit about the symbol as Dean zoned off. How nice it'd be if Cas was here. He'd be so soft and understanding. 

So understanding. Cas hadn't ever had something like the mark before, but. But he'd been out of control when the souls had possessed him. They'd given him the power to kill and Cas had declared himself God and slaughtered thousands. That, at least, Cas and Dean could relate with. What a terrible but fitting thing to have in common.

Then, after Cas went all psycho-killer on everybody, the leviathans tried to destroy and claw Cas apart. And he'd lost his mind. He'd literally lost it, gone off his rocker and had no idea who anyone was. Then, minutes after he remembered everything, he'd gone _mad_. He'd taken Lucifer's taunting out of Sam's head and he'd been driven into loopy land and he'd been fuckin insane for like, half a year. 

It wasn't quite the same thing, but if anyone could understand him right now, it'd be Cas. 

Not that Dean was going to tell him how much he was actually losing his grip on his sanity and his ethical values, but it was still comforting to know that if he did, Cas would at least know where Dean was coming from. Cas had lived that, and he'd lived _through_ it. He was fine now. Better than fine, he was using technology and living in motel rooms and figuring his life out all by himself and trying to help everyone he could along the way. 

Maybe, if Cas could come back from the need to kill and the loss of his mind, maybe just maybe Dean could do. Maybe Dean could pulll through this and be okay at the end. It felt like a silly, selfish hope but there was something about having a guardian angel who loved you more than all the angels of the heavens that kind of made Dean want to _hope_.

Sam opened up his computer, scanning over the document and reporting back distractedly. "Okay. Got it."

"'Honor bar.'" Cas murmured over the phone, sounding like he was reading something out loud. "What's honorable about a miniature bar in a motel room?" 

He didn't sound like he was talking to them, more like himself, but Dean couldn't help but pipe up at that, a ghost of a smile tugging on his ripped bloody mouth. 

"Everything," Dean said, the lightness of his voice surprising himself. He'd been all gashes lately and now it felt like someone had buffered down the rough pieces. Okay, not someone. Cas. And his fluffy wings that Dean could swear he felt sometimes, Cas and his understanding and hope and beautiful blue eyes like the ocean that could probably put Dean to sleep just from looking at them. 

There was a slight pause, then the clutching pain in Dean's chest was overruled by an overwhelming wave, nearly knocking him off his feet as Cas spoke.

"How are you, Dean?" It was the simplest question to ask - with the most complicated answer. But that wasn't what got Dean. It was Cas's voice, how damn much his voice revealed.

Dean could _see_ the small, peaceful smile on Cas's lips. The soft puddle of strong emotions pooling in his blue blue eyes. He could hear the _sincerity_ , more sincerity than Dean had thought was possible to stuff into for simple words. He'd almost said each word carefully, with precise and genuine meaning behind every one. No, not quite careful, more like....gentle. He'd said them so gently, so sincerely, that Dean was washed out to see, overwhelmed by the wave of pure _I care about you. So much._

There was just so much caring and hope and sincerity and loved being shoved on to Dean's lap that his own head didn't have the chance to betray him and drag him away from this moment. For a few more seconds there was no blood, no itch, no detachment of Dean's mind from his body. He was all here, all right here and present and bathing, washing, _cleaning_ himself in the golden glow of Cas's unabashed, unconditional love.

It had been such a long time since anyone, ~~especially Sam~~ , had shown Dean that much emotion for him. Dean had been living with the haunting ghost memory of what it felt like to be loved. He'd forgotten how much that golden promise of _he loves me_ could chase away the cold. He'd been dwindling, dwindling from the absence of Sam's love until Dean was empty empty empty with a big gaping hole in him that he'd never be able to fill himself. 

Cas's love couldn't replace Sam's, but there was a second space in Dean's heart for the guardian angel that had just been filled to the brim and threatened to spill over the sides.

Dean was probably smiling like a fool right now, something he hadn't been aware he had the ability to do anymore. Well, maybe it wasn't so much a smile as it was a soft curving upwards of his lips. More than he'd had in a long long time. But he had a question he had to answer. 

As wonderful and tingling inside as Dean felt right now - for the first time since Kevin died, maybe - he still had to find out how in hell to answer Cas. Part of him wanted to spill everything. Cas loved him and understood what he was going through and dammit if Dean didn't need some help trying to get through this right now. 

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't tell the truth about how he was doing. Because Sammy was sitting right there. 

And through whatever stupid reason or habit Dean couldn't break himself out of, he had to protect his little brother. From everything, including himself. Especially himself. Dean's mind was slipping through his fingers and he was a fucking wreck. A total mess of shambles of pieces of a broken man he used to be. He wasn't even sure if he was exactly a man anymore. He didn't feel like one, he felt like a creature. A monster of some sort, deep deep deep down. 

He glanced over at Sam. Sam didn't deserve to have this crap dumped on him. Dean couldn't tell Sam, he just. Couldn't. Not that Cas deserved to have to carry the burden of Dean's troubles, but Cas was admittedly a little more detached from the central problem. Cas loved Dean, but Cas wasn't embedded into his soul. If Dean went down swinging with this, there'd be collateral damage that would take some part of Sam too. Maybe. Probably. 

Or maybe Dean was just too hopeful right now (because of Cas) to see reality. Sam didn't love him, Sam wouldn't _care_ if Dean went down in flames. Maybe _that's_ why he couldn't tell Sam. There were so many reasons he couldn't tell Sam. He couldn't burden him with that, especially if he didn't care anymore. If Sam pretended to care out of some deep-seated obligatory thing...

Dean couldn't take that. So he couldn't say anything with Sam here, obviously. Might not say the truth is Sam wasn't, too. Even telling Cas seemed a little daunting. So Dean kept himself zipped up inside, the metal teeth of the zipper biting into his flesh as he opened his mouth to lie again, always lie. 

Lie lie lie, even when he'd been so filled with love a moment ago. How could he lie to someone who loved him so much? Or maybe that was all the more reason to lie. 

"I'm fine, Cas." Dean voiced, his lips still curved up in something resembling a peaceful smile. God, Cas loved him. He loved him he loved him he loved him. Dean's voice sounded strange to his own ears, soft and gentle like Cas's was. Somehow in the face of all this, Dean managed to find the last little piece of him that wasn't too shattered for love. For caring. Even now, how was it that Dean had never stopped caring? "How 'bout you?"

Cas's voice was still up on the clouds when he answered, all sweetness and soft and spun like cotton candy in a New York carnival. 

"I miss my wings." The words were more wistful than sad and something else in Dean bent a little at the pure honesty. It was so simple, Cas was so simple (right now) and Dean could bask in the warmth of it all until he dried out on his basking rock and shrivled into nothing. It was so _light_ , nothing like the heavy weights of every conversation he'd had with Sam since Kevin died. Cas was just...talking. Little things. Sweet little pointless things, like wondering about why they called it an honour bar.

"Life on the road... smells," Cas said, the image of him twisting up his nose in feigned disgust hitting Dean's head. 

A huff of surprising laughter escaped Dean's barbed wire mouth, amusement and fuck, was that joy? flowing out of him like how his blood usually did.

"Hmm," Dean hummed in some form of happy agreement, confusion, and disbelief. He didn't know he could even laugh anymore. Wasn't he just granite and bones? Did bones have the ability to laugh?

"Yeah," Sam said distractedly, interrupting. "Listen, I got a match, and it's not from the lore... it's from police records. Looks like that symbol you found was spotted at a handful of crime scenes the last couple days, all multiple homicides."

Here they were having a nice time and Sam came around to interrupt with his talk of murder. It was all a little fitting, actually. And if Sam was shooting Dean pissed off looks right now, Dean wasn't going to be ignorant enough to pretend they were jealousy. 

Sam wouldn't be jealous that Cas had made Dean laugh, that was ridiculous. Sam wasn't jealous of Cas at all anymore, right? 

They were chatting up a storm, planning all sorts of routes to go get Gadreel. If Sam was actually jealous he wouldn't do that. So Sam wasn't jealous, he was just pissed at Dean. Like usual. No surprise. 

But Dean wanted to talk to Cas again, even if it was just case talk. It was just so nice to have someone's energy aimed at him that wasn't pissed off at him. Dean was so sick of being the source of Sam's anger, disappointment. So he interjected into their conversation, picking up Cas's last sentence and interjecting another question before Sam could first.

"What's the next big town?" Dean asked as Cas looked at a map over the phone. He waited for a few seconds, maybe imagining he could hear Cas's breathing from the other end. That was a living, breathing thing that loved him and thought he was worth it. Loved him a hell of a lot more than Dean love himself. That was real. Cas was real. 

Really damn far away, but real. 

"There are two. It could be Auburn or Ogden," Cas answered, his voice all official-business-sounding. He tried so hard. Cared so much. Dean could burst with it.

"All right, you take Auburn, we'll take Ogden..." Dean paused, almost afraid to say it. He really shouldn't, it wasn't quite necessary, but he just felt like he _needed_ to see a smiling face right now. So he said it. "....meet in the middle."

He hung up the phone seconds after that, not giving Cas or Sam or anybody time to protest or Dean time to back out. He needed to see Cas, needed to see a smlie like it was the oxygen that might finally get his lungs pumping right again.

Sam was still glaring at him, but Dean was going to see someone _without_ a glare soon. He decided to ignore it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Maybe Dean had no idea what angry actually looked like on Sam. All this time, the glares and pissiness Sam had been treating him with? That was nothin', nothing at all in comparison to the way he looked at Gadreel. 

The circle of fire went up around the bastard and Dean glared - of fucking course he did, the bastard had lied to Dean and murdered Kevin - with a snarky comment. He hated Gadreel more than he'd hated anyone in a long time. 

But then Sam opened his mouth. _Remember me?_ he'd said. Pure, 100%, raw anger. Sam lit up like that...it scared _Dean_. Sam was so fucking mad, so extremely angry...Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sam like this. Absolutely livid. 

Now with Gadreel tied up in the basement of an abandoned factory, they finally had the chance to act on all that anger. They needed information though, more than anything else. More than revenge. Dean was _itching_ to destroy this thing the second they got what they needed out of him. Thing was, so was Sam. 

Dean couldn't have that. Dean could be bloody and evil and torture things but Sam didn't need to be tainted by that. ~~Or maybe he was just selfish and wanted this life in his hands instead.~~

"If this is like looking into a fun-house mirror for me, I cannot imagine what it is like for you." Gadreel's voice was like a metal grate on concrete, grinding into Dean's bones and making him want to shred the skin from Gadreel's cheeks with sharp fingernails. He followed Sam to stand in front of the bastard, keeping his face carefully neutral as he watched Sam instead of the angel he wanted to destroy. 

"How long have you been working for Metatron?" Sam asked, his words choppy as he barely contained his rage. Dean held his gaze on Sam, watching the anger bubbling just under the surface of Sam's smooth skin. 

"I will not talk, and _you_ cannot make me," Gadreel spit at him. The emphasis on the you was interesting. This was specifically about Sam. Why? Just because he'd possessed Sam before? Or was there a deeper vendetta there?

"Yeah?" Sam swallowed, his voice hoarse with anger. Dean stood there neutrally with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, just watching the bastard. Evaluating. Gadreel had something, something that would break him. They all did. And Dean had never failed in finding it before. Everybody had a worst fear and Dean could have a _doctorate_ degree in finding that.

"I have _been_ you, Sam Winchester. Your insides reek of shame and weakness."

Dean was not expecting that. The vehemence in Gadreel's voice. The way Sam shifted his weight, actually fazed. The word were getting to him. Sam's mouth twisted up in a gruesome look as his body swiveled to Dean. Shame and weakness. He carefully looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Clearly, Sam didn't want him to hear this. So did that make Gadreel right, then? Is that seriously what Sam thought of himself? 

He had about a millisecond to consider it and think it over before Sam was pummeling a fist into Gadreel's face. He practically pounced on the guy, using the momentum of his jump to slam down his punch. Hard.

Sam was lit up like the fourth of July they shot off fire crackers and burned down a field, only with rage this time instead of joy. It took a second for Dean to even realize what the hell had just happened, then he realized what was _about_ to happen. Again. He saw the second punch coming just before Sam reeled back into position. Shit shit no. 

They'd lose this. They'd lose the edge on Metatron and they'd lose this entire damn war if they killed this guy. And Sam was going to kill him. Sam couldn't do that. Gadreel was Dean's to kill. 

It was a split second decision and he knew he made the wrong one before he even finished closing the distance between them. Either it was let Sam kill this guy, or--

Or do something Dean had never wanted to do. It was too late, he was already mid-lunge before he realized what this was going to do to them both. Too late. His instinct would be the death of them both. And he had to go along with it anyways. Gadreel wasn't allowed to die by Sam's hand and if this was the only way to stop that --

"Sam, Sam, Sam! " Dean jumped his way in front of Sam, planting his feet in between his brother's as he used his torso to stop the weight of Sam's forward momentum. He jumped into the fire pit, landing _heavy_ and _close_ with a solid hand of steel and molten lava on the center of Sam's sunflower chest.

They were closer than they'd been since that night a few weeks ago on the floor outside Dean's bedroom. Closer since the last time Sam had carried him and held him so tight that Dean had bruised. They'd been like magnets since then, reversed magnets that couldn't get anywhere in each other's vicinity. Skirting away before they could ever touch. They hadn't been so much as a foot from each other since then. 

And now Dean's entire body was pressed up close, hearts beating against each other's chests. Skin and clothes and so much pressure and heat that Dean was getting crushed by it all, made into something new and burning raw and flaming like a cattle brander to his heart. They were gravitating on the same circuit, two stars colliding with a burst of raw power and universe. 

His empty stomach twisted into a coil of disgusted pain as Dean tilted his face up. Lifting his chin, making their eyes meet, forcing Sam to look at him. There was no other choice when Dean was this close and their mouths were breathing just inches away from each other. Sam had to look at him, he physically did not have the option to look away. 

And Dean held him there, one hand gripping tight onto Sam's shoulder and the other hot and flat and permanent against Sam's chest. Dean's entire body was on _fire_. They hadn't been this close in so long and he might just die of it. There polar magnets were trying to realign again, like forcing two north ends together and watching them fight and fight and refuse to touch until one finally caves and flips to the south side.

Then they collide and its inescapable, permanently stuck together. Dean could feel himself flipping. Could feel Sam flipping. Could feel them both trying so hard not to. But the energy between them was palpable, Dean could feel it in his fingertips, sparking and crazy and wild.

Wild. Crazy. Maybe they both were a little, right now. Sam was more pissed than Dean could remember seeing him but Dean couldn't let Sam kill this bastard. It couldn't go that way, Dean couldn't let it. He might be crazy for trying to stop Sam, for stopping this guy from being killed. But Gadreel deserved a hell of a lot slower death than that. He didn't deserve to just be stabbed in anger. That wasn't just, not at all. Sam was pissed and he'd hate himself when this was all over if he wasted their one shot to rip the limbs from this angel slow and sweet. And if they wasted their only chance at some real answers. They had other people on the list to torture too. 

And right now, the people at the top of it were apparently each other. Spun up in their poisonous web together and stuck. 

It was all Dean's fault too. He'd done this, he'd sewed them together in this position and he knew exactly was doing. He knew every second that he closed the space between them and he'd decided to do it anyways because it would get his way. Dean would get his fucking way and he'd ruin them both as he did it. 

Dean was a sick sick person for using his body like this to get in Sam's way. It was the only thing that would work and he _knew_ that. Mentally it'd fuck Sam up, Dean touching him like this. Confusion and anger rerouting towards Dean and towards himself as his body betrayed him.

Whether or not Sam loved him anymore, or ever did, that never stopped Sam's body from gravitating towards Dean's. Sam's body was so damn used to relaxing under Dean's hand that it had that effect on him every time, regardless of what Sam wanted or not. It was like this terrible, good-intentioned form of sexual assault and Dean was _using_ that to get to Sam because there was literally _no other way_ and Dean wasn't sure he could hate himself anymore right now.

He was fucking using Sam's body to get to him and it was working dammit because Sam had stopped trying to kill the bastard. Sam's heartbeat was steadying out as Dean leaned up closer, close enough that they could kiss. Sam's eyes cut towards him as Dean breathed out his name, sexual and safe and promising and it wasn't _fair_ that he had to do this, it wasn't fair that this was the only way. Sam would hate him for this, and Dean already despised himself for it. 

"Sam." Sam's eyes were on him and they were close, too close, swaying ever closer. Dean didn't need to take that final step forward, Sam would come with him whether Dean kissed him or not. He'd already won, he didn't need to seal the deal with the poisonous addiction of the connection of their lips. He had Sam's full attention now. He didn't have to kiss him. Fuck, he wanted to. He wanted to so badly he could feel it in his toes.

Dean leaned backwards, nearly falling in his attempt to steady himself. His heart was beating out of his chest and so was Sam's, Dean could feel it and god, god, this was nothing like that last night they'd slept together. 

This was the raw, stripped energy of passion between them. It was heightened with the smell of blood from Gadreel's bleeding nose and the muck of the factory and their adrenaline-pumped bodies pushed too close together and it was so human and real that Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. This was real, this was real. That night they slept together had been all pent up frustration and hangover love and the pain of being apart all wrapped up like some kind of surreal, incredible dream. But this, this was the opposite. Dean had never felt more alive than standing this close to Sam, than he did right now.

Holding Sam back from killing. Physically _holding him back from murder_. This was their lives now. This was their lives. 

"Come here," Dean ordered gruffly, so in control of this moment that his brain had trouble processing the idea that he'd ever been the bottom in this relationship. He fisted his grip in Sam's jacket, yanking Sam with him as he stepped to the side. The whole ordeal was too close, too rough, so damn charged and their bodies were touching and Dean almost felt like he had blood dripping over his hands. The rush was that intense, the feeling of holding life in his hands so closely similar to that of killing. 

"C'mon." He pushed Sam ahead of him, there was no way they'd get the distance they needed if Dean kept fisting his jacket. Well, that and he was pretty sure if he held Sam this close, this full of adrenaline, for that long, he'd end up sinking his teeth into Sam's lips until he drew blood. 

If Bonnie and Clyde got off on murder and each other twined up in one big web of blood and body fluids, passion and pain, then this was the closest they'd ever been to that. 

Dean kept his hand on Sam's shoulder, making sure Sam knew who the fuck was in charge of this situation right now. Dean guided Sam ten feet behind the chair, partially to give them the walk there to try to cool off from each other (Dean's heart was beating so fast and so hard that his entire chest hurt like he'd gotten punched by an angel) and partially so they could have a damn conversation in semi-private. Without Sam trying to kill Gadreel again.

That was Dean's job.

"He's not gonna crack that fast," he hissed, in scolding mode. They had to talk about Gadreel or else they'd probably attack each other like wild dogs, swinging punches and clawing skin and biting and kissing and messy messy what had Dean _done_? 

Somebody's magnet had turned. They were attached, god they were attached for good. There was no pulling them apart now. His skin was being pulled towards Sam and he could physically _see_ Sam vibrating with it. His voice was a little shaky as he tried to talk about Gadreel too.

"I know. Maybe you could hack him like you and Crowley hacked me." Dean, hack an angel. Sorry, he was a torturer. That was a very different kind of art. 

"No, no, no, no. Crowley's the only one who can do that. And I'm in no mood to call that dickbag." The clarification of not-defending-Crowley washed like warm water over Sam's features. It was so easy, reading him, and Dean hated that about himself. He hated that he knew what was going on sometimes, that he could read Sam like a book. It was just another way he was violating that trust of Sam's body in him. Violating. Dean nearly cursed, but instead bit out his next words angrily. "We need Cas."

"Any word from him?" Sam asked, a little breathy. They were both breathing heavy still, Sam's chest and shoulders moving up and down as he tried to work through his anger and the magnets tugging them together. They weren't going to touch, not again, Dean was charred everywhere his hands had been on Sam. Sam's shoulderblade under Dean's palm as Dean pushed him across the room. Sam's heartbeat under his hand. Dean wanted to reach inside Sam's chest and take it for himself, pull a total Indiana Jones and just claim Sam that way.

"No," Dean somehow said, managing to keep up with the conversation with the part of his brain that wasn't fried to ash right now. "I tried him again. He hasn't called, he hasn't texted." 

Neither of them had looked at each other til now. Neither of them had. They were both too afraid of what would happen when their eyes met. Dean could feel Sam from the two feet away he was standing, he couldn't imagine meeting eyes. But then Dean held up his phone to show Sam the screen and it wasn't up to him anymore. He looked at Sam without deciding too and god, no, phone. Phone phone phone. Distraction distraction. 

His skin was itching with the need to touch Sam. Prickles all over like his entire body had fallen asleep from blood loss. Maybe it had. Dean wouldn't be all that surprised. No, phone, distraction. "I turned on the GPS on his phone. He's still in the same town where we talked to him last."

Distraction distraction. Fuck. Sam looked up too. Their eyes met for a millisecond, then Sam was looking at the phone. Charged sparks. Fuck.

"What the hell?" Sam asked generically, eyes still glued to the phone. Normally he'd look at Dean for that comment but he kept his eyes away for too long. Obvious. Spinning more poison into their bodies and wait fuck no, he was looking up. Sam's eyes came up and Dean's went down like some kind of twisted, sick dance. 

This was too damn difficult. No, actually, it wasn't even like they were dancing around each other anymore. There was no grace in any of this. They were scrambling and slipping through years of built-up bloody hands.

"I don't know," Dean answered just as generically. How many times had they had that exact same conversation? Thousands. How many times had they had it when Dean was half out of his fucking mind and half dying from needing Sam like oxygen? 

The urge to rip apart something bloody right now was eating as his organs and he'd end up making Sam that person if he didn't get the fuck out of here. There was a perfectly adequate living corpse ten feet to Dean's right and Sam was just so damned set on him being the person to make it a dead one. Dean couldn't have that, not right now, not when Dean was on the brink of fucking losing it. He was teetering on the edge and he needed a split second brilliant plan right fucking now. 

It hit him like a physical blow, a damned beautiful brilliant idea. The worst fucking brilliant idea he'd ever had. He'd say it was just going to be a dickbag move, but it was so much more than that. Dean cursed himself. But he needed Sammy out of the way so Dean could _destroy_ something bloody. And Sam wasn't just going to waltz out of here with a smile on his face. He was Sam Winchester, aka the most stubborn bastard in the world.

Sam wasn't going to leave easy. And he wouldn't go along with Dean's plan if Dean didn't really _convince_ him. He steeled himself, mentally carving out a piece of his insides in reprimand as he blinked his eyelashes up at Sam, peering with bright green eyes up under dark swoops that he knew Sam thought were so pretty. He didn't deserve to fucking breathe, let alone possess the body that could get Sam like this. That didn't stop Dean from looking up from behind his eyelashes, all innocent, beautiful pleading. "You got to go find him."

"Wait, what?" Sam responded automatically, 100% surprise and not a second of thinking. Like he hadn't heard Dean right. Caught extremely off guard. The look had gotten to him. It had worked, the stupid look and words and pleading had worked Dean seriously hated himself so much for doing that but he _had_ to. He had to.

He was about to go off like a nuke and Sam couldn't be here for that.

"You're too close to this, man," Dean replied, already knowing it was the argument he needed as he said it. It was entirely true, Sam's emotions were through the fucking roof right now. Hell, Dean wasn't all that sure that _Sam_ wasn't going to lunge forward and kiss him. Except that, obviously, Dean still had the reins right now. He was pretty sure Sam wouldn't dare.

"And, what, you're not?" Sam accused, his eyes sweeping down Dean's body. That was 100% not fair, even if it was also entirely true. That was most of why he was kicking Sam out of here. Sam had a vendetta with this guy and Dean understood that, sure. But this guy had _lied_ to him and taken Sammy's life in his hands. As pissed as Sam was about that, Dean could guarantee he was double the amount of mad.

But Sam didn't need to know that was why Dean was sending him off. Or else Sam wouldn't go. So Dean had to take control, show he _had_ control. Dean glanced behind him, scrounging for the right wording to get Sam to get out of here.

"We're not at this five minutes, you're already going Liam Neeson on his ass." Sam looked guilty. God, sunflower Sammy all guilty for punching a guy that had possessed him. Dean had a fucking terrible curse with his words, that's what he had. He'd thought he'd been evil in Hell. He'd thought he was in monster in Purgatory.

That was nothing compared to the sly, _human_ way he was playing now. He was more evil now than ever because he was hiding behind the pretty face he'd been cursed with and using that and every other tool he had to edge his way under Sam's skin and just _shred_. And god, it worked, every bit of it. Sam was crumpling. Every one of Dean's maniac tricks was working perfectly. He held the perfect face, smiled just right and pretty like he needed to and there it was, all laid out on the table for him.

"I got this," he promised. Maybe that was the first time he hadn't lied today. Well, it might still be a lie because he was fairly sure his definitely of "got" was not the same as Sam's. But he absolutely did have his anger under control because that's the first thing you learn in Torture Sunday School. Slow and anticipation can be just as painful as the cut of a knife. He's definitely 'got' this. 

The words and the false, bile-inducing sincerity in Dean's eyes were getting to Sammy. He was crumpling down that last wall. Looking around everywhere at this place. Wanting to trust Dean because that was his _basic instinct._ Dean knew that. Of fucking course Dean knew that, he was using it. Using and abusing, baby. Sam's eyes couldn't decide what to fall on as he shifted his weight. It was too fucking easy to read him. 

Little Sammy was nervous. Even scared, maybe. Meeting Dean's eyes every now and then. Scared of what? Of Dean? Wouldn't that just be a plot twist. Although, not really. Dean probably had it coming, didn't he? He deserved that, at least. Maybe Sam should be scared of Dean. But at least he was in control now. At least he wasn't bending over every three seconds for the "shameful" and "weak" man in front of him.

Sam cast his eyes down - in submission, Dean added cynically in his head - and held up the angel blade to Dean. Dean grabbed it with a solid clank against his ring, taking it firmly away from Sam. Sam looked at Dean again and Dean promised with the darkness in his eyes that the fucker in that chair wasn't walking free. 

With not so much as a nod, Sam brushed by him, still pissed, but actually leaving. He'd given in. He'd actually given in. Dean had convinced him to go.

It had worked, the whole thing, every single piece of it. Dean had wrestled Sam off Gadreel, tampered the murder out of his eyes, _and_ convinced Sam to leave of his own free will. Convinced Sam that it'd be a _good_ thing for him to leave. That'd he'd be helping if he left.

He'd spun Sam from the darkest of places - blind, raging murder and revenge - to the lightest of places. Handing his trust over to Dean and skipping off to go look for their guardian angel. Wasn't that just sweet. Dean had turned the _entire_ spectrum. He'd manipulated Sam _that. much._

Dean had never hated himself more. He'd used his body (his hands, the press of his weight, his eyes, his mouth, his touch, his promises) to convince Sam. It was worse than prostitution, worse than selling himself because that at least had a shred of dignity for the money in it. Dean wasn't selling himself like he was worth something. He wasn't worth anything. He was just _using_ himself. He'd thrown his body at Sam and Sam had snatched it up and listened.

It had worked, it had worked. Dean felt like curling into a ball and sobbing, crying out those three words over and over. It had worked, it had worked. God, his body was worth so little that he could use it as a fucking tool. Not even a weapon. Just to get at Sammy's mind. Dean's body wasn't something to even be bargained with, it was just tossed at the nearest thing that would snatch it up and he got his way.

It had worked. It had worked. 

He'd never felt worse in his life. But he wasn't crumpling to the ground now. He had some blood he needed to spill first. He had a murder to attend to. Then he could get back to hating himself. 

He slid his finger along the edge of the blade, walking slowly in front of Gadreel, turning his back to the angel. First, introduction of control. Giving Gadreel irrelevance with the nonchalant turn of Dean's back to him. Dean could care less, he had more people to torture just lined up down the block. People were terrified of irrelevance and that was the first thing Dean always gave them.

Gadreel wasn't quite catching on yet, though. Which was fine, Dean had all the time in the world. The only person he had waiting in line to be tortured after this was the man in the mirror.

"So, he acts tough, and you show kindness. Is that how this works?" Gadreel tried to sass, glaring at Dean's back with a gaze that didn't even threaten to burn him. 

Dean slowly swiveled around to face Gadreel, painting on the most _bitch, you're kidding, right?_ face he owned.

"No," Dean said axiomatically, shaking his head like Gadreel was a fucking idiot. There was a fire behind his coronas but Dean forced himself a little numb-er. He had to have absolute control. "See, I don't care whether you talk. You're gonna pay for what you did to him...and Kevin."

The word _him_ out of Dean's mouth felt possessive and dark and kind of fitting. It wasn't like saying Sam, because everyone Dean was talking about was always Sam anyways. If he ever said _him_ , him was always Sam for Dean.

Ribbons of ruby red trailed prettily down Gadreel's arm as Dean sketched a deep, curving line across his canvas. The scream it evoked was beautiful, an orchestra of desperate sounds and breaking bodies. The power rush filled Dean up from his fingertips to his soul. All those throat-ripping screams were for him. It was calming, centering, dragging the sharp of the blade through the smooth, soft material of human flesh. It just caves, splits right open for him and gifts Dean with a river of sparking red. And he hadn't even gotten to the good part yet. Right now he was just torturing for information. Gadreel had a reason to resist him, a reason to feel strong for every time he didn't spill his guts. 

But once Dean decided he had what he needed from the bastard, he could stop torturing for information. And start carving up for pleasure. Then the screams would all be pleading, begging. Begging for Dean to stop and Dean would just smile and slice deeper. That was the best part. 

He stepped away from the tied victim, fingers trailing affectionately over the edge of his blade before he began to clean it, speaking loud enough that Gadreel would be able to hear him over the screaming.

"Word around the campfire is, you let the snake into the garden, ruined it for all humanity," Dean accused, just to push buttons. It was already determined as a sore spot for the angel, he'd spent thousands of year locked away because of it. When Dean was done with him, he'd be wishing he was locked away again. Anything would be better than what Dean had planned for him. 

"I set them free," Gadreel gasped, sucking in air around the pain. If Dean could get at the right angle, he might be able so sink the tip of his blade into Gadreel's torso, puncture a lung, and watch and wait as the oxygen slowly leaks out of him. He'd just have to make sure the hole wasn't big enough for vital blood loss. If he bled out that'd be no fun. Gadreel sucked more air into his lungs, nearly spitting out the next few breathy words. "I _loved_ humanity."

Dean just pursed his lips, not particularly impressed. "Well, you sure got got a funny way of showing it, asshat." 

With a careful, deliberate step towards Gadreel's left, Dean began to circle him. Slowly, calculating, just taking his time as he gave Gadreel the uneasy feeling of being unable to see Dean. It was a psychological play of how trapped you were, making the circle a little smaller every time. By Dean walking all the way around Gadreel's body he showed his complete control, edging Gadreel closer to complete surrender.

"Now, look, you tell me about this "getting back into heaven" crap and I'll end this quick. Otherwise, you can sit here and rot in those chains forever. Up to you." Choices, promises of a way out. Putting the blame of their own death on themselves. It was a beautiful technique, Dean loved making people feel like they were the guilty ones, the ones getting themselves deeper into this mess. Because even if they choose not to talk, they know it could have ended differently if they did. Self-sentencing, it was absolutely artful. The blame switches from outward, external hatred of Dean to shameful, internal hatred of themselves. Especially the stubborn ones. The more stubborn the better.

"All your talk, all your bluster..." Dean had completed his circle, didn't even turn back to look at Gadreel. He kept his back to him, staring off at the wall as he listened to Gadreel's attempt at getting to Dean's head. He doubted he'd be impressed."...you think you are invincible. The two of you against the world, right?"

_Their shared soulmate heaven, standing in front of the shack they were in the night Sam ditched for Stanford: It's supposed to be you and me against the world, right? Dean, it is. Is it?_

"Damn straight," Dean answered instantly, his voice a thousand times more steady and sure than his head was. Of course that would be Gadreel's play, Dean would have to be an idiot to think Gadreel wouldn't try to use Sam to break Dean. 

That didn't stop Dean's eyes from flickering across the wall, trying to find something to get a grip on. His head was trying to engage in a full on civil war and Dean was supposed to be _focusing_....

The battle shoved its way forward to the front of Dean's focus, his thoughts of torture slipping underneath a layer as his head replayed that question and answer over and over again in his head. _The two of you against the world, right? Damn straight_. The factory lights were shining down bright from one side of Dean's face, pure darkness comforting the other. He was split right down the middle in every sense. 

_Damn straight_ was a lie that even Dean couldn't make himself believe anymore. The two sides of his brain and his body clashed, one fighting for truth and instinct and years and years of trust, so much trust. The other clawed and screamed of lies and Sam's biting words _no, I wouldn't_ and months and months of _HE DOESN'T FUCKING LOVE YOU ANYMORE_. White and black bit at each other and wrestled through Dean's brain, taking down walls as they collided, crashing into thoughts and distorting them into the fight. 

Pick a side, pick a side. The side of the angels, white white white. Dean Winchester; father, son, brother, lover, hunter. Pick a side, draw in closer, the pull of the blackness inside his soul, dark dark dark. Dean Winchester; Alistair protégé, compulsive liar, unforgiving sinner, scariest monster in purgatory, selfish little bitch that couldn't let go of the grip on his brother. 

He might have stood there forever, just waited it out with eyes closed as his body and his mind battled, battled for who he was and who he was supposed to be. He'd been Michael's sword once. The most pure and beautiful and _good_ of the angels. And Dean had proved even better than that, had proved he was more good and more light and more pure than the angel who could kill his brother. Dean could save the world and save his family too. He'd been the righteous man and his soul had been twisted. He'd broken. He'd broken and god, it had ruined everything. He was weak. Weak weak weak. 

But when he broke, he'd gotten this. He'd been handed a knife and a corpse and told to just _create_. How was that breaking again? He'd been givevn the world. The entire planet, sprawled in fear across his feet. Dean'd have stood there in that factory forever and let the battle commence. 

Then Gadreel spoke up againi and the battle was pressed carefully on paused, thoughts of torture resurfacing.

"You really think Sam would do anything for you?" Gadreel hissed, mocking him.

With his back to Gadreel, he could _feel_ his face looking completely broken. He could feel the sadness settling in his bones, the regret and the pain and the fear and the madness and the anger and the betrayal because _Sam was supposed to love him_ and he didn't. He didn't, not anymore. Damn straight. It wasn't them against the world, it was another colorful lie. 

But when he tured back around to face Gadreel, his walls came up. His face patched over, just steeled and ready for anything. He was still in control. Shooting down lethal bullets from his vantage point at the top of his barricade, from the top of his walls. Gadreel wasn't going to be able to break them down _that_ easily.

"Oh, I know he would," Dean replied, eyebrows raised. It was easy to say out loud. Easy to take a step back into the past, forget the past few months and just step back a year to when he said that and meant it. A miniature time travel and it was a different Dean, a younger one and less broken one, who easily slid the lie off his tongue. 

"I have been in your brother's body, Dean." 

The cocky time travel halted in its tracks and Dean was so in the present that he almost got whiplash, staring at Gadreel. Everything went as cold as Lucifer, pure ice cold. Dean splintered out the freeze of his body, penetrating Gadreel with an ice cold glare. Those words sunk so deep inside of Dean that he wouldn't be mentally able to detach himself anymore. 

Gadreel knew exactly what he was saying, both implications. The issue of Sam's consent was just the topic today, wasn't it? His jaw tightened, clicking in barely contained raw anger. If Dean wasn't trained so well at torture and so versed in pain, then he'd have stabbed Gadreel just for that. Then Gadreel kept going, driving his point harder and hitting home, dead center.

"He would not trade his life for yours."

The words were meant to cut, but Dean just smirked, one side of his mouth dipping painfully into the side of his cheek. He could hold all of that crap in. It hurt coming from this bastard's mouth, but that was nothing compared to some of the things he'd heard in a voice that meant a hell of a lot more to Dean's mind.

"Well, thanks for the rerun, pal. Sam's already told me all that crap." Dean wasn't going to give Gadreel the upperhand for one moment. Especially not about _Sam_. "Hell, he's told me worse," Dean added sadistically. _I don't love you_. Yeah, he had heard that loud and clear. 

"He told you that he has always felt that way," Gadreel clarified, the question worded like a statement to fight. Dean stopped. His eyes turned on Gadreel, staring blankly at him. Normally he'd be quick to shut this guy down, saying he didn't know Sam. But Gadreel had been inside Sam's brain. He was the only one who'd actually know. And he kept going, driving the knife of words deeper into Dean with a single strike than Dean had the entire time he'd been torturing the angel.

"That he thinks you are just a scared little boy who's afraid to be on his own because daddy never loved him enough?" The scorn and disgust in Gadreel's words were almost matched up to the way Sam might say that. Dean just raised his eyebrows, nodding slightly to himself. So far, all fucking true. Yep. Basically. 

"And he is right, isn't he?" Gadreel pushed. About that, probably yes. That's probably exactly what Sam thought of him. Which meant Gadreel did know. Gadreel actually had tapped into that. And he was telling Dean. 

Or could stab the angel in the center of the chest before he spoke another word. Dean looked at the angel blade in his hands, contemplating his next step. Turns out he didn't get much of a choice, because Gadreel kept talking. 

"Right to think you are a coward." Sam had called him that to his face before, hadn't he?

"A _sad, clingy_ \--" Dean lifted his head at that one, his eyes looking at nothing as he stared off into blackness. He'd known it, he'd known that he'd always held on to Sam so much tighter than Sam had to him, hadn't he?

" _Needy_..." Gadreel continued. 

Needy. Dean didn't even have the ability to process that one without losing it. No, fuck, he was losing it anyways. One second he was okay, had a handle on everything, then the next his fist was crashing into Gadreel's face, splitting open something in his mouth and making him bleed like a turned-on faucet.

"Keep it up!" Dean half growled, half shouted in Gadreel's face. Anyone else would have fallen silent, but this bastard was so damn stubborn he just lifted his head again, glaring at Dean as he _kept fucking go_.

" _Pathetic, bottom-feeder_ -" Dean turned away from Gadreel, flipping the angel blade in his hand to keep from sinking it in Gadreel's chest. He didn't even look at the angel as he stepped away. "--who cannot even take care of himself," Dean slid his finger carefully along the side of the blade, polluting it with a drop of his own blood. Watching the red drip and wondering if he'd ever wash himself free of red. Of pathetic. Of can't take care of himself, _needy_.

How many times had he pulled Sam along with him? How many times had Dean reached out for Sam and whined that he was cold? How many times had Dean needed constant reassurance that Sam loved him? How many times had he been so fucking _needy_ and _pathetic_ , just rolling over so that Sam would take him?

"Who would rather drag _everyone_ through the mud than be alone--" His back was to Gadreel as he stared at the wall in front of him blankly. He wasn't seeing anything, not even Sam. Just. Nothing. Blank. Alone, wasn't that what he was supposed to be? Wasn't that what he was so afraid of? 

No, this fucker couldn't box Dean up like that. He wasn't fucking afraid. Not anymore. He was enraged. He knew what he was doing before he started to turn back around, angel blade too tight in his hand as the red bubbled in his mouth. Red red red everywhere. Dean wasn't the one who was about to be afraid. 

"--who would let everyone around him die!" Gadreel finished with a shout. His final shout. 

Dean couldn't take it anymore. There was no fear in him - not anymore - and it was only pain and anger he was thinking of as he stepped swiftly forward, swinging the angel blade directly into line with Gadreel's chest. The end of angel. The end of another _thing_ that thought they could tell Dean how he felt. How he was supposed to feel. 

His eyes flicked to Gadreel's, needing to soak up the gorgeous fading light as Dean took another life into his own hands and crushed it. Owned yet another victim. 

Gadreel wasn't looking at him in fear. He wasn't even looking at Dean, let alone afraid. His eyes were closed in peacefulness, thankfulness. Just waiting for the death strike. Dean stopped in an instant, the blade inches from penetrating Gadreel's flesh. 

He wasn't going to kill someone who wanted to die. He wasn't going to kill someone if he didn't get to watch every moment of their fear and hold that suspended over their heads until they succumbed their lives to him like the sacrifices of olden worship. 

The silence sunk in and Gadreel suddenly opened his eyes in panic. "No," he voice, horrified. Then he lost it. "Do it! _Do it!_ Kill me!!!"

That entire conversation. Dean had been reading him and trying to crack him and understand. But Gadreel wanted to die and suddenly everything wasn't so black and white. Dean didn't do shades of gray. But clearly, Gadreel was not who Dean thought he was, just some two dimensional bad guy. 

Which was infuriating. Because if this guy had more to him that meant it wasn't a clear Kill or Don't Kill situation. He'd have to evaluate things, figure out what the hell was going on if this guy wanted to die. He'd been thrown bigger loops with tougher subjects in his hands and Dean had broken them. So he just started talking, working things out through his words and judging his accuracy on based on Gadreel's reactions. 

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Dean said darkly, his voice made of sharpened ice crystals. "That's what that whole speech was about?"

He waved his blade to indicate the conversation they'd just had. Maybe Gadreel really didn't know, then. Did it matter? Dean knew it was all true. 

But then why would Gadreel say it? To lead directly to his own death. So he'd found it - this was it. This was what would break the Angel. He saw the weakness and Dean was fucking pouncing.

"You're not afraid to die, are you?" Dean snaked his way down to eye level with Gadreel, scared and ready to die meeting scary and ready to die. He could feel every ounce of his core thrumming with the violence, thrumming with the control. He'd found the advantage and there was no going back now. ~~No going back from the darkness inside him too~~.

"You're afraid to be left in these chains forever," Dean said slowly, each word calculating and cold like the slow drive of an icicle into a heart. He watched Gadreel's face, gagging the reaction to the words that had just come to Dean now. Gadreel looked up at Dean and the only thing Dean could see in those eyes was a mirror. Just his own reflection staring back at him in dark angel eyes and was more sure than anything he'd been in his life that right now, there are two men standing here who wished the angel blade would just be shoved through their heart already. That's what fueled his next words, because this bastard didn't get the bliss of death if Dean didn't. "Well, you can sit here and _rot_ , you son of bitch."

He turned heel and he didn't look back. Dean left Gadreel behind him, angel blade held too tightly in his palm. He wasn't going to die. He couldn't die yet. Not until he'd destroyed all the creatures that deserved to suffer at his hand. 

Gadreel had said Sam's insides were shame and weakness, what would he think of Dean's?

 

He'd been in some pretty dark places before. There had been moments in his life that Dean had reached that ultimate low...or at least close enough to consider it. 

When Sam left for Stanford, Dean hit the bottom pretty damn hard. He was messed up and dangerous, but he never actually considered hurting himself. Sammy was still out there, it wasn't over. But then when Sam died - stabbed through the spinal chord - it _was_ over. That was the first time Dean considered it for real. (Of course, not counting the time he'd knifed his own stomach in the djinn dream). He'd ducked behind the steering wheel of his car and angled her for the nearest cliff. The only thing that stopped him then were the crossroads. Which he hadn't even thought of til he drove over them. So, crisis one averted. 

Then he had a year before he was going to get whisked off to Hell and at first, he'd done some pretty stupid things. Not necessarily trying to get himself killed, just kind of putting himself in the position and hoping it would happen. He couldn't stand the anticipation. He couldn't stand waiting. An entire year before his life was over and the idea counting down the days seemed worse than just ending it now. He ended up getting talked out of that by Sam, who was so sure they could extend the year. 

And when he got _back_ from hell, he hadn't exactly wanted to die, he just didn't deserve to live. Which wasn't the same thing - he didn't want to actively throw away his life. And once he'd gotten out of the rut of totally hating himself for that, the whole Lucifer thing got dropped on them. And Dean was ready to die as Michael's vessel if it was his destiny. Honestly that had been a search for redemption. All the souls in hell that he'd killed in return for the sacrifice of his own, hoping to save that many by letting Michael in. He'd been talked out of that one too. No redemption for Dean. 

Then Sam had said yes and jumped and it was the second time Dean had almost followed him down. Kneeling there where Sam had jumped, broken and bruised and bloody, Dean wanted to die too. He wanted it more than anything. But Cas healed him and sent him off to Lisa and Dean spent a whole year having nightmares and hating himself and wishing he had the guts to put a billet in his mouth. 

Sam came back, soulless. Dean was messed up but he wasn't suicidal. No, the next time after the pit that Dean had been inches from ending his life was the day Bobby's house burned down. That one was a damned vivid memory, because Dean had been so damn serious about killing himself and it was the first time he'd told somebody. He still could remember the phone call to Bobby, walking between the rusty smell of metal and car oil with the hollow smoking shell of their only home behind them. 

"You cannot be in that crater back there. I can’t... If you’re gone, I swear, I am going to strap my Beautiful Mind brother into the car and I’m gonna drive us off the pier. You asked me how I was doing? Well, not good." 

It had been rock bottom then. Dean wasn't kidding at the time, he was absolutely ready to pull that final trigger. He was even going to do it with Sam at his side. They'd go together, the way they were supposed to. He was so damn ready because Cas had just died, monsters had taken over the world, and Sam had just nearly shot him in a warehouse, screaming that he couldn't know whether or not Dean was real. Dean didn't have a single thing to live for if Bobby had just been burned alive. 

Bobby had never approached him about that voicemail. Dean could never figure out why. He'd spent the next year sans Cas, with Sam off his rocker. But he told himself there were better ways out than killing them both. He eventually crawled back up off rock bottom.

Finally Dean ended up in Purgatory and he'd never had a stronger urge to live. He was filled with purpose and the beautiful qualities of a slaughterer and he was the scariest thing that walked that place. Clean, pure. He'd come back and Sam hadn't looked for him and it was all so damned terrible that Dean didn't want to die, he just wanted to go back to Purgatory. 

Then the trials hit and Dean was ready to die for those too. Finally. God, he'd been having off and on suicidal thoughts since he was twenty seven, it was about time. Then stupid ass Sam took the trials and that opportunity slipped away too. Because Dean was too busy trying to talk _Sam_ out of suicide, preoccupied with fixing Sam all the way until Kevin died. 

Than Dean turned to pills and alcohol, waiting for one or both to end him because he was too cowardly to pull the trigger. Then he'd gotten the mark and everything inside Dean amplified. The anger at himself bottled up and he finally had the choice to shoot it outwards. 

He'd been stupid enough and weak enough to get captured by Magnus. He should have been able to fight him and instead he was hogtied like a little bitch, made to do whatever Magnus wanted. Dean hated himself, truly despised every inch of what was inside him. But the burn in his arm let him turn that around for a brief moment, let him turn the hate for himself into red red red and slide his blade clean through Magnus's neck. Headshot. Slice. Roll. 

That's what was so damn addicting about that blade. It let him turn the internal hate to external and that gave him so much power. All while offering a simple, beautiful few seconds where he didn't hate himself, he just hated everything else. The relief to not want to die, to just want to kill instead? It was better than any relief Dean could imagine. 

This had been years and years and years in the making. A waiting cliff for his car, the gun in his jeans. The pills and the whiskey, the beaten broken bloody bones of his skeleton. Once, he'd chopped off the head of a Leviathan wearing his face and the first thing out of his mouth was "Wow, that felt good." 

He'd always been this way. He had so much hatred for himself, always had. But what he'd just pulled back there, right now, with Sam? Using his touch to get to Sam's head like that; overruling years of stubborn and miles of pain from Gadreel with his body...he'd done that to Sam. Even worse he'd done that to himself. His body was less than worthless, it was hysterical something to fling around, something to be used how other people wanted to. 

Sam had wanted Dean like that today and Dean had known that. Given himself over, used himself and It had worked. Sam had gone along with it and _fuck_ he was nothing but pretty eyes and warm hands and a tight chest to Sam, was he? Sam just got caught up in Dean's body the way everyone else did. Sam did today. 

The one person that was supposed to love Dean for his insides still managed to be blinded by the physical. Sam didn't love Dean, not for his insides. Not at all. How many times had Sam told him he was beautiful? How many times had they slept together and not talked about it? Oh, wait, that was every time. 

Dean just wanted to peel off his skin, slice it away. Mangle his body and see if Sam would fucking talk to him then. See if Sam would have still wanted someone who wasn't so _pretty_.

He'd been low before. He'd been plenty low before. But tonight he had every suicidal thought from every dark time before resurfaced in his head. 

He had an angel down this hallway that had killed Dean and Sam's practically adopted kid. It was their damb responsibility to look out for him and one of the best, brightest, most incredible kids was dead because of Dean. And that angel. Not to mention everything with Sam. 

Gadreel had taken Sam away from him and that doesn't get forgiven. That simple. 

Dean pushed open the door to the bathroom, a grimy row of sinks and fogged mirrors the welcome wagon for Dean's thoughts. It was filthy and disgusting and deteriorating. Just like Dean, so for once, outsides matched the insides.

He stepped up to one of the first sinks, flipping the angel blade in his hand. This blade could end it all. A single Stan to his chest and it would be over. He'd been a coward forever. Too afraid to end himself. Coward. Needy. Pathetic bottom-feeder. Right, Sam? 

The blade had been facing outwards - towards Gadreel - but as Dean flipped it he caught it on the sharp side. Slicing into his palm just a little, a tiny knick of relieving, sharp, promising pain. Then he say it down in the sink, blade facing towards him. It slipped a little against the porcelain and Dean straightened the glare back out, making sure it was angled at him. 

The threat of a knife in his direction. It was a curl of thrill in his stomach just at the thought, consuming at the sight. 

He sat his phone down next, taking a second to disconnect himself from Sam. Sammy clouded his judgement. Dean needed to think without having Sam upfront and foremost in his head right now. 

Then Dean looked up at the mirror. The glass was mottled and smeared and distorted and look, didn't that just for the image of Dean's face perfectly. He hates that face. And that body. And he triple hates everything inside of it. 

He was a killer and a solider and a failed one at that. He was a liar and a cheater and so so worthless. He'd killed more than he saved. He got a thrill out of torture that he couldn't get anywhere else. He was messed up, fucked up, in his head and his body. He liked it too rough, liked Sam to make him bleed and carve him open after he screwed him. He liked to be ruined and have his bottom lip bitten bloody. He was in love with his goddamned brother, had dragged Sam down with him. There was something wrong with him, something so wrong with him. He had dreams about killing people and nightmares about saving them. He craved - more than anything - the power rush of someone's life in his hands. He could take that away. He could delve his hands into blood and watch them drop and he'd be able to control someone else's existence for a moment. Because fuck knows, Dean had no control over his own. 

He swiped his hand over the glass, clearing up the image more. The look in those _beautiful_ green eyes. If he could gouge out the green and still see the world around him, he'd have done it a decade ago. But they weren't the steely evil Dean had thought he would see. They weren't the scary, murderous eyes that he should be wearing. They were scared. Broken. Weak. Shameful. 

Gadreel had said Sam's insides reeked of shame and weakness. Was that why? Was that why Sam couldn't forgive him? What if that wasn't even about Dean anymore? Maybe San's failure was not with Dean, maybe it was with himself. What if Sam couldn't find the redemption for his own soul? Somehow didn't believe he was worthy of Dean's forgiveness. 

Wouldn't that just be ironic. Wouldn't that just be fitting. Both of them hating themselves, ashamed and weak. Thinking the other hated them. 

But that couldn't be the case because Sam was better than him. He may just see Dean's body and he may not love Dean at all - or if Gadreel was right - he never had. Sam thought he was clingy. Weak. Needy. A scared little boy. Pathetic. Dragging everyone else down with him. 

It was Dean's fault. He was too late, he'd broken Sam. A long time ago he'd made Sam hate him and they'd never come back from that. They'd never come back from the night Sam left and had his heart broken because the boy he'd lived for six years wouldn't stand up for him. They'd never come back from the night Sam left and Dean's heart was broke. Because he realized that he was in love with the boy abandoning Dean for a normal life. Dean thought he wasn't good enough to make Sam stay. Sam thought he wasn't good enough for Dean to disobey Dad. Sam put normal first, Dean put Dad first. 

They'd lost each other that night and they'd never come back from it. They'd chosen something over each other and they would _never_ come back from that. 

His eyes left the cleared mirror quickly because Dean couldn't look at that face. Haunted, that's what he was. Haunted by the ghost of Sam's love, haunted by the souls he'd tortured. Haunted by the remnants of his own beautiful mind that was a one track road for the right thing. Saving people, saving human lives. 

Dean ducked his head down, turned on the rusty faucet. His entire life, he'd turned to this to clear his head. His entire life, since he was old enough to reach the sink, this had cleared his head. He could cup cold water in his hands and splash his face with it, look up at the mirror and be okay. See everything with the clarity that he couldn't before. 

He scrubbed at his hands, trying to get them clean. They were never going to be clean. Dean was never going to be able to wash this out. He could crib until his skin peeled, grab onto the outer layer and keep peeling until he was no more, just muscles and bone and wide, pretty green eyes. He still wouldn't be clean. This water couldn't save him now. It was in his vines, the things he'd done. The things he was. In his bones. 

Those dirty hands cupped under the stream, pooling water like wanted salvation in his palms. He brought his face down lower, splashed what should be clear and crystal and cooling over his face. It felt like matted, watery blood. He splashed his face again, because this was supposed to work. The water on his face was always the clarity he needed. 

He'd gotten dark and he'd hated himself before but this could do it. This could get him out of that rut because this was a promise, a way to find a solution. He had been in some terrible places before. But Dean had never thought there'd be a time that he was _so low_ that a splash of water to the face and a tug of whiskey wouldn't make him at least see a way out. He'd always been able to find a way out of whatever dark pit he'd been thrown into. In all those years of pain and torture and almost driving off a cliff, there had always been a way out.

There wasn't a way out anymore, was there?

Dean looked back up at the mirror, his face dripping wet and clear. He was fully surprised to see it wasn't coated in bloody red instead. Dean looked back at that reflection staring at him in the mirror and Dean doesn't know that man anymore. He doesn't know who that man in the mirror is. What the look on his face means. Dean doesn't know him.

If it were possible for the old version of Dean to be living inside himself right now, he'd be clawing at the surface. Begging Dean not to do this. Telling him there was always a way out. He knew the old him would have said that. He knew how much of a coward he was. 

Everyone kept telling him he was so worthy. How was he worthy? The only thing he was worthy of was the fucking mark of murder.

Dean looked down, pulling up his sleeve to look at the mark. Red ugly raised skin. He could recognize that. The face in the mirror was strange but this at least felt like it matched what he felt like on the inside. Maybe if he could destroy it on the outside, it'd destroy the matching red ugly scarred pieces of Dean on the inside. 

He brought his other hand up, clawed fingernails into the skin. Imagined ripping it right out. But the pain, the sudden sharp, crippling _burn_ ripped through him and he couldn't tear it out, he could only just gasp in pain. If he grabbed the angel blade, set it to the raised red burn, carved open his skin...would the red that left him burn away the red in his vision too? 

Dean's gaze cut back to the mirror. It'd be easy enough. He had the guts to do it this time. Years built up and now Dean finally had the courage to drive the knife through his stomach. His heart. His neck. His brain. It didn't matter. He could do it. He finally had the strength to do this. He should have done it years ago. 

The man staring back at him didn't deserve to live. Not another minute. He could end it right here, in this shitty bathroom. In front of that dirty mirror. It'd be kind of symbolic, right? He'd didn't his childhood growing up in places like this. Just comin' back home. 

But he didn't deserve to go back home yet. No, there was one more thing he had to do. One more soul left to torture. He wasn't going to fucking die until the bastard angel out there had felt more pain than he knew possible. Gadreel didn't deserve to live, just like Dean didn't. Tonight he could take Gadreel down. Then Dean could drive the knife into his own heart. Two good deeds at the end, right?

Before he could change his mind, Dean quickly stalked away from the mirror, abandoning the man in it one last time. With a steady hand - steadier and more determined and sure than he'd been in years - he snatched up the angel blade, headed for the door. He was going to fucking kill that bastard. 

Honestly, Dean didn't deserve to die by an Angel blade. He was the furthest thing from angelic he knew. But a knife was a knife. Unless he found something better. After Gadreel, that is. First things first. 

There were two slaughterings on high tide tonight and Dean was going to enjoy them both so very much.

~*~*~*~

A few years back, in the height of his hallucinations and pestered from the beginnings of Lucifer's appearance, Sam had almost taken his own life. He hadn't been on the edge, not that bad really, just that the imaginary Devil in front of him was telling him to put the pistol to his own mouth. It had been terrifying, worse than anything he'd known, but even at the time, the option seemed ludicrous and unreal. Never something he'd do. Of course that changed when Dean went to Purgatory, but that was a different story. 

Dean had been around the first time Sam considered killing himself as a way out. Not to follow his brother, but to end misery. Dean had been there during Sam's hallucinations and as hellish as they'd been for Sam, he'd never been able to fathom the kind of pain that had put Dean through. 

Knowing Sam was hurting, not knowing how to help. Invisible demons and a shut off mind and no way to hack into a brain - useless. Then watching the thread of life start to slip from Sam's hold...to watch the pain turn inwards to desperation and a deep need for it all to just be _over_. As awful as it was to go through the pain himself, Sam had always thought Dean must have had it worse. He'd never be able to handle that if their positions were reversed. 

Well, he ended up being right about the handling part. 

The moment Dean's voice went to voicemail, Sam knew something was wrong. Well, he'd known something was wrong for weeks, he'd just been dodging that, trying to get them through it. Keeping an eye on Dean came before everything else, and driving back to the warehouse Sam cursed himself for leaving Dean alone. 

It was just that Dean had seemed so sure, so steady and calm and warm and consuming in a way that overruled every one of Sam's fight responses. He'd traipsed over three towns to find Cas, just because Dean had asked nicely. And he'd been wickedly disoriented when he'd agreed, the too-recent memory of Dean's hands on him still seared into his flesh when he agreed.

So Sam should have seen it coming but he'd been blinded by calluses hands and a gunpowder grin. 

He came not-quite-running into the factory, refusing to let himself panic. It was a missed phone call, a couple of missed phone calls. Dean could handle an angel that was roped and tied and out of commission. 

And then Sam saw the chair. He let the curl of panic in at that point because the floor was pooled with blood, the steel overturned and bounds gone, sigil paint smeared and ruined. The overhead factory lights were harsh and biting against the reflection of the blood. There was so much blood.

"Dean?" Sam looked around wildly, searching for any sign of his brother. His heart stopped the moment his eyes found the body, slumped against the wall. On the ground, unconscious, and shining with blood from here. "DEAN!"

The room rushed by under his feet and then Sam was crouching at Dean's side, hands reaching out before a brief movement made him freeze. Dean was stirring - barely - but regaining consciousness. Unwelcome hands on him might trigger some sort of panic attack right now, which Sam couldn't risk. He had no idea what was going on, but making it worse would be terrible no matter the situation.

"Dean. Hey! Are... are you okay?" Sam looked over his brother from a foot away, taking in the subtle tremors of shock running through him, his split and bloody knuckles. The dazed, not-there expression on Dean's face. Like the time Sam had found him roofied. Dean looked _drugged_.

"Yeah. Yeah, you got to stop asking me that," Dean breathed, tipping his head back against the wall. He still had that glaze in his eyes that meant he wasn't all here and Sam just wanted to hold his stupid jaw in his hands and force Dean to look at him, bandage up his bloodied knuckles and make him stop lying to Sam for once.

"I've been calling you," Sam kept his hands to himself, trying not to panic even though Dean was out of it and bloody and he hadn't bothered to pick up the phone and clearly, something had happened and Sam was still in the dark and yeah, he was freaking out but Dean's knuckles were split and that hadn't happened in _years_ and Sam still didn't know what the hell was going on. "I mean, w-why didn't you, uh..." 

He got his answer as Dean tilted his head, just a little, just enough to make Sam's eyes cut past him. Gadreel's body was lying there, soaked through with blood. Sam couldn't tell if he was alive or not. 

"He won't talk," Dean said suddenly, his voice too loud. Sam knew almost every trigger of Dean's, every sign of something being off. This wasn't just off, this wasn't just an impending panic attack. 

This was a fucking storm. The look on Dean's face, the way his ears weren't hearing his own words. Suddenly his worry took a very insignificant back burner and Sam instantly stopped trying to ask questions. Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. Dean wasn't even here right now _at all_ , was he? Sam had thought that Dean's space outs from the past week were bad, but that was nothing compared to this.

"I figured," Sam said gently. Dean leaned forward a little, looking desperately up at Sam with eyes that didn't see him. The world around them froze, air painted in red as haunted words fell from those lips.

"He wanted to die." The words were distorted, in someone else's voice. That wasn't Dean speaking. 

Sam's breath caught. That hadn't sounded like Dean's voice at all. It wasn't that Dean was spaced out - Dean wasn't the one in control of his mouth right now. And the "he" that was just spoken from those lips wasn't Gadreel, was it?

And all Sam could picture was someone else in Dean's head, saying those things about _Dean_. The monster that was using Dean's mouth was talking about Dean, not Gadreel, and Sam had no idea how he knew that except that this _wasn't Dean_. His voice was wrong, his eyes were wrong, his entire body was off. This monster had taken ahold and now he was trying to tell Sam something. Something about Dean. 

Dean had wanted to die. The words were so damn clear that Sam could have cut himself on the crystals of it. The oxygen left his lungs. He couldn't take this right now. But he had to breathe if he was going to help Dean. Dean needed him. Someone else was inside his brother and Sam had to help Dean back out. 

"...and I was gonna kill him. I was." The voice spoke again, using Dean's mouth to talk about himself.

It was a threat, not a narrative. A promise, not a story. Sam stopped, leaning back on his heels. God, the fucking look in Dean's eyes. That wasn't Sam's Dean. This wasn't Sam's Dean. He was still talking about himself, wasn't he? Somehow this was about Dean, not Gadreel, and Sam couldn't do this alone anymore. Sam couldn't do this alone. He wasn't big enough to stop this. He wasn't big enough to handle this. 

If Dean really wanted to die - had been planning to kill himself, then Sam was so far in the dark that he couldn't help, he had no where to go with this. Dean's voice got a little weaker, his eyes a little glassier.

"But then I stopped 'cause I know we need him to talk." Dean was beating himself up, that last sentence might as well have been bashing his head against the wall the way that he spoke. Sam held his breath to try to snuff out the worry creased between his eyebrows. He had to be fucking blank for this until he figured this out. He needed help, Sam needed help and if he lost Dean because he was screwing up and saying the wrong thing or looking too worried, Sam would follow Dean seconds after.

They couldn't do this right now. They had to talk about something else, they had to. Forgetting about it obviously wasn't an option, but if they were going to tackle this head on, Sam needed backup. But right now, he just needed to get Dean's mind off of this. He'd seen the way Dean had lit up at Cas's voice earlier. He had to give Dean some bit of hope. He had to give Dean something to live for because Dean wasn't living for himself anymore. And he sure as hell wasn't living for Sam either. 

But a guardian angel that's always been a soft spot, a savior in times that Sam couldn't be? Cas had gotten Dean out of hell, the worst place Dean had been. Cas had (kinda) gotten Dean (at least mentally) out of Purgatory. Cas had always saved him in Dean's darkest hours and Sam had always failed Dean in those same hours. 

Sam needed Dean to focus on Cas right now, because he had a feeling this could very quickly turn into the darkest hour they'd had yet. He wasn't going to lose his brother to whatever thing was clawing at him now, keeping Dean from his own body, his own mind.

"Dean, listen. Metatron has Cas." It would have been a random thing to blurt out if he didn't have ulterior motives for saying it, but thank god, it worked. Dean's head turned on the word. On Cas's name, he turned his head and now he was looking at Sam with eyes that were a hell of a lot less glassy. Just the name and Dean was coming back to him, starting to look less like the monster and a little more like Dean. 

A confused, hurting Dean, but still his brother. His eyes - even less glassy now - were darting around the room and over Sam like it was the first time seeing them. Like he didn't know where he was, but Sam was talking about something important so he was going to try to listen. Sam carefully kept going. "He's offering up a trade."

Dean blinked at him, twice, slowly, then turned his head away. Looked behind him, saw the body. And he jumped, startled. Seeing the damage for the first time with his own eyes. God, Dean was back. Sam hadn't been enough to bring him back, but that hope, that sliver of hope that Cas gave him...that had been enough. Sam wanted to breathe out in relief, wanted to sob into Dean's shoulders. God, Dean was back. 

He was still out of whack, still fairly confused. His hand slid over the mark on his arm and Sam forced himself not to pry Dean off of it. Or it off of Dean. Then Dean was looking back up at him, real and present and in so much pain that Sam wanted to cry. Dean had wanted to die. 

"We can't trust Metatron." His voice was rough, like he'd swallowed knives, his entire face twisted up in pain as the state of his body started to come back to him. And the state of his mind.

Sam still wasn't quite equipped to handle this. Dean was coming back to him, but he was in no way stable. Not at all. Sam had to have him clinging to that hope of seeing Cas, of saving Cas. Dean couldn't just shut that out with a _we can't trust metatron_. Sam stumbled over himself, too eager as he tried to get Dean back on the track of hope. They were going to make it through this.

"I-I know that. Obviously. But look, this is the first time we're gonna know for sure where Metatron is. Let's take Gadreel to the meet-up, make the exchange, and then trap Metatron."

Dean's eyes went from Sam's to scan the basement over, searching for something like he was lost. Then the darkened green eyes landed on Sam's again and he looked so small, so helpless. His entire life, Dean had been unable to verbalize that he needed help, but right now it was written all over his face, asilent cry for something in the darkness. He needed Sam and he was reaching out with invisible hands that had been about to choke himself instead. 

Sam could cry with relief. He was actually a little surprised he hadn't cried at all yet.

"Here, I'll help you up." Dean didn't protest as Sam grabbed one of his hands and tugged him to his feet, holding Dean's bicep securely. He didn't exactly sink into Sam's arms either though. So Sam let him go, watching cautiously as Dean stumbled for a moment before regaining his balance 

Sam had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from reaching out to Dean. He wanted to just grab onto that stupid muscular body and never ever let go. If Sam had been twenty minutes later, what would he have come back to? What would....he couldn't think about that. It hadn't happened.

But it might come close to happening again if Sam didn't get some back up.

~*~*~*~*

It wasn't a matter of who loved Dean most anymore. The petty love triangle held no importance in the grand scheme of things. It was as simple as this: Dean might be suicidal and it wasn't Sam's name that broke him out of his bloody daze. 

And then they got Cas back. They traded the bastard Gadreel but honestly, Sam could care less about that because there might be a way to help Dean, now that Cas was here.

Sam hadn't really counted on having Cas be too busy to stay and help. He wasn't really counting on a huge plot of an angel war that Cas felt he had to lead.

Neither had Cas, really. He'd been on his way to meet up with the Winchesters again, who he hadn't seen since Sam and Dean started living under the same roof again, when he got abducted against his will. 

He felt unfortunately detached from his little family, but there were bigger battles he had to fight than simply staying at the Winchester's sides. They'd been fine without him this entire time. 

Sam kept giving him this look though, one that Cas didn't quite recognize. It was a bit unnerving, especially when Sam mouthed the words _can we talk_ as Dean was glaring after Metatron. Cas only had the chance to cock his head in response before Dean was turning back and complaining about Metatron. 

Cas kept watching Sam out of the corner of his eye, checking to see if he was going to mouth anything else. He didn't. Sam's eyes were locked on Dean, like if he looked away for a single moment Dean might disappear. His entire body was buzzing with worry and stress and that was actually the first thing that tipped him off. 

Seeing Sam so freaked about Dean made Cas look at _Dean_ a little closer. Which is how he noticed just hoe off Dean really was. 

When Dean eventually turned back to him with a concerned _you sure you're alright?_ Cas finally got his opening.

"Yes," Cas replied, forcing himself to push down the warm ocean of joy that Dean's concern washed over him. They had bigger priorities. "Are you? There's something different about you."

Dean reached out to pat Cas on the shoulder, his hand warm even through Cas's coat. No, not just warm...it _burned_. There was a tug of energy towards Dean arm and Cas could physically feel the poison seeping in Dean's veins. 

"I'm fine," Dean reassured, which was probably the worst lie he'd ever heard come from Dean's mouth. The words were such bullshit that it felt like Dean said then more to convince himself than Cas, even. 

Those eyes cut off to the side and Dean turned away, his body language telling a world of stories. He couldn't handle Cas's concern, he was unable to deal with someone caring about him. If that wasn't a red flag (a familiar red flag), than Cas didn't know what was. That burnt, fiery arm moved to leave Cas's shoulder but he wasn't going to let Dean get away that easily. Cas grabbed Dean's wrist before he could try to hide anything else. 

Dean's eyes were on his as Cas tugged the arm, shoving up Dean's sleeve to uncover the skin beneath. And there was the scar, angry and red and something of horror stories. Imprinted into the arm of the righteous man, the mark of the damned. 

Cas's eyes darkened as he stared at the scar, at what Dean had done to himself. How could he have -- What could possibly -- the anger bubbling up inside Cas was enough to make him tear apart worlds. Instead he just spat out angry, barely contained words. 

_"What have you done?"_

He'd just been acquainted with the references of all books, and it was for that reason that Cas saw the parallel. The look on Dean's face, their entire conversation, the blood-raised scar on Dean's arm...it was like a drug addict being caught out by his loved ones. 

Cas knew just enough about the mark to understand its addictive qualities, the way it blackens a soul. And here was the proof on Dean's arm, which he was trying to tug back away from Cas. Like he was...what, ashamed? Embarrassed? Cas searched his eyes a little deeper. Deserving. Scared. 

Then Dean _was_ yanking his arm back, just like the addict, proving with his actions how addicted he was. Tuning out Cas's concern, unable to listen to reason or accept help. Or, most importantly, to admit he had a problem.

And it wasn't the kind of problem that just went away. This was the kind of problem that leveled worlds. That burned up human souls. That made monsters. 

If the mark on Dean's arm was a drug, the end game was an overdose. And with a mark like that, the overdose could be worse than death. 

"It's a means to an end," Dean bit, his response not nearly as strong as it could have been when their eyes met. Dean collapsed a little, melted under Cas's gaze and boiled down to real, core emotions that weren't just snapping. And then there was the look on his face. 

It was almost indecipherable, there was so much depth in the look on Dean's face, juxtaposed with his words. In his eyes there was anger and annoyance (at himself for his stupidity, at Cas for his prying). Then there was the ever present defeat, the hopeless loss and resignation to this fate. 

_You don't think you deserve to be saved._ The same old ballgame. But there was something deeper under that too, something like deep sadness and regretful understanding. His mouth may as well have been shouting _Cas, I know it was stupid and I know it's dangerous, but don't you get it? That's what I deserve._

Dean's eyes shut and he sucked in a deep breath, closing the door to his emotions and thoughts in Cas's face. When the green blinked open again, all of the pleading desperation was gone. All of the begging to be saved again was gone. 

His eyes were dead. There was nothing left in them, emotions drained out. Body drained out. Mind destroyed. Dean was empty, a hollow container of pure steel. Impenetrable with nothing to see on the inside. Cas's chest seized at the sight. 

Dean was so so tired. Weary. He didn't have the fight left in him anymore, didn't have the hope he always had held on to. Even in hell, Dean had dreamed. Not anymore. 

_Its a means to an end._ Who's end? Because by the look on Dean's face, it might just be _Dean's_ end. 

Something low and dark and disgusting curdled inside Cas's lungs. It was an unfathomable thought. Dean's demise to his own end? He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that to Sam, or maybe even not to Cas. He wouldn't bring himself death with the slow, torturous crawl of losing his mind and his control and his body until he slipped from their fingers, a new broken version that could never be repaired. If he somehow survived. 

Cas wasn't sure Dean really wanted to survive. 

"Damn it, Dean," Cas growled. It was nowhere near the extent of what he meant, of what he needed to say, but Dean wasn't in a place he could hear it. 

If the mark was what Sam needed to talk to Cas about, Cas could entirely relate to Sam's worry. Although Cas was more pissed than worried right now. How could Dean do this to himself? To them? 

But like the drug addict he was, Dean couldn't listen to logic. He couldn't even listen to Cas's disappointment and anger and worry for him. He just shoved it all aside, denying it to everyone. Himself most of all. 

Dean didn't - maybe _couldn't_ \- listen to or understand or care about the concern of those who loved him. He refused to even hear what Cas - and Sam - were saying. He couldn’t understand their worry, because the drug was consuming him. That one tiny mark erased anything else of relevance from his mind and he was so sucked into it that he couldn't break the drug addict habits. 

And like any other addict in the books, Dean tried to shove the bad aside and rationalize his drug away. 

"Look, you find heaven, you drop a dime. Meantime, I got a knight to kill," Dean violently spun away, walking pissily to the driver's side of his car. Conversation over. 

Cas stared after him and wondered how the hell their lives had come to this. 

"Be safe out there," Sam offered Cas, his voice soft as he broke his eyes away from Dean's slamming door. Cas looked over at Sam, at the brokenness in his eyes too. If this was killing Cas - who'd only just now found out about it - he couldn't imagine what it'd done to Sam. 

"You, too." They didn't have the time or chance now to talk about whatever Sam was going to say, although Cas had a pretty good idea of what it might have been. That mark was terrifying, Sam had every right to reach out for help. And if Cas could stay, he would. If he thought Sam couldn't handle this without him, he'd try to find a way to help. 

But this was Sam and Dean. They needed each other and they always _always_ found a way out, against all odds. Didn't mean Cas wasn't going to worry like hell in the meantime, though. 

"Hey, Sam. You keep an eye on him."

Sam nodded, looking just slightly more relieved than when Cas had first seen him. At least Cas knew now, that had to be of some consolation. But so long as Dean stayed strong enough to fight this, the two of them would be okay without him for a little while. 

The Impala's roar faded into the distance and, as always, Cas watched until the little black speck disappeared completely. 

 

There wasn't a way to bring it up now. What exactly could Sam say? He was pretty sure Dean didn't even remember everything he'd said when Sam had first found him unconscious on the ground. Beating someone so violently that his body literally collapsed. Until he couldn't stand. 

Sam held back the urge to hurl and just watched Dean, watched him drive and avoid looking at Sam and tried to figure out how in the world he could save his brother when Dean didn't want to be saved. It was the same old song, but this time? This time Dean might actually be the one to take his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long to update. Angst seriously is the death of me, as is Dean Winchester's slow crawl to insanity. It takes forever.


End file.
